Dave was one of those guys who just commanded attention. Charisma, some might call it, or charm. Whatever it was, he grabbed the attention of just about every woman he spoke to. Friendly, gregarious, with a twinkle in his light hazel eyes and a light beard on his chiseled jaw, I could see women undress him with their eyes as he walked by. His smile could make your breath catch, disarming you in a fraction of a second.
“Such a great guy.”
“Did you know he coaches soccer?”
“All that and volunteering at the animal shelter?”
“His wife is so lucky.”
So lucky.
I don’t know precisely what made his gaze linger upon me that day. Perhaps it was my low-cut top, artfully displaying the cleft between my pale, heavy breasts. Or the skirt that I wore, riding up my thigh when I crossed my long legs. Or maybe he could just sense that underneath my soccer mom facade there lurked a cock-hungry slut. Whatever the motivation, I was thrilled to have been chosen. It started simply, asking me to bring the snack to practice, asking if I could have my kids stay to clean up. Then finally, he invited me to his office, under the pretense of needing an assistant coach.