Nathan didn't answer her immediately; he shut his eyes, and pressed his fist to his forehead as if to physically hold back the spike of pain lancing through it. Niki? Didn't she know it was a terrible idea, while in recovery, to call someone from her old life? Risk of relapse, all that twelve-step bullshit he'd wanted to laugh at during the one and only time he'd sat in on one of those meetings.

"Hi. Just woke up, that's all. I'm fine," he lied as smoothly as he could, while fishing around on the floor for his discarded clothes. When he pulled his pants on, thank God, his wallet was in fact inside the pocket.

There was still a half-bottle of Scotch sitting on the bedside table, and he instantly knocked back a swallow, disregarding the fact that it was only ten A.M. The pain started to fade just as the liquor settled in his stomach. At least, as far as he was concerned.

"So...what are you doing?" The real question was, what was she doing calling him?