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delinquents flicked their middle fingers at him.
    Nick pressed his forehead against the cold concrete wall, inhaling and exhaling deeply.
    And Paula wonders why I don’t want to talk about my work. Or why I’m overprotective. Hell!
    Finally, his temper cooled. He looked back at Skip—a patrol officer and friend, only twenty-five years old, who worked out of the same precinct. “You off duty now?”
    Skip nodded.
    “How ’bout going for a beer?”
    “Sounds good.”
    They were about to leave the building when Captain O’Malley called out, “See you tonight, DiCello. Right?” The burly Irishman smirked from ear to ear, then erupted into a deep belly laugh.
    Nick felt a flush move up his neck. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”
    “Eight o’clock. The high school gym. Don’t be late.” He started laughing again.
    “What was that all about?” Skip asked as they walked toward his patrol car.
    “I’m going to the prom.”
    Twerk, jerk, same thing . . .
    LATER, NICK AND Skip were nursing their second beers in a neighborhood tavern.
    “Stop smirkin’ at me,” Nick said.
    “I can’t help it. Geez, I just can’t picture you at a prom. Do you even know how to boogie?”
    “Boogie? I was thinking more along the lines of dirty danc—”
    His words were interrupted by the waitress, who smiled invitingly down at Skip and asked, for the third time in a half hour, “Will there be anything else, sugar?” She totally ignored Nick.
    Skip winked. “Not now, darlin’.”
    Smiling, Nick shook his head at his friend. “Stop flirting with the waitresses. If Kahlita were here, she’d wring your neck. And you’re not on stage now, so you have no excuse.” Everywhere he went, Skip attracted women. And it wasn’t just that he looked like Denzel Washington in an Arnold Schwarzenegger body. Skip exuded sexual charisma without even giving it a thought. Hmmm. Maybe Skip can give me a little advice.
    “Maybe you ought to moonlight, too,” Skip suggested. “Might learn a few tricks to lure Paula back.”
    Now that was hitting too close to home. Nick winced. “Me? A male stripper? Hardly. Besides, if you’re not careful, the captain’s gonna hear about your nightclub act. Do you wanna get fired?”
    Skip shrugged. “Maybe it would be for the best. The money’s better, for sure. And, no kidding . . . Sal is looking for someone to replace Lee as the Indian in the line-up. Lee got moved up to detective. He’s working night shift now and had to quit.”
    Nick choked on his beer. “Lee Chin was stripping? As an Indian? Holy hell! He’s Chinese.”
    Skip grinned. “Yeah, but the women didn’t seem to notice his face. They were lookin’ a little . . . lower. Then, too, he can flex his buttocks. I don’t suppose you can do the twerk.”
    “The who?”
    “The twerk. It’s a dance move where you squat down and spread your knees, then vibrate your butt cheeks real fast.” He stood and demonstrated. At the look of horror on Nick’s face, he remarked, “I guess not.”
    Smiling, Nick leaned back and sipped at his beer. “Even if I had the inclination, this aging body couldn’t stand the scrutiny of a couple hundred screaming women. I could lift weights till my nose bleeds and still not look like you. Besides, I’m trying to get my wife back, and Paula’s not the type to go for male strippers.”
    “Actually, Paula and Kahlita came to the club one night. They seemed to be having a good time.” Skip raised an eyebrow knowingly.
    Nick gaped at Skip’s grinning face. “Not my Paula!”
    “Maybe you don’t know Paula as well as you think.”
    If they can’t make love, at least they can dance . . .
    PAULA HAD JUST returned to her apartment that afternoon when the doorbell rang. A delivery man stood there with a stack of boxes imprinted with the name of Macy’s department store.
    At first, Paula frowned with puzzlement when she opened the boxes and peeled away the tissue paper. There was a beautiful, strapless