At Bud Ryan's house back in the 70's it was common practice for his three or four of his friends and co-workers to come to his house on Monday nights during the football season to drink beer, play some cards and then watch the new phenomenon known as Monday Night Football on the TV.
The group gathered at Bud Ryan's place because after his wife passed he became both mother and father to his daughter Quinn, who was the last of the Ryan kids still home since her older brothers had already gone out on their own. The men didn't go to Bud's place because of the TV, which was no great shakes, or for the ambiance of the house which was decidedly lower middle class, but at least there was nobody there to complain when they would hoot, holler and occasionally puke. They kept coming to Bud Ryan's even after his daughter was old enough to be home alone.
Quinn Ryan always stayed in her room studying during these gatherings, and since her grades were good enough for her to get into the local community college the Monday night shenanigans didn't seem to hurt her. Quinn could have closed her bedroom door to kill much of the noise, but the very introverted teen liked to listen, and besides at one point every week she would get a visitor and she began to look forward to it.
Richard Oliver, Mr. Oliver to Quinn, was a friendly guy who was easily her favorite of the men that came over, and that was even before he started to pay special attention to her. Richard Oliver was divorced and drove a truck for a living, and that was all she knew about him except unlike the other guys he never swore and although he was a burly guy and had big hands he seemed to be a gentle soul.
One Monday night in late October wasn't much different from the others at first, with Quinn tidying up the place after getting home from college. After slicing up the sharp cheddar and setting the bowl of chips on the kitchen/poker table she did what she always did, made herself scarce by taking a can of soda into her room and go study.
One by one she heard her father's friends come into the house, three of them this week apparently and each with his own distinctive voice. As they played poker and began to drink the voices got louder and more profane, and Quinn left the door slightly ajar as they began to file by to use the bathroom before the football game began. Quinn enjoyed the eavesdropping, even when her name came up a couple of times, and as they got more drunk the men got more goofy.
Except Mr. Oliver. He drank but never seemed to get drunk like the others, and although he yelled at the TV on occasion, once the game began his tone was different. The guys all seemed to yell the most at the announcer with the annoying voice, Howard something, and as the time passed Quinn tipped the door open a bit more so that Mr. Oliver would e sure to see her light was on.
Mr. Oliver would always come by sometime between when that Howard guy would babble about the highlights at halftime and when that cowboy would sing, "The Party's Over". That usually meant the game was nearly done, or so Quinn thought given her lack of football knowledge, but it wasn't long after halftime that she heard her door creak more open and the familiar footsteps came behind her.
"Hello beautiful," Mr. Oliver said as he squatted next to her seat at the desk. "What's the subject tonight? Physics?"
"Hi Mr. Oliver," Quinn chirped as she turned to face her guest. "Good game?"
"Not really. I came in here for some sanity," he replied as he looked over Quinn's shoulder at her book. "I did win a buck fifty at cards, so if you want to run away with me I'm flush."
"You'll have to ask my Dad."
"I'd have to wake him up first," he explained. "The Bills are getting their butts kicked so he lost interest."
"Guess that means he won't be yelling looking for you like last week," Quinn opined.
"Nice blouse," Mr. Oliver said, changing the subject to her rather drab lavender blouse that was ancient. "Funny thing that you're breaking out the sexy clothes and now the weather's getting cold."
"Sexy?" Quinn laughed and then stifled a sigh when like the last couple weeks her father's friend put his hand on her forearm which was on the desk, and she shivered when his fingers began to move slightly up and down from her elbow to her wrist.
"I think so," Richard Oliver replied as he slid his fingers lightly over Quinn furry forearm and watched the long downy hairs flutter as he stroked. "Cold?"
"No," Quinn said in a shaky voice, the both of them aware of the goose bumps on the flesh below.
"This feels so nice. So soft," he purred in her ear. "You seem to like it when I do this."
"What if my Dad came in here now?" Quinn asked.
"You have another arm," he quipped, and she laughed at that so he added. "He has already accused me of being sweet on you."
"I know. I heard him say that a couple weeks ago," Quinn answered. "I heard the other guys laugh too."
"You hear everything in here, don't you?" Mr. Oliver said.
"Just about."
"You look like you're ready to fall asleep," he noted when he saw Quinn close her eyes.
"No, just enjoying this. It's relaxing," she admitted. "Sometimes I find myself doing that too."
"Hmm..." he mused as he slid his hand up the outside of her arm up to where the loose sleeve hung. "Do you do this too?"
"Sometimes," Quinn mumbled, her heart racing at this unexpected touching, and that heart rate doubled when her guest's fingers slid back down to her elbow and up the inside of her arm.
"And this?" he asked as his fingers crept up further, and Quinn's eyes popped open, staring at Mr. Oliver when he moved his finger up under the sleeve when suddenly a voice from the living room interrupted his progress.
"Hey Big Dick, the Eagles are going to score again!" a voice Quinn recognized as Mr. Willard's yelled, and while Mr. Oliver was annoyed he was startled enough to pull his hand away.
"Just as well," he said as he rose from his kneeling position.
"Big Dick?" Quinn said with a giggle. "Should I call you that?"
"That's the stupidity I came in here to avoid. Remember that I asked you to call me Richard before but you didn't pay any attention to that," he said as he started to leave but stopped and leaned down to whisper in Quinn's ear. "I want to see you. Not like this."
"Are you drunk?" Quinn giggled nervously.
"No. I've been nursing one beer for over an hour," Richard said.
"I don't understand," Quinn admitted as her guest moved towards the door.
"Then I guess you aren't as smart as I think you are," he declared. "Think about it. I'm not being anything but honest when I tell you how attracted I am to you."
Then he was gone and a half hour later the teen realized she had been staring at the open book in front of her as if in a trance. From the sounds coming from the living room it seemed like the football game was over so after thinking long and hard she wrote a little note. Quinn folded it up and after turning off her bedroom light went to the door, leaving it only open enough to see who went by to use the bathroom before leaving.
