Theo and Me and Friendy's

Or, what can happen when a girl watches a baseball game, the Dunkin Donuts commercial and endless Friendly's advertisements on television.
(Also, mother and brother, perhaps you should read about my need for an iPod?)

"Do I know an Amy? Uh, nope. Never met her. Certainly didn't do anything Rick James would write a song about with her, either."

I was standing in line at Friendly's, hoping to order a Fribble in the heat of late July when I saw him. Well-dressed in a button down shirt and linen pants, he looked in desperate need of a banana split. He caressed his head of thinning hair, and placed a Red Sox hat on his head. His cell phone kept flashing, ringing in silent mode. I stared at the man. I felt like I'd seen him somewhere before, but couldn't place him. His blue eyes peered out from under the brim of his blue hat, looking frustrated with the long line but didn't go so far as to roll his beautiful eyes.
I stood next to him, and flashed him a smile. He smirked back at me, looking somewhat distracted.
"Long line," I said.
"Yeah," the handsome guy sighed in return.
"I've been looking forward to my Fribble all damn day. It's so hot out there. I love Boston in the summer, but Christ it's hot."
"I just want a cone. I don't drink, so when I'm stressed... sorry."
I smiled at him. I liked that he cut off his story, that he didn't want to tell me too much right away. "Busy time at work?"
The guy laughed at me, a hearty masculine guffaw. "Yeah, you can say that."
"It can't be as bad as working at Friendly's. These kids are fuckin' stressed." The high school students behind the counter somehow managed to look both harried and bored simultaneously.
"My job's pretty bad." His eyes twinkled, like he knew something I didn't.
I was ready to flirtatiously flight with him. "Really? What do you do?"
"I'm the General Manager of the Sox."
My eyes bugged, and I instinctively reached out and grabbed his arm. "Oh, God, I'm an idiot. Sorry. Hey, I'm Amy. Nice to meet you."
"Theo Epstein."
I giggled. "I know that now. Hey, good job on that whole World Series thing. Can I buy you a cone?"
He held his hand up and shook his head no. "The gig pays well. Thanks for offering though."
"No, no, I insist. I also didn't know who the hell you were. Even after that television commercial. Seriously, I just got paid. Let me get your ice cream."
Theo smiled and nodded, and told the disinterested teenager behind the counter that he wanted a strawberry wafer cone. I ordered my peanut butter cup Fribble and leaned against the counter. "So," Theo said, his blue eyes staring into mine, "what do you do?"
"Well, I work in publishing. And I'm an aspiring writer."
He nodded. "That's really cool."
"Well, it doesn't have the appeal of 'Red Sox manager,' but it's pretty good. I'd ask you some questions about baseball, but I'm sure you're sick of talking about Johnny Damon's biceps or Jason Varitek's thighs or whatever when you talk to women."
Theo took his cone from the bored clerk, who gave me the total in monotone. He stuck his tongue out to lick the edges clean, and he looked even more handsome than he had before. I took my Fribble and sipped it, looking into his deep blue eyes as I lowered my lips to the straw. We locked eyes, him liking, me sucking. The attraction as palpable as the noise of the restaurant. I broke my stare, paid the bill and walked out with him.
"Thanks for the ice cream," Theo said, his voice slightly lower than it had been before we exchanged our tension-filled stare. His tongue continued to lick the cone as we walked outside.
"No problem," I said, unable to look away from his deep blue eyes.
We stood in the parking lot for a minute, neither wanting to leave. The sun was beating down on us, so Theo had to work hard to keep the ice cream from melting on his hands. I sipped my Fribble calmly, watching him lick the cone, giving it the attention it needed. The combination of the innocence of a boyish man eating an ice cream cone, combined with the erotic imagery was driving me nuts. I decided to seize the day, grab 'em and go for it.
"You know," I said, stepping closer to Theo, "if that keeps melting on you, I'd be happy to lick it off."
He raised his eyebrows in surprise, but didn't lower them in immediate revulsion either. He looked around the parking lot, but nobody was foolish enough to be standing in the full July sun but us. I felt his eyes looking me over, trying to find the visible outline of some recording device that I could use to blackmail him into endless Iced Lattes.
"You'd..." he murmured into my ear, his breath smelling of strawberries and cream, "you'd be into that?"
I looked up at him over the edge of my sunglasses. "Oh yes," I replied.
He looked around again, taking a step closer to me so we were almost hugging. "Would you be into," he paused, and moved his mouth closer to my ear, "some rope?" I could barely hear him. I have no idea how he could verbalize actual syllables and be so quiet. He must have learned how to keep things quiet during the Nomar trade.
"Why Theo," I said softly, in a chiding manner, "you've got a bit of a kinky side, don't 'cha?"
He shushed me, putting his free index finger roughly to my lips. He moved his finger under my chin, moved my head so I looked up at him, and lightly scratched the underside of my chin.
"Yep," he said.
And thus began my sexual escapades with Theo Epstein. The taste of peanut butter cup Fribbles and the feel of July sun on my skin will always remind me of the bliss that a nice Jewish boy in the public eye can give when he's in private.