"Well, good news or bad news," Pamela said, "depending on how you look at it. Coach is tied up in that meeting, and probably will until after midnight. He told us to go ahead without him, and he sends his apologies."

"That's too bad," Brian said, not really regretting it at all.

"Shall we eat?" Pamela asked. "I think I've gotten to know you better," she added, with a wink.

"Sure," Brian answered, getting up.

"I'm afraid the meal is boringly simple, just steak, potato and a vegetable," she said. "Coach is very particular about his players diet."

"Don't I know it," Brian said, following her into the dining room.

"He also has other antiquated ideas, which I don't believe in, either," she added. "But he's not here, and who's to tell?"

Brian didn't comment. He didn't know if she was talking about another drink, or what. He sat in the chair she indicated, as she sat next to him. He felt the pressure of her leg against his, at first thinking it was an accident, but when she began rubbing her knee against his thigh, he knew it wasn't. I'm sure glad it wasn't another drink she was talking about, Brian thought.

He wolfed down his meal, while she toyed with her salad. They hardly spoke, but she continued the gentle massaging of his leg, watching him carefully.

"I like you," she said, when he had finished his meal. "You have nice shoulders," she added, touching him softly on the neck.

"Thank you," Brian said. "I like you too," he added, color rising in his cheeks.

"Why don't you take off your shirt?" she asked, her voice low and filled with lust.

"Here?" Brian asked, looking around the table. "You're right. I have a better place," she said, pushing herself away from the table.