It was the middle of the summer, and far too hot to be carrying heavy objects from the back of a truck to a small apartment three flights upstairs. That's what friends are for, though, and I considered myself to be a good friend. Phil was one of the first people I met when we first moved into our neighborhood, and we bonded almost immediately. We had a lot in common, including an appreciation for sports, beer, and arguing about politics – and not necessarily in that order.
We were the first to own our homes, as it was a newly-constructed neighborhood that was still in the process of being completed when we both moved in. It was a tight-knit group of neighbors at first, as we all had something in common: brand-new homes, complaints about the builders, comparisons between propane suppliers and garbage collectors, and so forth.
Phil and I helped to organize our first few neighborhood barbeques. We wheeled our grills to the common area and spent the entire day standing at our grills cooking burgers and dogs, and chugging way too much beer. By the end of the night, we quickly learned a lot about our new neighbors – often a little more than we ever cared to know.
As the years passed, smaller groups began forming, one of which included myself, Phil, and a couple other men who lived nearby. We would get together on Sundays to watch football, and would celebrate the three main holidays of the summer together: Memorial Day, Independence Day, and Labor Day. Over the years, I spent a good amount of time at Phil's house between the larger get-togethers or simply hanging out at my house or his.
As time passed, I couldn't help but notice a slowly-widening rift between Phil and his wife, Susan. It was barely perceptible at first: a snarky comment here, a snide retort there. Soon, it became uncomfortable to be in the same room with the two of them, and my visits became less and less frequent. When he told me he had filed for divorce, it was hardly surprising. It was depressing, to say the least, to help him move his belongings out of the house that I had considered to be my second home for so long.
"That's the last of it," I said, dropping the heavy cardboard box to the hardwood floor with a thud. Sweat dripped into my eyes, forcing me to wipe it away with the driest patch of my tee shirt that I could find.
"Thanks," Phil said, handing me a cold beer. I drained it so quickly, I felt woozy. "I can't thank you enough for this."
"Ugh! Look at you two gross, sweaty old men," Jessica said, shaking her head at the doorway. Phil's twenty-one year old niece always wore the skimpiest clothing imaginable, and this occasion was no different. Her tiny tee shirt stretched to its limits over her ample breasts and revealed her bare midriff. Her shorts – if you could call them that – were cut so high they barely covered her firm little ass and exposed her long, thin legs practically from her hips to her toes.
"Look who's talking, you sweaty skank," I quipped. Since Jessica had moved into her uncle's house a few years before, the two of us had adopted a strange sort of banter that was comprised mostly of teasing and insulting one another.
"Sweaty" wasn't an entirely accurate description of Jessica's appearance. While I dripped with sweat, Jessica merely glistened. Tiny little beads dotted her exposed skin, and her dark, amber-colored hair formed perfectly curled ringlets that framed her adorable young face. I had known her since she was a teenager, and she had transformed into a sexy siren right before my eyes. She lifted her shirt to pat her face and revealed even more of her flesh along with a hint of her bra. I averted my eyes quickly, but I knew she saw me looking at her. It wasn't the first time she had ever caught me in the act, and I suspected she enjoyed teasing me.
She stood in the doorway for a moment, striking a pose by placing her hands on her hips and swaying to the side. She smiled and bit her bottom lip. Her dark eyes danced as she tried to think of a good comeback.
"Got nothing, huh?" I teased. "Here, have a beer before you hurt yourself." I tossed her a beer, and she impressively snatched it with one hand.
"Hey, what are you doing later tonight?" Phil asked me.
"After this? Probably passing out on the couch," I said. "Why?"
"I was thinking we'd go out to the bar," he said. "We need to celebrate. And since you were nice enough to lend me a hand, the least I can do is buy you a drink or two. As long as you drive."
"How could I resist such a generous offer?" I said, rolling my eyes. "I'll check with Rachel and get back to you."
Rachel and I had known each other for twenty years, and had been married nearly as long. We had achieved most of our goals in life to that point, and shared a strong and loving bond. Since moving into our new home, she had encouraged me to socialize with the neighbors as often as possible. Unlike me, she wasn't a particularly outgoing person, and preferred a relaxing night at home to the bar scene. Socializing with the neighbors gave me the opportunity to do what I liked to do, while allowing her to do what she preferred. It was a win-win arrangement for both of us.
When I returned home and mentioned that Phil wanted to head out to the bar for some celebratory drinks, I wasn't surprised when she gave me her blessing. Now that he was no longer living within walking distance, I knew our get-togethers would be fewer and further between.
When I pulled up in front of Phil's apartment building that evening, I was surprised to see Jessica was still with him. I assumed that she would head back to her place, opting not to spend the evening with a couple of old men at a bar. As soon as she slid into the back seat of my car, the scent of her freshly-cleaned hair and body stirred something inside me that I found intoxicating.
"You clean up nice," I remarked, glancing into the back seat. Boy, did she ever. Compared to the hot mess that I last saw chugging a beer in Phil's apartment, the young woman seated in the back of my car was an absolute goddess. Her hair was perfectly groomed, and fell to her shoulders in gentle ringlets. She wore very light makeup – if any – and she was dressed provocatively in a mid-thigh-length skirt and a sheer top held in place by thin straps across her delicate shoulders.
She looked at me strangely, as if she were waiting for the punchline. I didn't issue compliments to her all that often, as I felt like a dirty old man by doing so. "Thanks," she said at last, smiling broadly. I couldn't help but speculate how many young hearts had been melted with that smile.
We arrived at the bar and ordered our drinks along with some appetizers. Having just moved out of his home, Phil was in a mood to reminisce that night. We replayed many of the best times we shared together with his now former neighbors, from cook-outs to movie marathons at his place to great moments in sports history that we witnessed together. At times, we laughed so hard we nearly pissed ourselves. As the night wore on and the beer continued to flow, Phil's mood became a little more sentimental, and I noticed his eyes began to glisten.
I needed to break the dreary somberness quickly or the poor guy would have dissolved into a pool of tears right there at the bar. "Hey, remember that time at the barbecue when Sully chased Jimmy around the bonfire and tripped over the cooler?"
Phil nearly spit his beer across the table as he burst into laughter. "He...he did a face-plow right there in front of us, and came up spitting grass!"
"And his shorts fell down!" Jessica added, causing us all to double over in red-faced laughter, gasping for air while the other patrons at the bar looked on in amusement.
Phil brought his hands to his face in an attempt to calm himself, and that's when I felt it. A warm, soft hand was placed on my right knee.
I gave no indication to anyone, and pretended as though I couldn't feel the hand that was now slowly stroking my knee. It happened for only a moment before it was removed. I glanced to my right, and Jessica was still laughing as if she hadn't done what we both knew she had done. While I had spent the night sipping my beer in an effort to be a responsible driver, she had been keeping pace with Phil. I suspected they both must have been feeling no pain at that point. Perhaps she didn't even realize that she did it.
"I gotta piss," Phil announced. He rose from the table and had to hold onto his chair to steady himself before he strode to the restroom in a not-so-straight line.
I turned toward Jessica and she smiled. Her dark eyes danced with mischief, and I felt her hand once again rest on my knee. I quickly glanced around to ensure that no one was looking, and then turned to her. She bit her bottom lip and giggled. She began to stroke my knee, and I placed my hand on top of hers.
