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keep in mind that audience participation is optional, not mandatory. If your hand gets anywhere near my…pelvic area while I’m performing, the hard part won’t be taking my clothes off. The hard part will be not getting aroused.”
    â€œOn the contrary—the hard part will be getting aroused.”
    Lou groans while I giggle. He takes a gulp of air, then a gulp of orange juice. “I loathe you,” he tells me.
    â€œI love you,” I tell him.
    â€œI love you, too.”
    â€œThree.”
    â€œFour.”
    â€œMore.”
    Lou’s lips touch my thigh. His lips are sticky, but then, so are mine. We complement each other so well. “I don’t have to come,” I murmur.
    Lou snickers. He reaches for the bottle of syrup, holds it over me, squeezes until it squirts. The sap taps my belly, keeps flowing. “Sit up slowly,” Lou instructs. “Don’t scrunch your stomach or you’ll ruin it.”
    I follow his instructions to the letter.
    â€œI put an L on you,” Lou croons to the tune of the Screamin’ Jay Hawkins ditty, “because you’re mine.” He belts up. “Therefore,” he continues, fixing me with a look that’s both austere and sincere, “you have to come.”
    I laugh until my belly aches, then smile until my face hurts. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll be there with L ’s on.”
    I got a big bang out of the show. With a little luck, I’ll get a big bang out of Lou after the show. I deserve one—I kept my hands to myself, made sure I didn’t accidentally arouse any of the hard parts in his pelvic area. However, some women in the audience, with their hornier-than-thou attitudes and suggestive suggestions, would have done well to follow my example. Because unlike them, I was on my best behavior. And now I want Lou in the worst way.
    I try to maintain some semblance of self-control when he emerges from the dressing room, but it isn’t easy. He’s beaming at me and his dolphin-gray eyes are shining and they’re just as radiant as his smile. Now he’s got me in his clutches, flush against his frame so that I’m clinging to him almost as tightly as the light-blue T-shirt he’s wearing. His chest fleshes out the shirt quite nicely, molding the material to his muscles. My heart bumps his ribs.
    â€œI saw you leading the standing O ,” he murmurs into my hair.
    â€œI’d like to see you leading me to a standing O ,” I counter, hugging harder. “In fact, any kind of O will do. This is no time to be picky about positions.”
    Lou loosens his grip. I don’t have much of one on myself, either. “I take it you aren’t bothered by my new sex-symbol status?” he asks, guiding me toward the door.
    â€œNot at all.” I slip my hand into his as he starts to walkme home, just like he did when we were teenagers. “On the contrary—I’m hot and bothered by it. I don’t have to follow that pesky look-but-don’t-touch rule that everyone else does.” To drive home my point, I pull my hand loose and goose him.
    Lou looks gratified yet mortified.
    â€œWhat?” I shrug. “Can I help it if I get handy when I’m randy? If you don’t like it, then don’t be so desirable.”
    The blush is back with a vengeance. “Thanks, beautiful,” Lou says, always gracious when I’m salacious. My shy guy and I round the corner, approaching our favorite watering hole. “Would you care for a cocktail?” he offers.
    â€œAre they a package deal?” I’d like to know.
    Lou regards me as if I’m one garment short of a full monty. “The cock and the tail—are they a package deal?” I clarify. “Because the way I see it, they’re kind of like Danny and Sandy in Grease : they go together.”
    â€œGood grief,” Lou mutters, shaking his head at my persistent prurience.