Furious, I took her by the arm and manhandled her back into the lift she'd just exited."Where the fuck have you been?" I demanded, once the lift doors...had closed."You said it, hubby. I've been getting my arse screwed off, by the world's most wonderful lover!" she grinned back at me."For fuck's sake, Molly. Everyone in that damned lounge must have seen you go off with Hamster. That supercilious frog out on reception..." André is not French, Jim, he's Swiss!" Trust you to know that. Anyway, the. If I was going to this game, it was alone.—I went back and forth about whether to show about a dozen times. I hate going to shit like this alone. Especially because I always get hit on. It didn’t help that I had no idea what I was looking for. I mean, I assumed he was a player, but what if he ended up being in the stands?I felt like Kevin Costner in Field of Dreams. You know the scene where he basically kidnaps James Earl Jones and takes him to a Red Sox game. Except he has no fucking clue what. More

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