There were some things no one should have to wake up to, Greg pondered. And at the top of that list had to be Conrad Ecklie in very tight leather pants. Greg tried to remember the events leading up to waking up in a motel with Ecklie in leather pants, but was drawing a blank. Beer. Beer. More Beer. Uh oh… those leather pants looked very familiar. As in… hadn't he been wearing them earlier? Greg lifted the sheet and looked down. Yup, he was completely naked. That explained why the pants were so tight on Ecklie. Greg shifted, and felt around. Nope, didn't feel like he'd got laid. Yippee. Now, time to escape before Ecklie woke up. Ten minutes later, as Greg checked the bathroom for the third time, he had to face up to the fact that the leather pants were the only item of clothing in the room. He could either try to peel the pants off Ecklie, phone for help, or make a toga out of the curtains. Peeling the pants of Ecklie… well, they were his favourite pants. But what if Ecklie woke up? It only took a moment's contemplation of Ecklie's possible reaction to waking up while being stripped in a cheesy motel to check that option off the list. Phoning for help? Did he really want anyone to know he'd been found naked in a hotel room with Ecklie? Okay, option number two off the list. The embarrassment of being picked up walking down Fremont street wearing floral curtains, and taken home by Officer Sharon Kelly and some sniggering rookie wore off around the same time his leather pants mysteriously arrived, freshly dry cleaned, in his locker. Along with a note that read 'Thanks for Saturday, you don't know what it meant to me. C xxx.' Horrified imagination outranks embarrassment every time.