She woke slowly, disentangling from damp sheets. The bed was empty. How did she get home last night?
Then the smell hit her. She moaned, crawled out, got to her feet. Blouse, skirt, panties, bra. No shoes. Oh, God, she thought. That pungent aroma meant only one thing.
One step and the room swam. She lurched to the doorway, held on. Her belly heaved, that ugly taste. She limped toward the kitchen, helped along by the lovely wall.
She rounded the corner, searching after the smell. On the counter, her shoes. A note: name, phone number.
Best of all, coffee.