I trudge forward those last few feet and stare her down, folding my arms against my chest. This close up, it’s hard to ignore the cut of her bathing suit — even for me. She’s gorgeous and she knows it. I saw it in Vegas, and I see it here. Every inch of her just screams trouble, only the added twist now is that she’s one hundred percent real.

So why aren’t I doing something?

As inviting as everything is south of her neck, I do my best to keep my eyes on her face. The last time I let myself really look at a woman, she turned out to be Loki in disguise, and that’s kind of soured the experience since. Martha pads up beside me, nosing at the rope dangling from the end of her toy. Since we clearly aren’t leaving just yet, I toss it as far as I can. She scampers off and I recross my arms.

I run through a few questions in my head, and ultimately settle on the one she has no reason to answer truthfully.

“What’s your real name?”