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you fuck me right here.”
    “Yeah?”
    “Oh, yeah.” She put his hands inside her open jacket and arched just enough to make her breasts an offering. “Go on. You know you want to.”
    Mitch wasn’t certain that he did but his hands seemed to be taking their orders from his other head. He cupped Gina’s breasts. Her nipples poked the heart of his palms. “You do pick your moments.” He lowered his head and blew lightly on the strands of dark hair that were covering her ear. He felt her shiver; her delicious little body rubbed against him. Mitch nuzzled her neck.
    “Hey, Mitch! You wanna getta room? I don’t let my kids watch PG-13 yet!”
    Tips of his ears reddening, Mitch was still game. He stepped back and called out to Susan Gerow as she walked briskly past him on her way to meet the bus. “I was going for an R here.”
    Susan turned, never breaking her brisk stride as she walked backward. “Then someone has to get nekkid.”
    One of Mitch’s brows kicked up. “Really?”
    “Really!” She pivoted again and continued on, yelling back, “They set the bar so low that Porky’s would get a G.”
    Gina was dusting off her behind from where she’d been rubbing up against the SUV. “What’s Porky’s? ”
    “You never saw it?”
    She put her hands on her hips and gave him a sigh that was not entirely exaggerated. “Why do you do that? I just asked you what it was and then you ask me if I’ve seen it. Doesn’t that seem a tad like you’re wasting your breath? No, I haven’t seen it.”
    “Think American Pie of the eighties.”
    Regina Sommers graduated magna cum laude from Pitt. She had a bachelor’s degree in Business Administration and was accepted for the master’s program in the fall at Duquesne. She knew she wasn’t exactly a slouch in the brains department, but sometimes she really didn’t understand what Mitch was talking about. “ American Pie the movie, right? Not the song.”
    “The movie, Regina.”
    “Now you’re being patronizing. Last week we had this big ol’ discussion about “American Pie” the song and how it was about the day the music died—which was not, apparently, about the Beatles breaking up or even Kurt Cobain offing himself—which, by the way, I apologized for not knowing where I was even though I was only six at the time—and how the song referred to the Buddy Holly plane crash and him dying along with Richie Valens and the Big Chopper.”
    “Bopper.”
    “What?”
    “It was the Big Bopper.”
    “Oh.” She slipped her arm through his and fell in step as he began walking to the corner. “It’s not as if you remember where you were when Buddy bought it.”
    “It’s just about having some sense of the past, I suppose. I admit it’s a quirk of mine.”
    “So, what? I need to watch the History Channel and Legends of Rock and Roll? ”
    Mitch chuckled. “I promise I’ll pick up tips from HGTV.” He gave her arm a squeeze. Gina leaned into him, all warm and snuggly. She had a lithe, compact body, a nice round ass and hard belly. She was built more like a gymnast than a runner but she ran several times a week, always outdoors. Treadmills, she’d told him, were for pussies. She came from WASP stock on both sides of her family. Mitch believed that somewhere in the past the thin blue-blooded Sommers’ line had benefited from the infusion of a little Mediterranean DNA. Gina had thick, coffee-colored hair and eyes, beautiful olive-toned skin, and fairly radiated warmth when she smiled. She liked to touch him when she talked, laying her hand on his forearm or leaning into his shoulder, and she never seemed to be satisfied that she was close enough. Conversation was practically foreplay because Gina could rub herself against him like a cat in heat when they were just discussing where to order takeout. She was excitable and exciting and it was a pretty heady combination. When Mitch considered the breasts that went with all of it, it was damn near