I back up, under the bridge, so we can't see the ballpark.

 

NSG: Come on over here [to the passenger seat].
M: <climbing over> It's hard. 

NSG: Well, yeah, it is, kind of. 

 

+++

NSG: What are you thinking?

M: Hmmm… the car…

NSG: What about the car?

M: We’re in the car. Doing this. In the car.

NSG: You’ve never done it in the car?

M: Uh. No. 

NSG: What do you think?

M: I could do it again.

NSG: Yeah? I should make you follow me [home].

M: Okay.

NSG: What’re you gonna tell [Roommate]? Will she worry?

M: I don’t know. I mean, she’s asleep right now. She’ll worry in the morning.

NSG: Why? Have you ever not come home before?

M: No. Where else would I be?

NSG: I don’t know. Okay, look, can you just drive? Just put on your shirt and panties or something.

M: I don’t know where they are…

NSG: <opens the door> I left my bag out here. Look, I’ve still got all my clothes. I think I have all your clothes, too. 

+++

 

NSG: Heh. You’ll have to tell your husband [about this]. And when he asks you how much older the oldest guy you’ve slept with was… 

M: You’re so romantic.

NSG: Hah! I’ve never been romantic. Or I forgot how.

He plants his hand on my upper thigh, like extreme upper thigh, where it will rest all the way home. Could I want him more? Down the road, he says, “Molly, you’ve got to start telling me no.” 

 

And then that song by Lonestar, “Not A Day Goes By,” comes on. NSG gets excited, turns up the volume. I like this song, but please not that sentiment, not right now. Why couldn’t it have been “I’m Movin’ On”? We pull into his driveway, and he’s still singing along. He can’t find his keys at first, but eventually he opens the door. “I hope you don’t expect furniture. Because there’s not any.” He’s bitter.

 

We go inside. “It still smells like a new house, isn’t that funny?”

+++

 

It starts to get light, and I'm just lying there, watching the sun come up through the back window of his living room. 

NSG: You’re wide awake, aren’t you?

M: Yeah, pretty much.

NSG: Did you sleep at all?

M: Not really. Some.

NSG: There’s gonna be some good emails now.

M: I don’t know…

NSG: I said there’s gonna be some good emails now.

M: I know, but I don’t know if there will be. I don’t really know that there’s much to say. <HAHAHAAAAAAA oh if only this were true.>

NSG: <chuckles, looks at the clock> What time is it? 7:15? We’re fine. You think [Roommate]'s worried about you?

M: Uh, yeah, probably.

He rolls over, pulls his clothes on, gets up. “I don’t have anything to eat or drink in this house.” 

NSG: Let me just look at this… <surveys the stacks of papers on his counter> This is my life, right here. ... How are you doing? I’m kind of freaked out.

M: What do you mean, freaked out, why are you freaked out?

NSG: Just freaked out. Actually, I’m beyond freaked out. You’re in shock, aren’t you?

We go out to the car. “You could’ve gotten my paper, but you didn’t,” he says, as it was under the rear wheel. 

NSG: I can honestly say that that was a first for me. 

M: Really? 

NSG: Yeah, like that, in the fourth-largest city in the country with people all around. I wonder if there was a video camera out there.

 

+++

 

NSG: So where are you gonna drop me off?

M: I don’t know. Where do you want me to drop you off?

NSG: That was supposed to get a laugh out of you.

M: I smiled. 

NSG: I should make you drop me off in front of everybody.

M: Well, I don’t care. It’s not like there’s anything wrong with it. I mean, how do you think people would react?

NSG: I wouldn’t want to be in the control room.

M: What do you mean?

NSG: They would give you a lot of crap. Do you have to work tonight?

M: Yeah.

NSG: That’s rough.

M: You do, too.

NSG: Yeah but I’m old. 

 

He has me drop him off out front. He's worried because there are people there, but it isn’t anybody we know. He says thanks for the ride, leaves the bag that his newspaper came in as a souvenir, and gets out: “Email me later.”

