Page 12 of Penalty Shot
“I love spending time with you. Of course, I do. But waiting around for when I’m free is boring and you know it.”
The only reason I’m even home tonight with my friends is because we recently wrapped up. I won’t commit to anything until I get news on my submission to Imagination Ohio. But whether or not my play is picked, summers are all about outdoor theater or the destination camps I’ve taught at for years. It’s my busiest time.
“It is not boring to check out new places or vacation with my daughter!”
“Your daughter is busy with a dead-end job and a pipe dream. Stop pretending that you don’t know what I’m talking about. A date with a nice guy might be fun. Give it a try.”
She stares at me and realizes that although I’ve brought up this topic in the past, tonight I am stubbornly serious.
“Where would I meet a man my age to date, anyway?”
Bingo!Well, not literally, since she already plays bingo with a bunch of folks much older than her. I mean this is further than we’ve gotten in my past tries. The fact that she’s talking about any man—even a hypothetical one—is a step in the right direction.
“There are awesome online dating sites. Well-vetted and secure, so you don’t have to give your personal contact information until you’re ready.”
“How do you make contact if they don’t have your contact information?” she asks with a side pout, like she has her doubts but will save her full pouts for important topics. It’s an Asian mom thing.
“On the site itself. You put up a picture and a few bits of information you want to share. Let’s set it up and see what’s out there.”
“Maybe,” she says resignedly and presses the play button. That’s almost a yes.
I’ll start her profile tomorrow.
She’s a mythical creature. The stuff of urban legends. The face of an innocent angel and the mind of a sex goddess. A woman who says she doesn’t want commitment and freaking means it.
I called her when I got back from the Mavericks away games in New York and New Jersey. Guess what this mythical creature said? “I’d love to hook up, but I can’t do anything serious right now. Or like, ever. Is that OK?”
She expresses what I wish I could say out loud. Except if those words come from me, I’m a jackass. From her? Poetry.
“Let me make sure I got all your rules straight,” I had said in mock sternness. “Not at your place and not at mine. No sleepovers. And nothing serious. Is that it?” My face was split in a grin so wide my cheeks strained.
“Yes, sir,” she had teased back.
She said that again when I told her to hold on to the hotel headboard later that night.
It’s been almost two weeks since we met. Elise was not kidding about keeping things light. At least in the commitment part, because everything else is heavy. When I think about how she took me in her mouth the last time we went for a drive, my balls turn to dumbbells.
The thing is, I can get casual hookups on the regular. But the blurring of faces gets old. And I like Elise’s facea lot. She has a way of smiling that’s a bit restrained, like there’s a secret she’s hiding till the perfect moment.
I get to have casual sex with a person who I wouldn’t mind having a beer and a cheeseburger with. That’s a freaking miracle.And knowing she doesn’t give a fuck about hockey is a bonus. No exclusive dating and no hockey player fetish; just great sex with a fascinating woman.
Why would I see anyone else? Wait, neither is she, right?
We never talked about being exclusive, because that’s not a conversation you have with someone you’re hooking up with. I consider the possibility of Elise seeing other people and reject it outright. Nah, neither of us have the time. Which is what makes our arrangement one hundred percent flawless.
I’m already sweating, and I haven’t even entered the building that houses the theater department at Statehouse Community College in downtown Columbus. My cock is so stiff, I have to wear a jacket to walk around when I know I’m heading her way. Fifty minutes. She said she could spare some of that fifty minutes between classes for a quickie.
The face of an innocent angel and the mind of a sex goddess.
Past the front entrance of her building, I find myself in a busy area with students milling around, sitting on loungers, and walking while looking down at their phones. More than one bodily crash is barely averted.
I keep my head down and my baseball cap low to blend in. Walking along the outskirts of the bustling area, I stop in front of a large bulletin board displaying production posters and flyers for drama club meetings, improv nights, and guest speaker events. There’s one pamphlet that has Elise featured in front of a classroom, her face excited and arms mid-gesture. Before I realize what I’m doing, I take it down and stuff it in my pocket. You never know when I’ll be asked to give a theater degree recommendation.
I recheck her text directions to one of the “theater labs.” Down a hallway past an orchestra rehearsal and another room with tap dancers. Further in the building, there’s the ramp she warned me about. Follow and enter the double doors. Got it.
She’s at the center of a low stage, only three steps higher than the main floor. The room is barely lit, but her white shirt glows. I close the door behind me, guiding the latch quietly. Staying still in the shadows at the edges of what appears to be a pentagon room with chairs all around the stage, I watch her work.
She’s got her back to me and moves erratically. Reading something from a stack of papers, waving her arms as if to measure the distance between imaginary things, dropping down to mark the floor. It’s fascinating to see her in deep concentration. She turns enough so I get a profile of her little nose and cute chin. Grabbing the pencil between her teeth, Elise jots something down.
