It may not have been romantic for some women, but the gesture melted Mary.
~ * ~ * ~
Before Mary, Michael had never enjoyed the opportunity to investigate a woman’s body. When he and Tracey started seeing each other, she ran the show and he was content to let her, but with Mary, he was all about taking his time. He lingered over every different configuration, every possible position, every act he’d only dreamt about, but not tried. Michael was curious about everything, every spot he could lick, every piece of skin he could nibble on and bite. Every reaction he could elicit. Every way they could make love standing up, laying down, side to side, in the shower, against the kitchen counters, on the loveseat, draped across the couch.
And then she’d allowed him the deepest intimacy. It had all started out innocently enough with the two of them spooning one night in his bed. Throughout the desolate years of his personal life, the simple enjoyment of sleeping with a woman had long escaped his memory. That night, Mary’d kept wiggling her delectable ass right where it tormented him the most in the best possible way.
“You keep that up, you’re going to get more than you’re asking for,” he’d warned, while kissing the side of her neck.
“I sure hope so,” she murmured.
Was she saying what he thought she was saying? There was only one way to find out.
Gently, he placed his hand on her bottom, stroking towards the center, giving her ample time to tell him to stop. Emboldened by her acquiescence, he placed a finger in her backside, far enough that she couldn’t mistake his intent, but shallow enough to quiet any concern she might have.
“Is that okay?” he asked, continuing to kiss her neck while he smoothly rotated his finger, letting her adjust.
“Yes, but it’s going to take awhile before I’m you know…ready…back there.”
“We have all the time you need,” he reassured her. “I promise you’ll like it.”
“I like everything with you, and if this is something you want, I want it too.”
He then spent the next hour preparing her and pleasuring her in the most intimate of positions.
Chapter 13
“Hey, Santiago, wait up a minute.” Murray jogged up to him following the Tide’s Wednesday practice, all long strides full of purpose and determination. If the last couple of days were any indication, the week was gearing up to be yet another ball buster. Coach and the players were treating every game, every play, as though it was the last one, as though every game was do-or-die. Which it was if they wanted to continue to the post-season. If not, they could all go home right now. In some ways, do-or-die mode strengthened the team’s collective resolve and elevated virtually every player’s individual play, which elevated the entire team’s play. They needed to out play and out maneuver their upcoming opponents, all of whom enjoyed top-ranked offenses. Their defense would be sorely tested, a challenge he couldn’t wait to tackle.
For the last couple of weeks, Michael had found himself on the consulting end for a variety of Murray’s questions about their upcoming opponents, the defensive strategy they were trying to deploy, and how Johnson had settled in and was proving to be an asset. He’d mastered opponents’ game tapes, enabling him to point out their opponents’ calls and subsequent plays. Murray, too, was well-versed in the offenses, but Michael knew that he and he alone knew the nuances of the shotcallers’ signals. The position of consultant flattered his ego, even though he still missed the shit out of Campbell and hoped like hell that once he returned next season, he could go back to simply showing up for practice and making plays in games.
It pained him whenever he looked on the sidelines where Campbell stood, propped up by his crutches, cheering on the team, while Johnson learned to settle down and became more comfortable with each passing game. He, more than anyone, knew exactly how unfair life could be, but seeing Johnson in Campbell’s spot still chafed, despite Johnson’s natural talent and willingness to be coached. He’d made it clear that he understood this was an early tryout for next season and he was taking full advantage of the opportunity that had landed in his lap. Michael hadn’t yet given up his sweet spot as the right defensive end, but Johnson was holding his own on the left side.
“S’up,” Michael commented, toweling his neck and reaching for his water bottle.
“Christ. Coach makes me run one more fucking suicide and I swear I’m gonna have a fucking heart attack. I joined the defense so I didn’t have to fucking run. I had no idea he evidently thinks we’re fucking wide receivers or worse, running backs. Doesn’t he realize he’s wearing us out?”
