She came out of the shower, hair dry but wet everywhere else, or so I gathered. A pale pink towel covered everything from breasts to just beneath her ... her quim.

Turned out to be a private joke. Private not really a pun. Well, maybe. I’ll explain. Earlier that afternoon we’d played Boggle. If you’re not familiar with it, there’s a bunch of cubes with letters on each side, and the cubes go in the container, and you shake it up so the cubes fall into slots, a four by four grid. Then you start the three-minute timer and each player tries to make words by connecting the letters. Three letters minimum. Longer words get more points. Most points wins. She’s very good at it, but I’m better. Maybe I have quicker eyes, a quicker hand. We played five games. In the fifth game I made the word QUIM.

“What’s that?” she asked.

I looked at her, a touch embarrassed. “You seriously don’t know?”

“No, what does it mean?”

“I won’t tell you.”

“Okay, then, you can’t use it.”

I won anyway.

The rain had stopped so we went to the playground and shot hoops. She’s athletic, her sport volleyball, but she was good at basketball, too. I was better. I can dunk. I can shoot threes. But we had a good time. Near the end I held her up so she could dunk.

Gosh it was good holding her up. I didn’t want to put her down. I didn’t put her down. Instead I kissed her. She kissed me back.

We kissed and kissed. We held hands on the way home and we were almost there when I realized we’d forgotten to bring the basketball.

“I’ll run back and get it,” I said. Ten blocks. And the rain started again.

I was soaking wet when I got home. I took off my clothes just as she was coming out of the shower.