"Well, yeah. I asked him to call me when it was done." She gave me a wicked grin. "He said youreallygot into it."
I bit my lip. Technically, it was April who really got into it. But I hated the thought of saying so. "Well…" I hesitated. "About that…"
"What?" My aunt studied my face. "He wasn't lying, was he?"
"Uh, no," I stammered. "That's not it. He was great, honest." I let out a long, frustrated breath. "It's just that, well…" I winced. "You promised. Remember?"
She gave me a confused look. "Promised what?"
Did I really need to remind her? "No more strippers. Come on. Youdoremember, don't you?" I tried to laugh. "I'm pretty sure I begged. Literally. On my knees and everything."
"You weren't begging," she said. "You were scrubbing the floor."
Okay, technically, that was true. But still, Ihadgotten up on my knees while the actual pleading took place. That had to count for something, right?
I gave her a look and waited.
After a long pause, she sighed, "Yeah. I remember."
"So…?" I prompted.
"So…?" She shook her head. "What?"
Feeling like I giant heel, I forced myself to continue. "So, last night, even though you promised not to, you sent another stripper."
"No, I didn't."
Okay, when it came to strippers, I was practically an expert, unfortunately. Again, I waited.
Finally, she gave another sigh. "Oh, okay. He was a stripper. But he didn't strip. So it doesn't count. See?"
It made sense, in an Aunt Gina sort of way. Still, I needed to findsomeway to make her understand without hurting her feelings. I searched for the words, but came up empty.
Into my silence, she said, "Hey, I told him, up-front, 'You take off one single thing, mister, and you're gonna hear about it.'"
I gave her a pleading look. "But he was still a stripper."
She was frowning now. "I don't get it. He told me you had a great time last night."
"I did. Honest."But not because of the cowboy.
"Then what's the problem?" She gave me a hopeful smile. "Yee-ha."
"No." I shook my head. "No yee-ha."
Her eyebrows furrowed. "No yee-ha?"
"No. Not that I don't appreciate the sentiment." Now that I'd started this, I was determined to finish. "Look, Aunt Gina, I know you mean well…"
"But?"
"But that kind of stuff isn't my thing, you know?"
"Why not?"
"For starters, because it's embarrassing."
"Not to me."