Michael recognized Murray’s rant for what it was - a rhetorical commentary reflecting how worn out they all were. Coach and his assistants were on a tear with the team that didn’t demonstrate any possibility of letting up any time soon. Murray was as dedicated as Michael was to his physical fitness and the advancement of the Tide. But he also liked to complain. It was part of his natural make-up.
“Listen. I thought I’d have some folks over this weekend on Saturday night. Nothing fancy. I’ll probably throw some steaks on the grill. You’re welcome to bring a girl if you’ve got one.”
Michael couldn’t prevent the spread of his grin when he thought about Mary. The last couple of weeks had been fantastic. Better than any of his wildest dreams, more vivid and exciting than his kinkiest fantasies. He loved spending time with her, talking with her, playing games with her, and making love with her. Unlike Tracey, she actually said what was on her mind. No artifice. No mind games. Instead, simple, direct honesty.
How refreshing was that?
When she had a crappy day at work, she told him about it. He wanted to discipline some respect into the kids who mouthed off to her. Or the parents who called her to complain that their kids were failing, but hadn’t responded to any of the letters or tutoring offers until after the report cards were issued. Talking back to any of his teachers at Catholic Central would have been unfathomable. He couldn’t conceive it, but kids had changed along with the times.
Michael felt honored she would share the details of her daily life with him. He never would have thought hearing about minutia which wasn’t football-related would be interesting. Of course, maybe it was the speaker. He was captivated by her, spellbound in a way he never believed himself capable of. He loved watching her cook and thoroughly enjoyed it when she gave him directions in the kitchen to chop up vegetables, marinate chicken, or stir pasta.
He also liked it when she gave him directions in bed. That worked for him.
“What’s your smile for, Santiago? You got a woman?” Murray asked, taking in his teammate.
“Maybe. Who you inviting? I don’t know if I’m willing to expose her to some of the yahoos on this motley crew,” Michael responded.
“You, Turner, Campbell because I think he’s going fucking stir crazy not playing, and maybe Rodriguez. Is that cool with you?”
“Yeah. I’m down with that scene. When do you want us there?” It felt right to use the term “us.” Michael liked being part of an “us.” As in, “we’re in this together. You and me equals us.” He hoped Mary was free Saturday night. They hadn’t talked about this upcoming weekend, but given the fact they spent every night together or at least were on the phone for the nights when Mary had other commitments, maybe she would make some time for him this weekend.
“Let’s start early. I want everyone’s asses out of my place by ten so all the little boys can get a good night’s sleep. Be there by six.”
“See you then, Captain.”
~ * ~ * ~
On the opposite side of town, Mary waited while Max pollinated yet another tree on their walk over to Michael’s condo. He’d asked her if she wanted to come over tonight. The answer, as always, was yes.
The hills were a great work out for her rear which could always use some downsizing and toning. Although Michael had certainly been admiring it last night. As well as the night before. One of the best things about him, and there were a lot of great things about Michael, was he made her feel beautiful. She’d never considered herself sexy, but in his eyes, she felt sexy, wanton, practically wild, given the things they did in bed. She’d engaged in acts with him she’d only dreamt about. And loved every second of them.
Mary felt silly knocking, but at the same time, she yielded to her Midwestern roots.
Michael opened the door and Max jumped on him. “Hi, buddy. I’ve missed you too,” he murmured, rubbing his hands all over Max’s head. She loved the fact Michael seemed as enamored with Max as she was. She could never envision herself dating anyone who didn’t love Max.
“You saving a little bit of that for me,” Mary teased, unleashing Max and moving in for a sweet, light kiss.
“I’ve been saving it
all
for you,” Michael growled, drawing her in for a longer, deeper kiss that demonstrated the first one was an appetizer and the main event was still to come.
“How was your day, dear?” Mary asked, whipping off her fleece and removing her clogs. This had become their standard joke at the beginning of every evening.
“Not bad. You got plans for Saturday night?”
“Nope. Why?”
“One of my teammates is having some people over and I’d like to go.”
“Oh, ok. Sure. Have fun.” Mary’s crestfallen expression confused Michael.
“Well, you’ll be there, so I’m sure I’ll have fun,” he responded, appreciating the way her eyes brightened and her lips tipped in her version of a half smile.
