KENT
Sunday, I played a game of pickup football at the park near the library. It was open to any adult in the area but had a core of dedicated players who I considered my friends. There were always one or two new guys and also a handful of girls who wanted to play along. It was touch football and not tackle, so that made co-ed gameplay possible.
That Sunday, there were no women and just two new players. The rest of the guys were there as always, just waiting for the little league football to end. When it was our turn to take the field, we used all the time allotted to us. It felt good to run and stretch my legs, to revisit some of the glory of my youth. I had that injury, but it didn’t stop me from playing recreationally. Once a week on Sundays with a bunch of other hobbyists didn’t rise to the level of professional ball playing. Through the pickup game, I could still bring home the win.
Several of the guys played high school football, a few played college, and there were even two who had played in the NFL. A few of them were significantly older than me, fifty, maybe even sixty years old. We were all in relatively good shape except for Patrick. Everyone ribbed him about being a couch potato and being wide around the middle. He took it with a good-natured grin and said that it was padding for when he fell down on the field.
I worked hard to maintain my form. I knew a lot of guys who got out of the league and just let themselves go. Not me. I was up at five in the morning to work out before heading into work. I might not be able to put as much weight on my knee as before, but that didn’t stop me from doing hundreds of other exercises.
I had a home gym, and I belonged to a fitness center. I found that I could never have too many options open to me when it came to health and wellness. If I didn’t feel like driving, I could lift weights at home. If I wanted something more social, I could go hang out with other gym bros. If it was a question of money, I had plenty of that.
After the game, I felt better. It still stung that Meara had passed me over for Damien. I knew they had a history, or rather, I learned that they had a history, but I didn’t know that when I invited her to apply for the job. Feeling burned, I focused a lot of my time on exercise, trying to work through the emotions.
Football was just the thing to take my mind off my problems. When I went into the office the next morning, I felt ready to confront both of them. I wouldn’t apologize to Damien, but I would make it known that I had moved past our little tiff and that we could resume our normal business friendship. As for Meara, I would be just as friendly with her as I had been at the party, making sure she felt welcome in our office. It was the least I could do. I wasn’t a beast.
When I got to my office, I found a garish pink box on my desk. Stepping forward to examine it, I peeled the top back.
“Apology cookies,” a voice said from behind me.
I turned to see who it was who had spoken and found myself standing a mere two feet from Meara. She looked as beautiful as ever in a short green skirt with matching jacket. She wasn’t wearing heels that day, and I could see that she was a little bit shorter than I was. It wasn’t that I was overly concerned about my height, but I didn’t like to date tall women. The realization that I had a few inches on her was a revelation. It only made her seem more perfect and made me regret bringing her into the office.
If I had let things be at the party, or even if I had hit on Meara openly so that she knew how I felt, she might not have jumped back into a relationship with Damien. Or, if I avoided inviting her to the office altogether, I wouldn’t have so neatly set the two of them up again.
Hindsight was twenty-twenty and there was no use beating myself up over it. Still, I found myself counting the mistakes I made in the span of a few days and coming up with a depressing total.
“Apology for what?” I asked.
“For not telling you that Damien and I used to be a thing,” she answered. Her hands were behind her back, and by the way her shoulders were working, I could tell she was twisting them together. It was sweet that she was so worried. I couldn’t fault her for that. She didn’t have to think about my feelings at all; no one would even have considered her rude if she just ignored the whole thing.
“Where did you get them?” I asked, persuaded to smile.
“A new friend I met at the party owns a bakery,” Meara said.
I looked down into the box. There were four delicious-looking cookies arranged side by side. It was as if they were made of gold and too important to stack one on top of the other. One appeared to be a sugar cookie, one looked like chocolate chip, the third I was guessing was oatmeal, and the fourth was maybe brownie or chocolate cake if that was a cookie flavor.
“They look great,” I said.
“I hope you enjoy them,” she responded before turning to walk out the door.
I gazed after her, unable to stop myself from staring at her ass as it twitched erotically with every step. She went back to the intern’s room, or at least that’s what I assumed. Damien’s office was also at that end of the hall, so she could be showering him with more affection.
I wished for one aching moment that I was Damien. If I could sink my teeth into that woman and drink my fill, I would make sure it lasted a lifetime. Shaking my head, I had to laugh at myself. I sounded like a vampire. Meara wasn’t a beverage; she was a woman. She had her own mind, and I wasn’t on it.
Although maybe she did think of me occasionally. She’d had the forethought to buy me cookies. I appreciated the gesture, but the substance was lacking. If I ate one of those cookies, I was going to have to spend at least two hours in the gym. Looking down at them, I decided it was worth it.
I picked up the chocolate chip one and took a bite. It was good. Whoever this friend of hers was really knew how to bake. The crust was crisp, but inside it was chewy. The chocolate melted on my tongue, and the sugar-butter ratio was just right. I would have to ask for the friend’s name and maybe visit the shop myself if I was in the neighborhood.
The rest of the day went smoothly. I had a few client meetings and managed to stay on top of the stock market. There was a little dip around midday when some news came out about one of the major media companies. Investors always got nervous when something hit the communications industry. There was so much riding on being able to talk to people, specifically advertising dollars. But the market resumed its upward climb, and by one when I was getting ready for lunch, it had all but rebounded.
I decided to order in and walked around the office to see if anyone else wanted to go in on a meal with me. Sean was always up for delivery. He didn’t care where it was from. I didn’t want pizza, and there was a great little sandwich shop right around the corner. Usually when we ordered lunch, it was from there or from the national pizza franchise.
“Is Tim’s Deli okay?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Sean said. “Get me a turkey on rye.”
I typed that into my app. Swinging by the intern’s room, I caught Meara deep in a conversation with Sam. “I’m ordering sandwiches. Can I get you guys anything?”
“Do they have vegetarian?” Sam asked.