The team was back after a long road trip. The stadium had been re-named. I am feeling slightly giddy. I say to [Roommate]: “You know how Diane Sawyer said she just wanted to forget the first pitch and jump on Brad [Ausmus] when she was here? I’m feeling like that.”

 

NSG says he is going across the street, to Home Plate. [Roommate] says maybe I should go hang out with them because I'm bouncing off walls. And she has a headache and is going home to watch the World Cup. So off I go to Home Plate. NSG sees me when I walk in and gestures to the guy sitting next to him. “This guy is the Dook mascot. She’s a Tar Heel. The only Tar Heel I’ll ever hire.” I say, “I still don’t know why you hired me.” He says, “Well, you were hot.”

 

[Relief pitcher] comes over and buys a round. By the end of the evening there are five of us left: me, NSG, and three other guys from the grounds crew/clubhouse. And I’m tired, and I would leave, but I don’t feel like moving. And one of the other guys keeps saying he’ll walk me to my car, but I’d really prefer to wait for NSG, who is complaining loudly about the now-departed Dook mascot. “I still defend them,” says NSG, “and I shouldn’t.” He talks about the lesbians he encountered in a bar in Arizona. K makes a rude gesture, and I make a face. B says, “K, we have a lady here.” NSG looks over, grabs me and pulls me to him, and says, “Nah, Molly’s been around the block.” He laughs.

 

It seems as if we might actually have a conversation; he says, “Okay, I’m coming over there,” and sits down beside me. I’m wearing a skirt tonight, and I've got my legs crossed, and the crossed one hits his leg. He says, “Okay, you’re rubbing my leg there.” I say, “Sorry,” and move. “Well, you can do it,” he says, “just take your shoe off first.” I don’t. But then he starts rubbing my knee. And then he starts going up my thigh. All the while continuing conversations with B and K. I am having trouble breathing normally. Whenever someone walks by, he stops, but it's not like he's really hiding anything. And then he goes for it all and sticks his hand right between my legs. In the bar! In front of people! This goes on for a few minutes, and then it’s time to leave. 

K gives me this unbelievably cheesy “thanks-for-coming” speech as NSG and B walk out. B asks NSG where he’s parked. NSG says, “I’m just gonna walk Molly to her car, and then I’m parked over in the building.”

 

He asks if it’s hard to walk in my shoes, which were my tall shoes this time. I say, “No, do I really look uncomfortable in them?” He shrugs, smiles slightly, and says, “You look hot in them.”

 

We get to the car; he walks around to the passenger side and arranges himself there with his bag shoved in between his legs. 

 

NSG: Let’s just sit here a minute. Why is your light on? Is it gonna go off?

M: Yeah, it should.

Then it does and he leans over and starts kissing me. I laugh. You would think I would be able to stop that impulse by now.

NSG: Why are you laughing? Why did you laugh?

M: Because it surprised me… that was so abrupt.

NSG: Yeah… You can always tell me to stop.

M: But I don’t want you to stop.

NSG: You should. … Okay, back up under the bridge.

M: Why?

NSG: So we don’t get caught. And I don’t want to see the ballpark.

After the game, at Home Plate, I sat down next to K2 from the grounds crew.

 

K: You don’t like beer much, huh?

M: Eh, I mean, I’ll drink it, if someone else is buying. … But I got drunk the other night and no one took advantage.

K: Did you want a certain someone to take advantage?

M: Uh, I’m gonna plead the fifth there.

K: I’ll take that as a yes. … Just go over there and sit down. He’s a guy. He won’t turn you down. And if you keep doing that thing with your beer bottle, he might get tight.

 

I wasn’t doing anything consciously with my beer bottle, so I can’t duplicate it. Sadly. I did go over there and sit down after a while, but it wasn’t the right time.

NSG: Did you go out last night?

M: No, did you?

NSG: No I did not.

M: Huh. I, uh, I went home and went to bed.

NSG: Alone?

M: Yes…

NSG: How’s your best friend, do you talk to her every day?

M: She’s good. She and Josh broke up.

NSG: Really? Why? Who did it?

M: He did. He got kicked out of police academy and then just told her he didn’t think he wanted to be in a relationship anymore. But she doesn’t seem too broken up about it.

