“How come you never wanna go to the beach, Delbert?”
Delbert floundered. “I don’t know, (“Ger—Stacy. The subway’s so crowded—I can’t take much sun—we haven’t had any beach weather lately.”
I waved an impatient hand to cut short the chatter. My other hand strayed due west of my zipper. My bone felt pretty springy under a thin’ layer of summerweight chinos. I was glad I had kicked the underpants habit. A self-grope always restores my self-confidence. Buoyantly, I faced the big blond. I said, “You’re full of shit, Delbert.” Technically, he wasn’t. There was a nugget of truth in each of those halfass excuses. The subways were jam packed, the July skies had been cloudy, and Delbert’s fa1r' skin looked as if the glow from a flashlight might cause it to blister. Except for his delicate pink and white complexion, Delbert was a typically robust two hundred pounder. I was…