TGSNT, Part 4.
It goes without saying that I was rather alarmed by the arrival of the baseball team. Mind you, I was aware of the possibility, however remote, of their pitcher (D's ex) being in attendance, but it was rumored that he was a touch short of brow, and as such, easily distracted. This may have been one of the reasons for their dissolution; I didn't ask, when the topic first came up (during a marathon of cirrhotic antagonism at The Moon), and to this day I really don't care. My greater focus was on D's single status and overall attractiveness. She was an Upstate Girl, that strong mix of passion and durability...I have always had a weakness for durable women, and she appeared to be their Grand Champion, at least in the College Division. She was powerful but feminine, a credit to her genetics and upbringing.
Back to the peril at hand (and foot, and mouth, and several other parts I'd rather not see imperiled). The door is thumping like a Miami bass bin, and D has not moved more than a foot or so. She was still angry enough at this failed paramour to demand that he leave her alone, ad infinitum...she had, by her own report, a headache. (I can assure you that there was absolutely nothing wrong with her head or any other part of her.) This did nothing to assuage the damaged ego of the Boy of Summer (who'd been cut from the one roster I think he valued most), and his rowdy friends, many of whom sounded like inbred stooges, the kind of guys who like to drink beer and violate geeks on their slow nights, got even louder in their mewling protestations. It suddenly hit me that I had no idea where any of my clothes were, especially my glasses. As the blood ran north to my stomach, I heard a familiar click from just past my right shoulder. Mr. Pitcher was about to open the door.