We met at a football game. You were a third string player and were watching the game, hoping to get a chance to play. I walked behind you, but in front of the concrete bleachers and was bumped just the right way that you got my soda poured on your head and shoulders. When you whipped around-mad as hell- your eyes softened when you saw me leaning over the metal rail to see who the victim was. The young kid who had bumped me easily moved out of your line of sight, but I saw him. He could not have been more than six years old, but he got his escape when our eyes locked together. Words would not come out of my mouth, but by the time they could, you were turned around wiping off my soda with a dry rag one of your buddies handed you. I did not know it then, but your buddies would become mine too. I was easily just 'one of the guys' to everyone but you. When I noticed you could not get the sugary soda off your face, I leaned over the rail and said, "You need a rag that is wet. The dry one will not get the sugar off that has soaked into your sweaty skin." For a split second you looked offended, but instead of saying something smart back to me, you walked over to the water table and poured a bottle of water over your face, shoulders, and hair. When you finished, you promptly shook off like a hairy dog and returned to where you were standing. "Are you done throwing soda on me and then giving me advice on how to get it off?" your voice was deep and I smiled inside and out. I felt my knees go wobbly and I had to grab the rail to steady myself while nodding slowly. As I went back to my seat, I could feel your eyes on me. you were definitely intrigued.