"It's just--" Kiss. "--I'm not the kind of girl--" Kiss. "--To do this sort of thing--" Kiss. "--On the first date--"
Trapper's hand moves, working at her blouse buttons. "Nothing but trouble, those types."
"So all I ask for," Trapper's mouth slips to her neck, "Is respect."
"Of course. I respect you--uh--" There is a pause.
She freezes, and Trapper pulls away. "Go on, John."
". . . And I will in the morning."
"You'll respect who?"
Trapper is visibly uncomfortable. "You."
"And who am I?"
He sits up. "Lisa?"
Two hours later, nursing the handprint on his cheek, Trapper curses his memory.