Maisie’s Law of Final Desperation: Resistance is futile. Unfortunately, I was not properly armed with a black silk Natori negligee. There’s only one reason for packing uncomfortable sleepwear, and it sure as hell wasn’t for the Good Day USA defamation tour. Instead, I was dwarfed in one of Hank’s black Army tees, hem ending just above my knees. It took me an hour to scrounge up the nerve. What the hell? If I’m going to crash and burn, I may as well do it kamikaze-style and take him down with me. I got out of bed and padded all the way down the hall to Hank’s room. Tiny Indiglo lights lit the way like an airport runway. His door was open. “Hank?” “Stop,” he said. I froze. Oh God, I’m officially beyond stupid. Next stop, Humiliation City. I stood in the doorway, trying to recall the carefully crafted yet inane excuse as to why I was out of bed and needed to wake him up. “I’m outta good guy, Maisie,” he said in a husky growl that sent a shoal of shivers up my spine.