NSG: Is it a shock?

M: Well, I thought they’d end up married, but I thought she could do better.

NSG: Yeah, you said that.

M: I was glad she came. It was good. And she didn’t laugh at me.

NSG: I should’ve taken the two of you home with me. <grins> She should come back. … That’s gross. Tell me that’s gross.

M: That’s gross. I can’t believe you said that.

NSG: Well, now you’re going too far.

M: <shrugs> Okay, I can believe you said that. You shouldn’t have said that.

NSG: Why not? I’ve always wondered what that would be like, what kind of guy you have to be to pull it off.

M: Have you ever tried it?

NSG: <with his best “what-a-stupid-question” look> No! I’ve never had the guts to try it.

M: Well, you said, that one time in Durham…

NSG: No, that was just, there were a bunch of us, and we were all friends, and we just started doing stuff. And I went, wait a minute, what are we doing here? We just messed around.

In the game, the starting pitcher leaves after the second inning with a strained intercostal muscle. A few minutes later, after [Friend] makes the announcement, NSG says, “What would you announce if a guy strained his penis? Strained groin?” [Friend] just looks at him, rather incredulously, and goes, “That’s not normal,” and shakes his head. A minute later, he comes back with, “Where do you come up with this stuff?” NSG says, “I was just sitting here thinking about it.”

 

After the game we went across the street to the bar, where I drank too much. After a while NSG stands up, starts telling everyone good-bye, and then looks back at me.

NSG: Where are you parked?

M: B Lot. Wanna walk me to my car?

NSG: Yeah. <I get up, go over to where he’s standing, but it takes him a minute to notice.> Oh, there you are. 

 

NSG: You’re walking slow. <I was, but then I was drunk, so I was concentrating more on walking straight.> You and your [infamous baseball PR woman] shoes.

M: That’s mean.

NSG: That was mean, huh?

M: Yeah.

NSG: You walk out here alone at night?

M: Well, [Roommate]’s usually with me.

NSG: Oh, that’s great. Like she’s gonna kick somebody’s ass.

M: She would.

NSG: So. The infamous B Lot.

M: Heh. Yeah. ... So I still need your advice about this job thing.

NSG: Well, baseball’s no good right now. I don’t think you should take another internship.

M: Then what am I supposed to do?

NSG: I don’t know. … Lemme think about that. 

 

I drop him at his car and he tells me to be careful, and then he leaves. 

+++

 

The next day he says, "They busted me when I got back. They said I was gone for like an hour. I told them no way was it an hour."

My best friend came to visit me in Houston. She had been apprised of the situation. I introduced her to everyone at work, and then we all went over to the bar across the street after the game. NSG sat down and looked over at me, and then looked at Kristen.

 

NSG: So this is your best friend… And you had to say that, too, could you have made it any more uncomfortable?

M: No, it shouldn’t have been. It’s all good, though – she approves.

NSG: Approves? <laughs> How much does she know?

M: Uhhh… enough…

NSG: Yeah, but how much does she know, like details?

M: Well, I don’t know… she knows it happened.

NSG: I can’t believe you didn’t tell [roommate].

M: I couldn’t tell [roommate].

NSG: Why – you don’t think she’d approve?

M: No, I don’t think she’d approve… and I think she’d be disappointed. Did you want to tell her?

NSG: No! <He widened his eyes, kind of smiled.> 

I had finished my drink by this point, and I was sucking on the ice cubes, but I was picking them out one by one, and I happened to drop one, and it hit my foot and then the floor. Which is not necessarily funny, except that I looked over at Kristen and she was smiling because she saw me do it, so I started giggling.

NSG: What, why are you laughing?

M: <looks at him> I just dropped an ice cube.

NSG: Where? <he looks down at my chest> On your boobs?

M: <laughs> No! On my foot.

NSG: Mmm. <looks at my chest> It could get lost in there. 

 

NSG: So you’re from Durham? How long have you two known each other?

K: Um, since high school, really.

NSG: Did you go to Carolina?

