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He scratches his head as if no one ever explained time to him. “On a Sunday out of season? It might as well be 3 a.m. What did I do—? Oh! Fuck. You’re moving in.”

“Wow, did you forget you have a wife?”

“Wish I could,” he mutters, shuffling away from the door.

I nudge my boxes over the marital threshold with my foot, as I drag my suitcase behind me. “No need to help, babe, I’ve got it.”

“What? Oh, sorry. Do you need help?”

“It’s done now.”

“Great.” He starts walking out of the open-plan living area, along a corridor to where I imagine the bedrooms are.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to bed.”

“I’ve just arrived.”

“Like I said, it’s the middle of the night. And if you’d played nice since Vegas, I could make you arrive multiple times a night, babe. Since you haven’t, I’ll see you in a few hours.”

I hear his bedroom door shut. He’s genuinely serious. He’s gone back to bed.

Could he make me come multiple times a night? Bah, no chance. Carl could never manage it without a toy.

I flash back to Las Vegas, waking up in Jax’s suite, wearing my panties. I guess I never did find out. Nor will I… ever.

Locating the lights, I illuminate the space.

Oh. My. God. Rodents live in better conditions than this.

After a few minutes of trying and failing to find a switch or remote for the blackout shades, I roll my luggage along the corridor where Jax disappeared. Holding my ear to one of four doors, I hear him snoring. Already?

The door opposite his is a bedroom with what look like very nice thread count sheets – shimmering grey – atop a plush queen bed. I leave my case inside the door because this will do nicely but I’m curious as to what else is on offer. The door next to Jax’s room leads to a walk-in that any city girl would die for.

It’s immaculately laid out. Racks of hanging suits, shirts, jackets, pants and T-shirts. Rows of sneakers, dress shoes and something in between. There are multiple floor-length mirrors and in the center of the room, drawers with glass tops displaying socks, ties, cufflinks, leather wrist bangles. Three velvet upholstered stools are placed around the room and I think they’d make a convenient spot for buckling the ankle straps on my heeled shoes. I plonk down on one of the seats and soak it all in. It smells fresh like leather and vanilla.

The whole space is a contradiction to Jax’s chaos.

I close the door and step across the hall, through a third and final door. It’s another bedroom. A much bigger one than the first. A similar swanky bed and soft-to-touch sheets, but there’s more furniture – drawers, a cushioned chair, a dresser. There’s a door into a much smaller, yet still crazily indulgent, closet, which is invitingly empty. Or would be, if I had more than one suitcase of clothes and two boxes of work matter with me. And through another door is an en suite bathroom.

En suite doesn’t do it credit. It’s the size of the bathroom Carl and I shared, but much fancier. It looks like a luxury hotel room. The same vanilla and leather scent fills the space and I spot incense sticks on a shelving unit. The shower is walk-in with a wall seat, monsoon or gentle heads, and a large sink with over-unit vanity mirror and lights.

I chastise myself for immediately wondering if Jax has had this bathroom designed with shower sex in mind. It would be the perfect setup for someone intending to stay here and actually have sex. I recall how he was already showering when I woke in Las Vegas. What if I had gone to the shower instead of freaking out over the Haribo ring on my finger?

Then I probably would have ended up in there with Jax, which doesn’t bear thinking about. Even if it’s been a long time since I had a good time with anything other than myself, this is complicated enough as it is.

Pointless sexy shower setup aside, this room will do nicely.

I bring my stuff to the room, then head back to the dark lounge, continuing my search for some way of lifting the shades with the aid of my phone torch. Stumped, I try one last thing, something I’ve only ever seen in movies but right now, it’s worth a shot. So, I clap my hands together once. Nothing happens. I try a double clap. And hey, it worked!

At last, the shades slowly rise and with every inch of daylight that seeps into the space, I wish I’d never found the secret. There’s a large L-shaped sofa facing a needlessly ginormous flat-screen television. Into the television is plugged a gaming station and the controller has been left slung across the floor. There’s a coffee table full of food cartons and discarded wrappers. Two empty bottles – one beer, one protein shake – lie empty and tossed aside on the rug. Popcorn kernels decorate the upholstery like polka dots.

“The place is a dump,” I say to anyone, someone.

Then I turn to the kitchen and gasp.

“The man is an animal.”