“You want me to go with you?”
“Of course I want you to come with me. Why else would I have asked what you were doing Saturday night?”
She shrugged her shoulders, embarrassed and almost tongue tied. “I don’t know. I thought maybe you were running it by me to see if I had a problem with it.”
“Why would I have asked if you had a problem with it?”
Now the red flush on her cheeks flared. “You wouldn’t and I wouldn’t have expected that you would. It’s just that you didn’t ask me initially to go with you, but simply said you wanted to go and I made the assumption you wanted to go alone.”
Michael was shaking his head at her, his dark eyes sparkling like raindrops, letting Mary know she was in for it. “Didn’t they ever teach you in school that when you assume, you make an ass out of you and me?”
“They did, but I didn’t listen.”
Chapter 14
Michael and Mary settled into what was fast becoming their standard, eat-in positions in the condo, each sitting on one of the bar stools around the kitchen island, the food spread out in front of them. Tonight, dinner consisted of Elephants’ grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato and orange soup.
“You remembered,” Mary squealed, incredibly delighted Michael had, in fact, recalled she loved this meal from their local delicatessen. At least, it felt like he remembered she loved it. It didn’t fit her image of what he would have selected for dinner on his own. Although, he was surprisingly unfussy whenever she solicited his opinion as to what he wanted for dinner on any given night. Hamburgers with potato salad? Good enough. Mexican lasagna? Fine by him. Spaghetti and garlic bread? Perfect. He always showed her how much he appreciated her cooking for him by eating everything on his plate and often returning for seconds. Or thirds, depending on the strain of that day’s practice.
“How could I forget?” Michael smiled at her, making all of her insides smile in response.
“I don’t know. You’ve got a lot of other things on your mind these days.” The last few days, he’d opened up a little more about his team and things that were pressing on his mind, namely the fact the Tide was not planning to renew Campbell’s contract next year. That made him a free agent and left Michael to contend with the “upstart little prick,” Tamar Johnson. Michael and the rest of the team were primarily focused on winning each week’s game in order to make it to the playoffs. As he’d explained a few nights ago, if they won every single one of their last six games and Seattle lost at least two, then they’d win their division. Alternatively, if they won at least four, regardless of how Seattle did, they would make it to the playoffs in the Wildcard spot.
“What do you want to listen to tonight?” he asked, beginning to move to the living room where Mary had eventually discovered he housed his stereo system.
“Interpol?” she suggested.
“Sounds good to me.” Slipping in the disc, he joined her back in the kitchen as they settled down to the serious business of eating their soup and sandwiches. She liked the fact that as much as she loved talking with Michael and felt as though she won Powerball every time he shared some minor details with her, she was equally content to simply sit with him, enjoying a meal, and contemplate the silence without the need to fill it with unnecessary words.
After a few minutes, she commented, “You do realize you’re eating your sandwich entirely wrong, don’t you?”
Michael raised his eyebrows and swiveled his head towards her. “How do you eat a sandwich wrong?” he asked.
“You’ve got to dip your sandwich in the soup in order to get the full-on grilled cheese and tomato soup experience. Haven’t you ever done this before?”
“No.”
“No, as in you’ve never eaten grilled cheese and tomato soup, or no as in you don’t believe in dipping your sandwich in your soup?”
“No, I’ve never eaten grilled cheese and tomato soup,” he quietly remarked, turning his attention back to dinner.
With anyone else, she would have teased him about a deprived childhood, but some intuition restrained her from commenting. The last couple of weeks had been filled with mutual exchanges of ideas and stories, but he remained resolutely mum on the subject of his family and his childhood. She repeatedly spoke about her parents, her experiences as a Midwestern teenager with summers spent on the lake filled with sunburns and mosquito bites, and the values her parents raised her with. He asked her the expected questions, but never offered anything about his own parents. She was tempted to conduct another Google search to see what she could turn up, but she was reluctant to turn to another source for his personal history. She wanted him to willingly share the details of his childhood with her. On his own, without any prompting or confrontation. Anything less would feel deceptive.