Simon says: So this is another romance of sorts with several chapters to go, thus this is not a self-contained story. :) For those who haven't read my stuff before, I tend to enjoy the slow burn more than just a quick bang. This story contains more sexual tension than any actual sex. Be patient my friends as future chapters should take it up a notch.
I welcome all feedback, including notes through the contact form. I respond to all emails and love to know if you connect with my stories in any way. It's the admittedly pervy side of me . . .
Thanks and happy reading!
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
I slowly walked towards the gathered crowd of other parents, huddled together on the sideline. It looked like the beginning of a middle school dance; the fathers focused intently on the play on the field but also joking with each other while the mothers separately from the fathers stood together, quietly talking about every topic imaginable. I didn't exactly belong in either.
Well, hold on, to explain, I am very much a guy with guy parts (so yes, I could gain easy membership in the father's corner) but I don't exactly fit into the father-of-athlete role well. I was never much of an athlete myself, instead focusing on building my reading muscles over other more physically impressive ones. And I am less physically competitive as compared to other guys. So in some ways I fit more in with the mothers-of-athlete types (except of course several were also athletes, but you get my general meaning here).
So I did the sensible thing. I stood between the two gender groupings and watched the first practice of this season.
Brady always took to athletics easily, in almost any sport. He inherited those skills from his mother, naturally. She played softball in college and apparently developed a hankering for some nerd long enough to fall for me, marry me and then leave me two years later for. . wait for it. . another athlete.
So when she left with little concern for her husband or young son I took custody of Brady. He sees her, very begrudgingly, once a year for a token visit. He hates it. I imagine she does too. Carrie should have never had kids. One day she might regret her decisions but right now she is enjoying herself as the single woman. At least she puts off the image of doing so.
I watched Brady get the ball easily from a defender and tap it casually to a teammate, Alex, also one of his best friends. The boys had been playing soccer together for the better part of four years. They worked like a single machine, knowing what each other was going to do before anyone else could predict.
I always liked Alex. He proved to be one of those good influence friends that you just desperately wanted your kids to latch onto. Polite. Bright. Hard worker. If Brady were a girl I would be planning their wedding now.
I watched the two twelve year old boys speed around the field, volleying the ball between them as they neared the opposing goal. Brady easily crossed the ball right to Alex's waiting foot, which then proceeded to easily send it sailing past the keeper for another goal. A little 12 year old boy celebrating and trash talking started followed by the coach's redirection and processing.
"Those boys are pretty amazing together, huh?" I heard the woman's voice right behind me. I turned to face a pretty woman wearing glasses, face framed by curly light brown shoulder-length hair. She looked like she had just been running as she was wearing a tank and athletic tights and had a light sheen of perspiration resting on her skin. "Absolutely." I smiled and nodded. I never felt comfortable with the small talk thing. This woman began the conversation so I believe the rules of engagement dictate that I say something semi-clever, or maybe complimentary . .Oh wait! I got it.
"Hi, I don't think we have met. I am Jack." I slipped my hand out of my pocket to shake hers. Yep, good job Jack.
She just smiled sweetly at me as she took my hand. "Yes, I know."
Her fingers were soft and warm as they wrapped around mine.
Ok, I wish I had written down the rules of engagement as I really didn't know where to go with this. She didn't give me her name. Fine, but I can keep up the casual chatting, I think.
"So which one is yours?" I continued, being all Mr. Smooth. . .
She smiled again, seeming to be in on some private joke or something. "Oh that one . . " She pointed at the field (where all the boys were moving around at high speeds) without ever taking her eyes off of mine.
"Uh . . . right . . . which one?"
She giggled to herself. "The one with the tall socks!" She waved a finger at the field, where every boy wore tall socks.
"The one in the dark blue socks?"
"Nope!"
"Green?"
"Nuh uh."
Ok, she was totally playing with me.
I raised my eyebrow. "I should know you, shouldn't I?"
She smiled and nodded, putting one finger on her nose and pointing the other at me.
"I must apologize. My memory is really bad. I hope I haven't offended you."
She put her fingers on my arm and squeezed. "I am so sorry Jack, I just couldn't resist!" Her eyes were practically dancing, reflecting light as the sun moved down towards the top of the trees behind me.
I must have been in 'Jack World' (a frequent stop for my mind) as all of a sudden Alex and Brady surprised me by running up between us, practice seemingly concluded.
"Dad! Did you see my goal during the scrimmage??" I forgot the mysterious woman for a moment as I glanced down at him. I smiled and nodded. "It was . .awesome!" We fist bumped, which was mildly acceptable to Brady.
"See ya on Thursday, Brady!" Alex started walking off with the mysterious woman. Brady waved goodbye to his friend .
"See ya on Thursday, Jack!" She nearly completely mimicked Alex as she left with him, waving and grinning, Alex punching her in the arm as they moved back towards the parking lot,
Oh.
Alex's mom.
I am a dope.
So up through the end of last season, Alex's dad, Michael, had been bringing him to practice and to games. Pretty nice guy. He was a salesman, I think. I recall I might have met her once at the end-of-season party. I was being honest: my memory really sucked. I mean really bad. So, 'Alex's mom' could have talked to me for hours and I might have forgotten. Damn.
I don't think she was upset but I should have recognized the mom of my son's best friend. I am going to have to really plow into my deep memories to be prepared for Thursday if she comes back. Or, do some digging using available resources! Let the research begin . . .
"So Brady. . . Alex's mom . . . " I was trying to be all casual as I started up the truck. " . . . What's her name again?"
He shrugged, "Mrs. James."
"Uh-huh. Right." I should have anticipated how that would go. The good news was that I of course had forgotten Alex's last name, so I did glean some helpful information from Brady! Score one point for Jack! Mental note to look up stuff on Michael James. "And . . . do you know if Mr. James will be at practice Thursday?"
He shrugged again, seemingly saying 'I don't know,' but all I heard were vowels "I-o-o."
I nodded casually again. I didn't want to press him too hard. He was like a deer. No sudden moves lest he completely shuts up.
I needed to look up Alex's family on Facebook or something. Actually I would need to create a Facebook account thingie and THEN look them on Facebook. I may not be good at small talk and casual conversation, but I really cannot stand to not know something I obviously should. At the very least, I would find out her name.
++++++++++++
'Michael James' - search. 4 gazillion results. Alex's dad's name had to be comprised of two of the most common Engish first names ever. Why couldn't he have been named Latimer Grovintowskinovich?
Uh, the world wide web was not going to help much. And neither was Brady. Nor the school directory. Nor the initial emails about soccer practice time this year (they all went to Alex's dad). And while yours truly now was one of one billion people on Facebook, complete with no posts, pictures or personal information, I still could not find Alex's mom to save my life.
So I gave up.
I closed my laptop down and headed to bed. Maybe I could come up with a Plan B in the morning.
++++++++++++
Hmm. Some personal message from Facebook in my email inbox! Why would Facebook be writing me? Someone is feeling pretty frickin special. Wait, it was a 'friend' request. . .whatever that was. I am not sure what that actually means but there was some sort of 'accept' link. The person's name was Sadie Bennett. I didn't know any Sadie Bennetts . . .
I of course clicked the link. No reason to worry about what might happen if I blindly click a link. It's just the internet afterall.
The page loaded with the Sadie person's link to a profile with a small image. I casually took another bite of my favorite, and pretty much standard breakfast choice: Count Chocula.
"Brady! Come here and make like this image thingie bigger or something."
"Move Dad. . . " Brady appeared out of nowhere and began his magic.