M: Ha. … No, she was a Dook fan. 

K: I go to school in Boston.

NSG: Do you like it up there?

K: Not really.

NSG: <eyes wide> How can you not like it there?!? I love Boston. <to me> She doesn’t like Boston!

M: <shrugs> I know. I liked it when I went up there. She wants to move back to North Carolina.

NSG: Well, I want to move back to North Carolina. <I swear, the man is a walking contradiction. This is why it’s so hard to know what he’s thinking.>

M: I don’t know what it is with you dookies.

NSG: I’m not a dookie. 

NSG: So, when did you tell her? 

M: <looks at Kristen> Uhh, when did I tell you? … I think it was the day after.

NSG: Yeah, I think you told me that at lunch… Does she know details?

M: She knows enough.

NSG: That we hooked up? 

M: I think, basically, that’s it. I mean, I told her what happened.

NSG: What…?

M: You were there…

NSG: Details?

M: <looks at Kristen> What did I tell you?

K: It’s kind of fuzzy.

NSG: Oh, it’s not fuzzy. <I was so glad he said that – I was worried that he didn’t remember.>

M: <at the same time> It’s not fuzzy. … She knows more on how I feel about this whole thing, that’s all.

NSG: And how do you feel? Oh, T.J.’s coming back now. 

 

After I finished my third drink, I looked at Kristen and said I shouldn’t drive. She just kind of nodded. NSG looked concerned. 

NSG: Can’t she drive home?

M: She doesn’t want to.

NSG: I’m leaving. … Do you need a ride?

M: Nah, it’s all right.

NSG: <to Kristen> She can give you directions and you could drive.

K: Yeah…

M: I could say something about that but I won’t.

NSG: You’re always doing that. I hate it when you do that. You know, I don’t have many pet peeves, but that’s one of them, when you start something and then you won’t say it. ‘Oh, it’s nothing.’ I don’t know what you’re thinking.

M: She knows what I’m thinking.

NSG: What’s she thinking?

K: Uhh…

NSG: Ohh, you’re just like her!

M: I just thought it might be funny if I said she could drive home alone but then I decided it wouldn’t be funny, so I didn’t say it.

NSG: <grins> That’s good. Heh. How would you explain that to [roommate]? … You’d think of something. What I need to do is take you both home with me; think of the stories I could tell with that.

M: Yeah, how would we explain that to [roommate]?

NSG: Eh, I don’t know… I haven’t done that since I lived in Durham.

M: Done what, exactly?

NSG: Gone home with two girls. We just messed around. … I couldn’t do that. … All right, I’m leaving. Where’d you park?

 

He walked us to the car. I couldn't stop giggling, and he asked again why I was laughing. I said it was because I had three drinks and I only ate fruit for dinner. Then we got back to the you-start-something-but-don’t-finish-it thing, and I told him I kept laughing because he kept making faces at me and I didn’t know what to do. He’d look at me, and his eyes would just kind of slide over me, so then I’d watch him right back, and I want him, so I was smiling. And he was making faces, like he didn’t know what he wanted to do. Or something.

NSG: What kind of faces?

M: I don’t know! I don’t know what you’re thinking, either!

We stood there for a minute, just looking at each other, and neither of us really knew what to do, I don’t think. 

NSG: All right, I gotta go. It’s 25 miles back [home]. I’m gonna go home and eat Cap’n Crunch. Be safe.

 

Then he left. We got in the car. Kristen was driving.

K: You gotta stop giggling. 

M: I know, but I can’t help it. And he does the same thing to me; he won’t tell me what he’s thinking. He was making faces all night long.  

K: Right after you said that, he just looked you up and down. I was like, ‘Oh, God…’

M: I didn’t know he did that! I knew he was looking down my shirt, but I didn’t know he did that… K: YEAH. And he kept going on about details! I thought once you said ‘enough,’ he’d get the idea, but he kept pushing. And he just said that part about hooking up right in front of that guy, T.J.! 

