Frank sucked in a deep puff of his cigar, oblivious to it's fine flavor he had savored during the past hour, a flavor enhanced by the equally fine glass of scotch in front of him. He held the smoke in for a good two seconds before releasing it into the already smoke-filled private room. The three men seated at the restaurant table with him continued to chat and smoke their own cigars, none of them aware of the sudden change in his demeanor, the furrowed brow replacing the smile he'd held throughout the evening of drinking and reminiscing with his old pals. His mind reeled as it processed the surprise bomb Lenny Ross had just dropped on them.

Frank and Lenny had been partners during their rookie days on the force, and had maintained a close friendship since. During those early years they'd shared a great deal of memorable times, both on the job and off, some of them honorable, some of them anything but. Lenny loved recounting these stories over drinks with the guys, and Frank enjoyed the trips down memory lane. Life had been much simpler back then, when he was a beat cop much like his youngest son Jamie was now, back when every decision he made on the job didn't directly affect the whole city, the whole New York City Police Department.

No one could tell a story, no one could captivate his audience, quite like Lenny. Unlike most story-tellers, Lenny never enhanced his stories. He stayed true to the facts, right down to the slightest detail. And now Frank had just learned that his friend had written all these stories in a soon-to-be-released book for the whole world to read, stories Frank preferred to remain told only in the privacy of bars and back rooms over drinks with close friends.

When Frank expressed concern with such a book, Lenny asked why. "What are you afraid of, Frank?"

"I can tell you what he's afraid of," George, one of the other pals at the table, offered. "He's afraid of spoiling his perfect image with that beautiful wife of his. Doesn't want her to know what a hellcat he was back in the day."

Marcus and Lenny laughed.

Frank took a sip of his drink, then placed the glass back on the table. "Nicole knows I'm not perfect."

"Does she, Frank?" Lenny asked.

"Of course she does. She's shared my bed long enough."

"Ohh….getting personal here, are we, Frank?" George teased.

"Oh come on! You know what I meant."

"I think all that was included in her last novel, wasn't it, Frank?" Marcus continued the ribbing.

After taking another puff of his cigar, Frank replied with raised eyebrows. "I assure you, gentlemen, what takes place in the Reagan bedroom, stays in the Reagan bedroom."

"Or doesn't happen," George said, concentrating on the glass of Cognac he twirled in his hands.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

George shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing personal, Frank. It just that none of us are getting any younger. Sometimes the old plumbing just doesn't work like it used to."

"Speak for yourself. My plumbing works just fine."

"Can I add that to the book, Frank?"

"No, Lenny, you cannot!"

While George and Marcus flooded Lenny with questions about his book, Frank sat in silence, sipping on the last bit of scotch, deeply troubled, certain that the stories in Lenny's book would not reflect well on him, or his position as police commissioner. But he couldn't deny — at least to himself — that he was also worried about his wife's reaction. There were many things in his past he'd shared with her, but plenty more he hadn't shared. He'd felt no need; they were just that — the past. He'd expected them to stay just that, but now they would be revived, through Lenny's book.

He sighed as he swallowed the last of his drink.

Nicole's head jerked up when Frank entered their bedroom. She closed the book she'd been reading while waiting for him to return from his evening out with the guys, pushed herself up straighter in the bed, as she placed the book on her bedside table, then leaned back against the down pillows.

"Hi, sweetheart. I didn't hear you come in. How was your evening?"

"Interesting," Frank replied as he removed his tie, not sure how else to describe it.

"Sounds like there's a story there." Nicole patted the bed on Frank's side. "Come to bed and tell me all about it."

Frank leaned across the bed and kissed her. "Just give me a minute."

He disappeared into the bathroom, returning several minutes later wearing plaid boxer shorts only, his hairy chest bare. As he climbed into the bed and settled in next to Nicole, he said, "Seems you're not the only writer among us. Lenny has recently penned a book as well."

"Has he?" Nicole had met Lenny a couple of times, including at her and Frank's wedding, though she did not know him well. "Well, you always said he was a master at telling stories, so I guess it shouldn't come as a big surprise that he decided to try his hand in writing. So, what kind of book? Is he going to bump me off the best-seller list?"

"Unfortunately, Lenny's book, Back in the Day, is based on fact, not fiction." Though Frank had no doubt it included plenty of romance, or at least sex. He cringed as one particular wild night involving a couple of flight attendants — stewardesses, as they were called at the time — flashed in his head.

"Why is that unfortunate, Frank?"

"Because Back in the Day is about Lenny's early days as a cop. His and mine."

Nicole sat up straight in the bed, turned her body to face Frank. "You're in his book?"

"Afraid so."

"Wow!" Nicole leaned back against her pillows. "I can't wait to read it."

"You'll get your chance soon enough. He sent a copy of it home with me."

"So where is it?"

"I left it downstairs."

"So go down and get it, Frank. I want to read it."

"Now?"

"Yes, now. Why not?"

"Because I want to read it first, make sure I even want you to read it."

"Why wouldn't you want me to read it?"

"Because I'm not that proud of some of the things we did back then." Frank picked at a piece of lint on the bed quilt, unable to look Nicole in the eye as he spoke.

"Oh, well, now you've really got me interested!" Nicole threw the covers back, turned her back to Frank.

"What are you doing?"

Turning back to face him, she replied, "I'm going downstairs to get the book. Where did you leave it?"

"Nicole! Forget the book." Frank's attention immediately focused on Nicole's left breast halfway exposed. One of the spaghetti straps of her pink negligee had slipped off her shoulder, and the tease of it immediately aroused him. "I have a better idea."

"Oh, you do, do you?"

Frank rolled over on his side, raised his eyebrows. "Yes I do. Something much more entertaining than reading." He leaned over, pressed his lips to hers. He no longer wanted to talk, or even think about Lenny Ross's tell-all book. "You do know this is my favorite gown, don't you," he said, as he ran his fingers down her bare arm, pushing the strap further down until her breast was fully exposed. Her skin felt soft and smooth to his touch.

"Yes, I do. Why do you think I wear it so often?"

"Do you know what I like most about it?" He whispered as he nibbled her ear, all the while inhaling the intoxicating aroma of her body lotion, a combination of sweet peony and jasmine.

"The way the thin, silky fabric clings to my perfect body?" she replied, repeating a line from one of her romance novels.

Frank's raised his eyebrows. "Well, there is certainly that. But I mostly like the ease of removing it."

He slid the second strap from her shoulder; both breasts now fully exposed.

Nicole reached over to the reading lamp on the table, flipped it off, then lowered herself in the bed.

Easing her fingers through Frank's hair, she let out a soft sight as his lips touched her bare skin.

"You're right, Frank, this is definitely better than reading. Much better."