Chase woke up at about three in the morning with a massive hangover in an apartment he did not recognize at first. He tried to think for a minute or two and then it hit him. Right. That girl in the bar, the one in the French maid costume, who kept matching him, slamming down bourbon for bourbon. He went back to her place, he remembered having sex with her, but, oh shit, he couldn't remember her name.
What the hell was it? It was some sort of a flower, that's all he could come up with. Rose? Violet?
She wasn't still in bed with him. She was in another room. He could hear her on the phone but he couldn't quite hear what she was saying.
She had left her wallet in the bedroom. Time to take a quick look at her driver's license, it would really look bad if he couldn't come up with a name when she came back in.
He opened up a cheap velcro wallet and looked at a license. OK. Lily.
He looked down a little further and his blood ran cold.
She was SEVENTEEN.
Chase wound up writing her a check for what was originally intended to go to a down payment on a condo he had wanted really badly.