My crush became certain as soon as Birk’s party ended. I didn’t, and couldn’t, get the skier out of my mind. No way. All six-three of him took over my thoughts and I had an affair with him inside my head. I even dreamed of the man when I went to sleep: somewhere on the beaches of Cancun or walking the streets of Paris near the Eifel Tower; Ziplining in the Andes in Peru or Ecuador; lost in the Angola jungle, but safe at his side; filming a movie together on location in Hollywood. No matter how hard I crushed on him, we didn’t date or became boyfriends or lovers. Nothing of the sort occurred. Rather, I kept my distance, stayed the gentleman I was, and watched him from afar, mostly hard between my legs, always attracted to him.
* * * *
Of course, Booth becomes a key person in our circle of
