Hunter opened his eyes and glared at the alarm clock on his night stand. He contemplated flinging the annoying thing against the wall to shut it up, but in a moment of sanity, remembered that he'd already done that twice this month, and two dead alarm clocks was his quota for the month. Besides, for some reason his arms really did not feel like moving from their place of rest tucked under his pillow. He felt like he'd been on a three day bender, without the throbbing head. "What the hell happened to me?" he wondered.
Then he remembered. The beach, the sunset. Miranda. Two delicious, toe curling, brain frying bouts of sex. Water...
Wait a minute! This had to be a dream. There is no way in hell he'd had sex last night with a gorgeous, golden woman who'd suddenly sprouted gills. No way! The whole episode must have been a figment of his overly tired mind. He had, after all, just spent two weeks cramming for and taking final exams. And he hadn't been with a woman in at least six months. His over-tired, under-sexed brain had probably short circuited, creating his lovely mermaid.
With a groan, he rolled out of bed and darn near tripped over the pile of clothing laying on the floor beside his bed. He picked up the dirty, ragged, sand crusted shorts and tee shirt. Ugh. What a mess. Well, obviously the rolling around in the sand part of last night was real. He grabbed an old grocery store plastic bag and started shoving his clothing in. He'd take them outside and shake the sand out of them later.
A flash of white caught his eye. Warily he picked up the scrap of white cloth, his befuddled brain refusing for a moment to register what it was he was holding. It was a bra. Just as sand crusted as his own clothing. Looking around, he spotted a couple more scraps of sandy clothing sitting in a pile beside his bedroom door. A woman's dark blue shorts and a green blouse, missing the bottom two buttons. "Oh, God..." he groaned. The clothing was real, and just as he remembered it, so the woman must have been real, too. But how was that possible?
Dropping the bag and clothing on the floor, he staggered into the bathroom and flicked on the lights. He leaned over the sink and splashed several hand fulls of water on his face. As he stood up, a twinge from his back had him turning around and peering over his shoulder. His back was pretty well scratched up. With a disbelieving shake of his head, he remembered Miranda, caught in the throes of orgasm, sinking her fingernails into his back, scratching like a mad cat.
Just as he was about to flick off the bathroom light, he happened to glance out the window. There was a park across from his apartment. Well tended, it boasted lush green grass dotted with ancient oaks and maple trees and well tended flower beds. Scattered amid the trees and blossoms were benches and tables used mostly by the college students from the nearby campus. Sitting on one of the benches, staring up at the building housing his apartment, was a woman. A woman with smooth golden skin and long, burnished gold hair. Hunter stepped closer to the window, whacking his toe painfully on the base of the toilet. He barely noticed. Was it? Could it be?
It was.
Miranda.
Hunter barely took time to throw on a pair of shorts and a shirt. Unwilling to wait for the elevator, he bombed down the three flights of stairs at breakneck speed, somehow convinced that she would disappear while out of his sight. But she didn't. When he burst through the front door to the apartment building, not only was she still there, but she had crossed the street and was approaching the steps. He stood at the top and looked down at her, mouth agape.
"Hunter," she said softly.
