We spoke of my drive, her house, our jobs, the oddity of meeting on the net. We finished dinner and we both cleared the table. I helped her wash the d...shes. Every now and then her hand would touch mine as she handed me a dish or a glass. This spent shock waves through my body. Who would have ever thought washing dishes would be so exciting. We moved into the den and she put on some light jazz. She lit candles and poured each of us another glass of wine. We sat together on the couch, and I felt. "Not really. My mom and dad sign me up every year without even asking ifI want to play anymore. I know I'm not a very good player but they sayit's good for me to compete. I'd rather read a book or walk in theforest. I hate playing soccer." You're not that bad." Yes I am, and how would you know? Have you ever seen me play?" Once." When?" I think you were seven." God Mark, that was three years ago." You weren't that bad."Cindy chuckled at that thought. "God we all were. I could barely kickthe. More

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