As I jogged on the Lakefront one Saturday afternoon, I stopped to catch my breath, massaging a pull in my side with my right hand. I saw a couple sitting and laughing in a red Jeep like mine, with the top off on an unusually warm afternoon, parked in one of the public lots.
I turned and looked at the blue water of Lake Michigan, and thought of one of my first sexual encounters with Jamie.
I picked him up from the Miami Arena after a game, a six-pack of beer in the back seat of the Jeep, and we drove to the beach at 11:30 at night, singing along to the songs on the radio. I pulled the parking brake on the Jeep after putting it in neutral and wobbled the gear shift back and forth in my hand to make sure it wasn’t locked in third gear.
“Hey,” Jami... Please subscribe to keep reading.
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