“Hi,” I say, entering the small office that smells like a pool. “I’m here for my mom. She has an appointment with the physical therapist.”

“Yes,” says the young guy with a mohawk. This is the first time I’ve seen a guy with a mohawk working the desk somewhere this professional, and I’m taken aback for a moment. Not that I give a damn what he looks like, as long as these people can help my mom. “Chloe’s already in the pool. Do you need help getting in there?”

“I think we’ll be OK,” I say. “She’s already changed.” I turn to my mom. “You holding up OK, Mom?” I say.

“I’m fine, honey,” says my mom somewhat stiffly. She’s always been so independent that it’s hard for her to resign herself to this new wheelchair like existence.

But my dad rented a specially outfitted van (that I’m paying for, of course) that has a wheel chair accessible automotive ramp that can lift her into the back area, where the wheel chair can be strapped in. It’s a hell of a lot easier than having to fold up the wheel chair and then help my mom into the car.

“I’ll take her back, then,” I say. “Where’s the pool?”

He points in the direction of some metal doors, and I prop the door open and start wheeling my mom through.

A thought suddenly hits me that makes me pause for a moment.

Chloe?

It couldn’t be. After all, what are the chances that this is my Chloe? What are the chances she’s still hanging around here? She could be halfway around the world by now, teaching English in China. Or she could be working in New York City as a fashion designer.

…or she could still be working at that movie theater. The sobering thought hits me hard, like a ton of bricks. I don’t want that to have happened to Chloe. I hope she’s moved on with her life, and has been able to overcome emotionally and financially from her dad’s death.

The air reeks of chlorine, and it’s hot and muggy, especially uncomfortable in the jeans and jacket I’m wearing. After all, it’s cold outside.

But, then again, this greenhouse like atmosphere is a nice change from the cold outside.

I’ve taken the time off from the team, telling Coach basically to go fuck himself, in not so many words. He gave me hell for missing practice, but I told him I needed to spend time with my mother because of her hip problem. In the end, there’s not a lot he can do, except threaten me because I’ve got an iron clad contract and a real reason to take a short leave, even if it is in season. I’m also completely indispensable to the team.

“You going to push me all the way through, or just stand there thinking about football or women?” says my mom.

“Sorry,” I say, snapping out of my little daydream and I continue pushing her through.

The pool is small but big enough. Everything is clean, if not a little old, and the place has a professional feel to it.

“I sure hope they can help you,” I say. “I’ve never heard of this pool based physical therapy before.”

“My friend Marge said this is the best,” says my mom.

I’m vaguely aware of a woman standing off towards the side of the pool, surrounded by all sorts of therapeutic looking floatation devices.

“You must be Mrs. Cambridge,” says the woman.

Something about her voice… it’s so familiar.

I turn to look at her and it feels like the world is moving in slow motion as I do so.

It’s Chloe.

It’s Chloe standing there, in a swimsuit. It’s unmistakably Chloe.

She looks different in some ways. She’s developed even more curves. Her hair is longer than when I last saw her. She’s still just as beautiful as she was six years ago, if not many more times as beautiful as then.

Her face drops in surprise as she sees me. Her jaw literally falls open.

“You’re the one who’s going to fix my hip? Don’t I know you?” says my mother. (I guess she doesn’t remember Chloe.)

Chloe remains frozen for a moment, staring at me.

“Do you two know each other?” says my mom.

I mumble something.

It’s Chloe who rescues us. She puts on her professional charm again, her professional physical therapist demeanor. So she’s a physical therapist now? She’s doing pretty well for herself, from the looks of it.

All sorts of emotions flood me. All sorts of questions. Is she married? I don’t see a ring. But then again, wouldn’t a physical therapist remove her ring before getting into the pool?

“Dan’s an old friend from high school,” says Chloe, keeping her face neutral.

“I didn’t know you had any female friends you haven’t slept with,” says my mom in her biting sarcastic tone that she’s developed over the last few years. (My dad says it’s becoming something of a problem, but it can also be hilarious, depending on which side of the situation you’re on.)

“Mom!” I say.

Chloe blushes a deep red.

“Well that answers that question,” says my mom, eyeing Chloe’s reddening face.

“Unbelievable,” I mutter.

“Don’t act like I don’t know your reputation,” says my mom. Then, as an aside to Chloe, she adds, “He’s always in the papers for his womanizing these days.”

“I know,” says Chloe, looking right at me, her face still red.

“Well,” says my mom, wheeling herself a little bit closer to the pool, but not close enough that she’s in any danger of falling in. “Time to get on with it, don’t you all think?”

“I…” I start to say, and for the first time in a long, long time I find myself completely lost for words.

I just find myself staring at her, at Chloe, at her beautiful face.

