When I worked for the Astros, that first year, there were three guys that I was attracted to. One was totally unsuitable, let's call him NSG. One would have been suitable (for the season at least) but he was not into it. One has always sort of been an enigma. He never really made a move, and I never really knew if I wanted him to. I was hung up on the unsuitable guy, and this guy, let's call him Tim, seemed like he might be interested but he never pushed it. It was weird. I've always wondered, looking back, if it was a missed opportunity.

Anyway, Tim was hosting a Super Bowl party at his old house. (He had since moved into an apartment, but had access to this house, which had a "jungle room" and a hot tub.) I get to the party late, because I'd had to work, so I’m hanging out, talking to Tim, and I ask him if I can see the Jungle Room. 

T: Well, there’s this rule. If you want to go in there, you have to go topless.

M: Maybe we could compromise? You could have a little peek or something?

T: Maybe. ... Come on. I’ll take you on the tour.

We go on the tour. The Jungle Room is nice but doesn’t really seem all that exotic. You could see straight over to the front door, so you could see in or out, and there was this cool couch, but it wasn’t any great shakes.

T: Oh. Darn. I didn’t make you take off your shirt.

M: Yeah, sorry, too late. Now I’ve seen the Jungle Room.

T: Yeah... Well, hey, do you want to see, um, the garage? Yeah! I could show you the garage...

M: No, it’s too late, you missed your chance.

T: I knew it! 

Game happens. Now it's the fourth quarter. Tim keeps asking if I want to see the, uh, garage. (“It got flooded,” he says. “I can show you where.”) I keep laughing. Then he says that NSG is alone in the Jungle Room. NSG? Alone? Hmm. So I return to the Jungle Room, thinking, I wonder if Tim knows why I’m going there.

So NSG is there; we chat. He says the Jungle Rooms needs a door, because it’s too exposed; I agree. I was leaning on a pillow; he pulled it out from under me, said, “That’s pretty funny, huh?” He’s stretched out on the couch, with his shoes off. He looks up at me. I ask if he’s comfy; he says yeah. Then Tim comes in, and NSG says, “You know I drove by [my ex]’s place last night.” Tim nods, says, “Well, yeah, that’s what I figured.” NSG says, “My nieces had found her address online, and so I just drove over there. It’s like three miles from the ballpark, in the Heights. I just went around a corner and went, ‘Oh yeah, there’s my car.’ ” 

Tim nods, goes about his business. He’s very laid-back. It makes him hard to read. Apparently NSG had some mail that belonged to his ex, and just went and gave it to her.

The game ends. NSG says it’s his last weekend living the good life and then it’s back to it. Because the College Classic is the next weekend and then he’s leaving for Spring Training. We re-join the rest of the party. I tell Tim the Jungle Room was fun. “With NSG?” he asks, looking rather interested. I just meant the room, I tell him. Then we’re all kind of standing around, and Tim says something to the effect of “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” So I’m playing along, pull up my shirt a little bit, only NSG sees. His eyes get big. 

NSG: What’s going on here?

M: Oh, Tim’s trying to make me take off all my clothes.

NSG: Why is he trying to make you take off your clothes? 

M: Because he showed me the Jungle Room.

T: This has been some year.

NSG: Yeah, ended up with me and Molly in the Jungle Room watching the Super Bowl...

Then Tim said, “Come on, I’ll show you the garage.” So I walk off with him. (All right. This makes me sound really naïve and stupid, but I didn’t think anything about it. I mean, we were joking around all night, so I went back with him, but I didn’t think anything was going to happen.) We get to the garage; there’s also a bedroom back there, with an outdoor shower. It was his, he says, when he lived there. Then, the garage. He points to the corner. “There’s where it got flooded,” he says. “The water just started rushing in right there. ... Here you go.” I turn around to see what he meant by this last part and, oh yes, there he is in all his glory, he’s whipped the crown jewel out for me to see. I’m pretty sure my mouth dropped, but, well, he was holding it, so I looked, and then I looked back up at him, and he goes, “Okay, now it’s your turn.” And I thought I could do it, even, it’s not that big a deal, but I just couldn’t. Which I said to him. He shrugged, said okay. Then he goes to turn off the lights, says, “You could do it now, with the lights off. No one would know. You could pretend you’re in New Orleans.” (That’s where the Super Bowl was.) And I considered it, I really did, but I couldn’t do it.

He seemed okay with it; we re-joined the party. Which was breaking up. The girl who Tim would later go on to marry came over to me and said I was blocking her in; could I move my car? I said sure; here was a ready-made excuse to leave. Anyway, NSG yelled good-bye, see you Thursday; then I backed the car up so [future wife] could get out. And Tim's standing there, because we sort of had this unfinished business.

T: So can I ask you a question? Did you sometimes go braless in the press box last season?

M: No! You know, I’m not exactly small; I can’t go without a bra.

T: Well, I know, but there was just this one time, when I saw you walking or something, and I went, ‘Gosh, I don’t think she’s wearing a bra.’ I had always thought you weren’t very adventurous about sex before that, but then I wasn’t sure. I mean, I thought, well, if she goes braless...

NO. NO I DID NOT GO BRALESS. I JUST WEAR UNLINED BRAS. 

Boys are annoying. 

It all started the night of the Rose Bowl. A bunch of people had gone out, and I joined them at the bar after I got off work. The game is 37-14 Miami and not even that close. “I tried to get them to change it to NBC but they wouldn’t,” NSG says. “I’d rather watch nine episodes of Friends than this.” He is also excited because he almost got into a fight with two guys because they were cheering for the Big 12. But everyone else is winding down by the time I get there, and he is trying to convince them to have another round.  

“I’m the oldest person here, and I ran three miles today,” says NSG. “So you all need to stay.” He gets a fresh bucket, gives beer to the guys he almost fought with and then brings the rest back to the table and passes them around. NSG wants to go to a different bar. No one else does. 

"Molly’ll go with me," he says. "Molly likes me."

NSG: … You know, this is my last year in sports. 

 

 

He sings karaoke: "Why Don't We Get Drunk And Screw."

 

Then somebody he used to work with comes up and she’s like, “Hey, buy me a beer,” and he’s hedging, and she goes, “No, come on, I’m serious, buy me a beer. Don’t you want one?” Finally he turns around, asks if I want anything, orders a beer for her and a Coke for himself, as he is obviously planning to drive. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?” he asks. I nod. “You can share my Coke,” he says. He gets the Coke, and you can still see somebody’s lip imprint on the glass, like they ran it through the dishwasher but it didn’t quite come off, and I notice, so I’m looking kind of hard at it, and NSG sees me staring, says, “What?” So I tell him, look, there’s a lip imprint on the glass. He says, “We could lick it off.” He licks it, pushes it my way. “Now you do it.” I do, and he grins, because I don’t think he expected me to actually do it. “I kinda liked that."