Thanks. Well, I think you'd make a great dad.
Sam watched her eat. So what are you going to do about your friends now we've had this conversation?
I'm quitting being a cheerleader for a start. Maybe I'll join a legal studies group or something.
After she'd finished eating, Sam cleaned up and packed his bag for the day ahead. I can't offer you a ride, we walked home last evening, he said.
No problem. Let's walk to campus together.
They left Sam's apartment and headed towards the tower that was Westchester's main building.
You live so close to work, it's great, Lizzie said.
I hate sitting in traffic, so being so close is really an advantage.
Sam I've really enjoyed talking to you, she said as they stood at a place where they would go their own ways. Can we do it again?
What?
Meet up and talk.
I'd like nothing more, but I don't think it's a good idea. You're a student, and I'm staff. It wouldn't look good.
Lizzie scowled. I suppose so. Well, coach, it was a pleasure.
For me too.
Three weeks later Sam was sitting at home wondering whether he should quit as coach. He was on the worst run he'd ever been. They'd lost the last four games, and he was beginning to doubt his abilities. Maybe he was getting too old to relate to these young college kids, he thought. They didn't seem to respect him like the other teams had. They certainly weren't prepared to walk through fire for him. As soon as things got tough most of them feigned injuries or avoided heavy tackles.
Then there was something else that had been bothering him. Something he'd tried to put to the back of his mind but couldn't. It wasn't right, but he couldn't help it.
Lizzie, it's Sam,’' he said. I got your number from Cora, I hope you don't mind me calling.
Sam, hi. Er....no, it's great you called.
How are you? he asked.
Okay. I'm not missing being a cheerleader; that's for sure. I've joined a reading club. We meet on Wednesdays; I love it.
Great. I wondered if you wanted to get something to eat? Talk?
Lizzie didn't have to think twice. She'd often thought about the evening he'd saved her from having sex with Roger, and the morning after when they'd talked so openly. Yes I'd love to.
Friday?
Fine, she said.
When Friday arrived, Sam was surprised how nervous he felt. He had to admit to himself he felt like a schoolboy about to go on his first date. He was thirty-nine and Lizzie twenty-one, why was he nervous? The only conclusion he came to, and it was one he didn't really want to admit, was that he liked her more than he knew. He wasn't given to dreaming, but every time he closed his eyes, her pretty face was there.
Wow you look different, he said when Lizzie walked into the Mexican restaurant.
Is that a compliment?
Yes. I meant to say; you look lovely. Lizzie was wearing a black dress that showed off her bosom well and a pair of four-inch heels which made her almost as tall as Sam. Her blonde hair was tied in a ponytail giving her the kind of innocent look most men like.
You've made an effort as well, she said looking at his suit.
They looked at the menu and ordered Taco's and a bottle of red wine. The restaurant was busy, but Lizzie and Sam had managed to find a table for two in an intimate corner where their conversation would go unheard.
Why did you call me, Lizzie asked quizzically.
Because I enjoyed your company for a couple of hours three weeks ago, and I wanted to see you again.
Lizzie turned her wine glass around between thumb and forefinger. Last time we spoke you told me it was not right for us to meet, remember?
Sam had thought how he would respond to her when she asked this question. I know. But I've been doing some thinking. Life's too short. If we get on, why not?
How's the team performing? she asked.
Terrible. It's the worst run I've ever had. It's not a team it's a group of individuals.
Ah, Lizzie gasped as a huge plate of tacos arrived. If I eat all those, I'll never fit into this dress again.
Nonsense you've got a perfect figure, a pig out now and then won't harm you, as long as you do regular exercise.
So what are you going to do with the team? How can you make it better.
Honestly, I have no idea. What's more, I don't care.
That's not like you. Normally you can think of nothing but success.
I don't care because I'm with you tonight, and that's all that matters.'
That's a nice thing to say.
Sam looked at her face. Three weeks ago she'd looked pale, but she looked much healthier now. He liked the fullness of her lips and the soft gaze of her green, brown eyes. When she spoke her drop earrings swung from side to side, catching the light of the candle on their table.
Can I be honest with you? Sam asked.
I don't want you not to be.
I would like to do this more often. I like you.
She slid her hand over the table and touched him on the arm. I like you too. A lot. When you rang, I was happy, elated even. I'd love it if we saw each other more often.