She found him at the bar. It was where she expected him to be. Sitting, drinking a local microbrew, watching his football team play. He used to watch the games at home, but lately his wife started complaining about everything and he took any excuse he could find to get out of the house. Even watching the game, alone in this dive bar. "This is almost too easy," she thought to herself, watching him watch the game unaware of her presence. He ran his fingers through his sandy blond hair, just long enough to curl at the ends. His hands looked gentle, she could almost feel them running across her smooth flesh...but not yet she reminded herself.
She was wearing a long coat, a very long coat, almost down to her ankles. It tied around her middle, showing off a slim figure. She'd kept her aviator sunglasses on, though it made it hard to see in the dark bar. "You look like a spy!" Her husband had shouted to her as she left. "Perfect." She'd yelled back as she let the door slam behind her. Things were not going well between them either, perhaps partially because she couldn't keep her eyes (or her thoughts) off his sandy haired, intensely blue-eyed best friend.
She came up behind him, his eyes still glued to the flat screen. The quarterback was in the pocket, the linebackers holding the defense so far. She tapped her fingers gently on his shoulder and he turned to look at her. "Those glasses look rather foreboding," he said, recognizing her right away. She took them off. Their eyes met, a long glance held between them, she could feel herself getting wet already.
"What brings you to this dive?" He asked.
"You." She responded. She could see by his body language he was taken aback at her forwardness, another twinge between her legs. She sat on the stool next to him and ordered whatever he was having.
"I didn't know you liked beer." He said, looking approvingly at her.
"There's a lot you don't know about me." She said laughing coyly. Her beer came and slowly they drank together commenting on the game unfolding in front of them. For a football game it wasn't bad. The teams were evenly matched and both quarterbacks were at the top of their game. Shortly after half time, she put her hand on his leg. At first, it was a friendly type of touch, just two friends, watching football and drinking a beer. But as the game progressed, she edged her hand closer and closer to his inner thigh, until her fingertips brushed against his inseam. It no longer felt friendly.