Her figure is just as perfect, just as beautiful as before… but more so. I can’t describe it, but her beauty has really matured, really become something incredibly wonderful.

“Are you just going to keep staring at your old lover or are you going to leave me in peace so I can get on with my therapy? I have to get this hip working again, you know?”

“Of course…” I finally manage to say, but I can barely peel my eyes away from Chloe.

She gives me a smile and then turns to my mother to help her out of her chair.

I wonder for a moment how she’s going to get her out of the chair, but as I see her move I realize she’s a trained professional. She knows exactly what to do.

“I’ll just wait out in the…”

I was about to say car, but Chloe says there’s a waiting room.

“Must not have noticed it when I came in,” I say.

“That’s because it’s just two chairs in front of the secretary’s desk,” says Chloe, turning back to me once more.

“Enough of this infernal flirting,” says my mom, her tone harsh.

“Sorry,” I mouth at Chloe, and then turn and walk back through the door.

I can’t help but turning and taking one last look at Chloe’s body in her swimsuit. Her breasts swell and fill out the swimsuit. I can see her magnificent thighs. Her legs seem to continue forever.

But I finally tear myself away from her body.

Well, I think to myself, that went fairly well. My first time seeing Chloe in, what has it been, six years?

I can’t think of how many times I’ve thought about her. I can’t imagine how many times I’ve fantasized about her, about that night we spent together. I’ve thought about her so many times at bed at night, with my hand around my hard cock…

Surprisingly, I don’t feel any anger. I don’t feel any resentment. Sure, I felt like that in the past. I was angry. After all, she never called me back. She never made the slightest move to contact me. But there’s no rancor in me. There’s nothing but calm… yes, that’s how I feel seeing her again—calm.

And that smile she gave me…

I head back to the secretary with the mohawk and sit down in one of the folding chairs.

“This is a new place, huh?” I say.

The secretary nods at me.

“So how long has Chloe worked here?” I say.

“Chloe?” says the mohawked guy, finally looking up from his computer. “She’s the owner. So, not too long. It’s a new place.”

“She’s the owner, huh?” I say, looking around.

I suppose she must be doing fairly well for herself, if she’s the owner of this place. That takes a lot of courage to set out on a business venture like that yourself.

Then again, as I take a look around, noticing the bored looking secretary, the basic metal chairs, the lack of a real waiting room (I’m squished up against the wall, almost right next to the secretary), etc. etc.

The place is professional but not fancy, not luxurious. Also, there aren’t exactly a ton of clients here today.

“How many clients you guys get a day here?” I say, anxious to know more about Chloe, more about her life now.

“Sorry,” says the guy. “I don’t think Chloe would like me discussing that with clients.”

“Oh,” I say. “It’s just that, well, I’m an old friend, and I don’t think she’d mind…”

The guy takes another look at me, and suddenly his face lights up.

“Hey!” he says, his voice sounding excited. “Aren’t you Dan Cambridge?”

“Guilty as charged,” I say.

“What the hell are you doing here, man?” he says. “You guys have a game coming up, don’t you?”

“My mom hurt her hip,” I say.

He nods. “That’s nice of you.” But now he launches into a detailed play-by-play analysis of the last game I played. “You were great, man, but what about your footwork?”

I suddenly start to get angry. I can feel the anger bubbling up inside me. I’ve never liked it when people tell me what to do, and I’ve never liked it when people criticized me, whether it’s the coach doing the critiquing or some random guy on the street. I just flat out don’t like it. They’re not the ones playing, right?

“You’re some kind of football footwork expert?” I say.

What really annoys me most about this guy is that it’s exactly what Coach was telling me not too long ago.

The secretary guy can hear the anger in my voice.

“Hey, man, I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

I take a deep breath. I can see he means it. At any other time, I might fly off the handle and really tell him off. Hell, I’ve been known to knock out a guy or two in my time.

But I think of Chloe.

Chloe…

Don’t I want to have a chance with her? Don’t I want a second chance?

She’s the answer to all my problems. Well, she could be. She could be the answer I’ve been searching for. All the other women—they’re not doing anything for me now.

But Chloe—Chloe still has that power over me. I felt it back there at the pool.

I take a deep breath to calm down. If I’m going to have any shot with Chloe, I can’t be knocking out her secretary.

I take another deep breath.

Is Chloe already changing me?

“It’s OK,” I say. “No big deal.”

“Oh, good,” he says, sounding relieved. Now he goes onto to continue to talk about football. Honestly, I don’t have much interest any more in talking about the game. I mean, I play it. I’m living it. These other guys are just spectators, just fans.

I just can’t get her out of my head. I don’t see how I can possibly concentrate on a conversation when I just saw my old flame looking sexier than she’s ever looked before, wearing nothing more than a swimsuit.