Not that Nate was one to judge。 After the trunk show at the St。 Claire that morning Serena had
been all over him； but instead of working up a sweat with her as the cab zoomed up Park Avenue；
all he？d been able to do was look out at the grassy divider running down the center of the street；
weeping because the heat had caused the red and yellow tulips to scatter their blossoms and wilt。
Guess the tulips weren？t the only things wilting。
Coach Michaels started on a tear about how minivans were actually the sexiest cars on the road
because they had two sets of backseats。 Nate sipped his beer as he reevaluated the coach。 Even in
his stupid red Lands？ End jacket he was healthy； sharp； and vital。 No one ever caughthim crying
like a girl at the slightest thing。 Maybe a little Viagra was exactly what Nate needed。
Oh； no。
Nate finished off his beer and set the bottle down on the long white collapsible table the school
kitchen staff had set up for the party。 Then he turned and headed toward the physical education
staff office on the other side of the gym； next to the guys？ locker room。 Everyone would think he
was just taking a piss。
When in fact ？
On Coach？s desk was an eight…by…ten photo…portrait of his wife； Patricia。 She looked a little like
Jennifer Aniston with wrinkles and a dyed…auburn pageboy haircut。 Small and leathery； in a
magenta…colored Lands？ End for Ladies version of Coach？s jacket； her brown eyes were shining
and her pink； lipstick…free lips were parted in a broad； happy smile。 Her teeth were so white they
had to be fake； and Nate wondered if she took them out during those Viagra…induced escapades at
the Pierre Hotel。