“Well,” I said gruffly, carefully folding my card, “if you remember any more traditions like that... any that require the participation of a male... I suppose that I would not mind... obliging you.” “How very generous of you,” she said, her voice oddly breathy. My blood felt hot in my veins. I wanted to tell her that it had nothing to do with generosity and everything to do with the slow constriction of desire I felt for her, winding tighter and tighter every day, until it felt as if my ribs were not large enough to house my lungs. I wanted to tell her that I’d thought of that little,
