A Bar in Omaha

(continued)

By Wayne Scheer

To be honest, it's been a while since anyone hit on me. I swear I must be one of those guys who looks like he was born married. But to tell you the truth, I like it that way. It's safe. I love Karen and the life we have, especially now that Billy is growing up and he doesn't demand all our attention all the time.

I'm a pretty decent looking guy, and I keep myself in shape. I jog two to three miles every other day, and I work out with weights twice a week. But no one's going to mistake me for a movie actor. My nose is too big, and when I was a kid I got it broken in the only fist fight I've ever been in, so it kind of slants to one side a little. Still, I have a full head of dark hair with a few streaks of gray that I've been told looks sexy.

And I don't mind admitting I'm feeling pretty sexy, too. I just can't get over that this beautiful woman is coming on to me. This could be the opportunity of my life. But then I think of Karen and Billy.

"I've been married six years," I tell her. "Seven in August."

She smiles, and I realize I'm blowing my big chance. I try to think of something else to say, but all that comes out is, "My boy is 4 years old." I'm about to take out my wallet to show her pictures, but then I think that's a little weird.

We talk some more about marriage. "I was married for two years," she says. "But I knew it was a mistake from the start. My ex was a good guy, but I don't think I could ever be satisfied with one man."

I'm feeling like I'm on Oprah or something. I tell her if you really love someone, that one person is enough. But she kind of cocks her head to one side and gives me that raised eyebrow look again.

"Really? You've never cheated?"

I don't know why I did this, but instead of telling her the truth — that I haven't been with another woman since Karen and I started dating in college nine years ago — I tell her I had an affair when we were first married and another just before Karen got pregnant. "But not since Billy was born," I assure her.

Now I'm really getting nervous and I'm feeling like a jerk. I want to go, but I don't want to. She calls the bartender over and orders another round. "This one's on me," she says. "To celebrate your latest conquest."

I look at her.

"The deal you closed today. The Ramsey account?"

"Ramsfield," I say after thinking for a few seconds.

I try to change the subject. I ask her about her job again and how long she plans on being in Omaha.

"A week," she tells me. "I'm with the American Beef Association convention. My company does a lot of PR work with the food industry." She sips her drink. "How much longer will you be here?"

"I leave tomorrow afternoon. Got a few things I have to clear up in the morning. Paperwork, mostly." There's a long silence while we drink. I sneak a look at my watch and see it's nearly nine. I consider thanking her for the drink and going up to my room and calling Karen early. Then I imagine her naked, straddling me, with her long black hair tickling my chest as she moves downward.

"You hungry?" she asks suddenly. "Why don't we get a booth and order some munchies?"

I already had dinner, but I follow her. My eyes immediately take in her rear end, which is round and shapely under a dark skirt that's as short as the ones Karen used to wear back in college. When we get to a booth, she takes off her jacket and the whiteness of her bare arms puts me on edge, like I'm seeing something I shouldn't. I try not to stare.

I'm surprised she orders hot wings. I thought she'd get a salad, maybe grilled shrimp. I think of ordering wings, too, but Karen always tells me how gross it is watching me tear into chicken. I order a hamburger instead. "No onions," I tell the waitress. I like onions, but I'm worried about my breath.

I usually don't pay attention to other people while they eat, but she impresses me with the way she just dives into those wings without the slightest bit of self-consciousness. When hot sauce drips down her lip, she just wipes it off and grabs another wing.