‘What are we celebrating?’ ‘Oh, nothing,’ he said, grinning. ‘Isn’t every day a celebration?’ ‘Oh please. You sound like an American g...eetings card.’ ‘Ever the romantic, Monica.’ She felt his foot brush against hers under the table, but she was sure as hell not backing off and jumping at his touch like a schoolgirl so she pretended not to notice and watched the waiter pouring the drinks. ‘So what was it you wanted to talk about?’ She sipped at the champagne and felt the fizz flare and die on. “I hope it doesn't lock up” was all I could think. First—second--third--and finally, HOME. The crowd went totally nuclear. I continued pushing Tony around in circles, doing donuts, if you will. In the ecstasy of the moment, I ripped my jersey off, Tarzan style, screaming at the top of my lungs and d****d it over Tony's shoulders, raising his arm in victory. My bushy pits were dripping in sweat, running down my rib cage, and I could smell my own ripe jock funk. My dick twitched a bit. Mark had. More

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