From their seats they could smell the loam of the field. Such a passion did they share for football that it was nearly a transcendental experience. A barely constrained ball of energy, she did her level best to soak in every aspect of a stadium that she'd longed to visit since her earliest memories. The smell of overpriced cheap beer, the scent of every imaginable fried food lingering, and bustle of rabid fans combined to make for the most powerful of intoxicants. He sat far more quietly. His passion for the game was in no way eclipsed by hers. It was eclipsed by his passion for her.
She'd been in and out of his life for as long as he cared to remember. Like the stitch of a madwoman's needle she seemed woven inseparably into his life. She'd been lover, a friend, a confidant, an enemy, and a tragedy all. He couldn't imagine what he'd have done without her. They'd aged, she'd married, he'd divorced and time had dulled their sharper edges and polished their better times. They'd settled on best friends. How else would the two of them have jaunted twelve hundred miles just to see a football game?
The opportunity had sprung up during a late night chat. The schedule had shown that their two favorite teams were going to do battle in the sunny confines of Pro-Player stadium. They'd lined up great tickets and a place to stay the night. It was just a great chance to hang out, talk trash, and be friends.
"Thirty yards, first snap," she said, breaking his reverie.
"Right. You could have five hundred yards and still lose. I mean come on!! My boys play offense. Period," he rejoined.
"But we can actually play defense!"
"You know I forgot about that. It totally explains the shellacking you took last year," he needled.
Her furious face came out and he couldn't help laughing. Watching the sun stream around her and making her hair look like strands of dark red ribbon made his stomach feel too small. Watching her nose scrunch up and her lips pout at the suggestion that her team wasn't quite up to snuff warmed him all over.
"Whoops little to close to home was I," his eyebrows twitched in Groucho Marx fashion.
"You're an ass."
"Yes Ma'am, there's actually not a whole lot of discussion about that"
Kick off led to three roaring hours of collisions and scoring. The game was a back and forth war that stumbled drunkenly between a burgeoning shootout and a punting competition. She screamed, laughed, pointed, punched, prodded and basically foamed at the mouth. He did much the same with the added trick of hugging her tightly every time his boys lit up the scoreboard. In the end a last second field goal sucked the wind and hope out of the crowd. As he stood and pumped his fists, cheering with new found enthusiasm and pride, she dejectedly congratulated him and started making for the aisle.
He trailed closely behind, buzzed from the beer, the weather and the win. She managed to navigate the two of them into a cab and back to the hotel. His afternoon libations and celebration not complete, they sat in the hotel bar and watched the late afternoon games. Properly intoxicated and motivated they decided to take advantage of the warm Miami November with a swim.
Up in their room she slipped into the bathroom to change into her swimsuit. Changing in the main room he had to chastise himself as he felt a familiar stirring. After all she was his best friend and those days were over. No reason they couldn't go for a friendly swim before dinner.
As she changed in the bathroom she was surprised by the sensitivity of her body and the alertness of her nipples. "What's this all about?" she wondered silently, "I'm married, and it's been ten years since we've been together". She continued dressing and put the thought out of her head.
