It began innocently enough as a chick to chick talk between myself and Zoey, my college roommate, about the hottest guys among the rich and famous. Liam Hemsworth. Josh Hutcherson. Nick Jonas. Daniel Radcliffe.
"And don't forget hunks like Brad Pitt and George Clooney," I said, aware that Zoey's list was top-heavy with guys not much older than us.
"Superb specimens of masculinity, for sure, Megan," Zoey said, "but too old. I mean, George and Brad are over fifty, aren't they?"
"I'd drop my panties for them in a heartbeat," I said. "That is, if they craved some extracurricular fun outside their marriage with hot, nubile femmes such as ourselves."
"Even if they did, you'd have one long wait. If you want to do an older man, you'd better look outside of Hollywood."
"Hmm, you might be on to something," I said. "Like Jacksonville, for instance." Jacksonville, a small burg outside a major metro area, is where Zoey and I grew up. We had been close since grade school, so close that we shared an off campus apartment at the state university.
Zoey laughed. "Really Megan? Name one older guy in Jacksonville who you find attractive?"
"Well, I can think of one," I said, giving her a wicked look. "And we both know who that is."
Zoey shook her head and signed. "Geez, Megan, you're incorrigible. You've still got a thing for him, don't you? I meant someone else besides my DAD. He's married, not to mention that he's my dad."
I had made no secret of my hots for Grant Sorenson, Zoey's forty-something dad. He was one good looking hombre, tall, dark and handsome, pardon the cliché. The guy looked like he stepped out of an ad for After Six formal wear—sophisticated, distinguished, yet also full of boyish charm. I developed a crush on Mr. Sorenson during my freshman year in high school. He, Zoey and Rachel, her mom, lived just a few blocks from my family, so Zoey and I were over each other's houses all the time. They had an in-ground pool where I'd swim during summer weekends. Mr. Sorenson would be there, of course, swimming and tanning himself, looking seriously jacked in his bathing suit (add hard and muscular to the tall, dark and handsome part). He noticed me too; or at least I think he did. But then guys of all ages notice me. Not to brag, but I've been called a brunette Ashley Benson. I'm a couple inches taller; but, like Ashley, I have blue eyes, long, wavy tresses, high cheek bones, a full, sensuous mouth. My bod? Well, I've had no complaints from the guys I've been with. One drawer in my dresser is devoted to outfits from Victoria's Secret, gifts from one former boyfriend who figured that if my plans to become a TV news broadcaster didn't pan out, I could always model for the company.
But back to the conversation with Zoey.
"I know he's married," I said. "But you can't tell me that a man who looks like that doesn't get hit on once in a while."
"I wouldn't know," Zoey said, testily. "But even if he did, he wouldn't stray. He and mom have a rock-solid marriage, committed and devoted. My dad's too moral of a guy for that."
"Well, I'm sure your parents are committed and, as you say, you're dad's a moral guy. But I'll bet if the right opportunity came along, if he was approached by the right woman, he'd at least consider her offer, perhaps even take her up on it."
"And I'll bet you're wrong."
"How much?"
"How much what?"
"How much are you willing to bet?"
"You're serious about this, aren't you?" Zoey said, looking somewhat bemused.
"Completely serious. And I doubt I need to mention who that right woman might be."
As you might imagine, Zoey was less than comfortable with our bet, the idea of her good friend attempting to seduce her dad. Grudgingly, she went along, if only because the loser had to buy the winner a ticket to see Bruce Springsteen in concert. We both were huge fans of "The Boss," who was coming to our area in the summer. Besides that, she felt supremely confident in her assertion that her dad would never go for it. "He might flirt, that's about it," she said, ending our conversation on the subject.
***********************************************
We made that bet late into spring semester of our junior year. Summer was around the corner. Soon, Zoey's pool would be filled and, as in previous summers, I'd be over there, making my bikini-clad presence known, maybe even felt, pardon the pun. But so would Rachel, not to mention Zoey. My challenge was getting her dad alone, no mean feat considering the logistics involved.
I figured I'd start at his place of business, Sorenson Motors. Founded by his late dad as a Toyota dealership, Sorenson had grown by leaps and bounds since Grant came onboard as CEO. In addition to Toyotas, Sorenson also sold Hondas, Ford's and Nissans at several locations. Given that my old Jetta was practically shot, I had been looking for a new car anyway, so it seemed like a natural place to launch my "campaign." So, shortly after returning home from school, I paid him a visit.
He greeted me warmly in his office, spacious and wood paneled, its walls laden with plaques from the chamber of commerce and Toyota, awards for excellent service and sales. "Hi there, Megan," he said. "How did you make out in school?" He looked great in his summer-weight, blue pinstripe suit, blue button-down dress shirt and yellow tie.
I took a seat in front of his desk and crossed my legs, making sure he got an eyeful. He couldn't help it, what with my yellow and white dress hemmed halfway up to Canada. "I pulled a three-five," I said, watching him watching me, trying to be discreet but not succeeding very well. What healthy, virile guy could when face to face with a hot young chick, her legs exposed all the way up to her red thong underwear?