Tim had gotten a new job and was leaving the Astros. I was sitting at home watching Dawson’s Creek after I went running, when he called me out of nowhere. He says there’s this job, where I would sit in the control room and watch the games on a monitor and log highlights. He can get it for me before he leaves. Would I be interested? I say yes, but I do have this other job that could get in the way.

 

“You don’t have to answer right away,” he says. “Hey, I’m starving. Do you want to go grab some food somewhere? We could talk about the job some more. Or whatever.” Hmm. Okay. “How about 8?” he says. “Will that give you enough time? … And I won’t show off anything this time.” 

 

So. We meet for dinner. He talks about how he has sworn off drinking for a month, because first of all he wanted to be more healthy, and then also because now he has a bet on it. His betting partner said there was no way he’d be able to stay away from alcohol for a month. But he says the hardest part was the first week, when he was at Spring Training, and now that he’s back it doesn’t even matter. And then he said it was part of remaking Tim as a person, because he used to be naïve innocent Tim and he wanted to get back there. This is because he met a girl, one that he really liked, thought he could hit it off with, but she didn’t want to get together because of his past. (I’m thinking “naïve innocent Tim"? You’ve got to be kidding.)

 

Then he says he felt bad about his little exhibitionist act after the Super Bowl. Says he was sitting around afterward, drinking, and felt bad because he didn’t know me all that well, and he just whipped it out there. I tell him I thought it was funny, but for some reason I wasn’t expecting it, and it just caught me off guard. I don’t know why it caught me off guard; we were joking about it all night long, and then he went to show me the garage. Hello? But I wasn’t expecting it, really, and I was just a little bit shocked. 

 

Then he says he really rather likes the whole exhibitionist idea; that’s how he ended up on his balcony in [home city] naked when he went home for the holidays. “How do you think my arms got so strong?” he says. This starts a nice little discussion about masturbation. He thinks it’s easier for girls, because he’s known some girls who can do it at work and he can’t. I disagree, because guys, all they need is their hand, and for girls, it’s a lot easier with outside stimulation. “Like a picture or physical?” he asks. (Somehow it’s not all that weird to be discussing this with him. Which in itself is weird.) Then he says that he has this friend, a girl, and they have a great relationship; they can have sex if they’re not seeing anyone else, no strings attached, and she made a videotape of him spanking the monkey. (I asked if he was on the balcony at the time. He said no.) But then she started dating someone and so she gave it back. 

 

Then we finish dinner and he says, “So. Where do you want to go now?” Uhh. “We could go back to my place,” he says. “Or Little Woodrow’s, but since neither of us really drinks… Let’s go back to my place; we can park there and go to the bar after that.” Well, I’m not all that keen on going back to his place, not that he seems to want anything, but still, it just doesn’t seem like that great of an idea. But we get to his place; he gives me the tour, says he wants to change. He does, and then I’m sitting on the couch, and he says, “You know, we can just hang out here.”

 

So we hang out, watch TV; he shows me his photo album, starting from when Tim was a baby. Then we re-visit the conversation we had after the Super Bowl, because I can’t get past it. “Yeah,” he says. “I was just walking with [coworker] one day, and saw you and I did a double-take and went, whoa, I don’t think she’s wearing a bra. I went, ‘[Coworker], did you see that?’ And he went, ‘What? Molly?’ So I don’t think he noticed. There’s a lot he doesn’t know. But after that I made it part of my daily routine to check on that. I mean, I didn’t go out of my way, but every time I saw you… Did you notice that?” I said maybe once or twice I realized he was looking at my chest; really, I didn’t pay all that much attention – I had no idea it looked like I maybe wasn’t wearing a bra. “I mean, like today, you’re fine,” he says. “You’re all covered, and so I know you’re wearing one. But it was summer.” 

 

That was it. Watched TV for a while, finally said I had to leave. He said, “Yeah, well think about the job and give me a call.”   

 

Much later, I told NSG guy about this encounter (and the Super Bowl exhibition) and he was flabbergasted that nothing had happened. I don't know. Like I said, it was a weird vibe. Soon after this Tim started dating [future wife] so I don't know if maybe he actually was talking about her? Or if it was just a fishing expedition? Missed opportunity? 

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."