Picking Up the Pieces (28 page)

“Adam’s a very eligible bachelor.
It’s not surprising that you wouldn’t see a problem with getting your hooks in him any way you could.”

“Kelly, that’s enough,” Troy muttered.

Way to take a stand, Troy.

Everyone at the table began to shift nervously, unsure of where to look or what to say.

“You’re right,” Lily sighed. “Adam is an eligible bachelor. Any woman would be lucky to have him. But not because of his money, as you’re clearly suggesting, but because of who he is. So yes, I do recognize what a catch he is, and I did maybe ignore that he was the father of one of my students in order to be with him. But that’s because I love him.” She turned toward me, looking deeply into my eyes. “Just like I knew I would when I met him.”

I leaned in and gave Lily a deep kiss, so happy to hear her publicly verbalize what we'd both hidden for so long. And to show her, and them, that I felt the exact same way.

Thankfully, we had all
nearly finished eating by the time Kelly and Lily had gotten into it, and we all graciously declined dessert. It was definitely time for this nightmare to end.

We all said our goodbyes
, and Lily and I made our way to the car.

“So, have fun?” I asked with a wide smile
, knowing she’d sense my sarcasm.

“Yeah, a fucking blast,” she retorted dryly.

I laughed, though I couldn’t ignore the heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach that she hadn’t fit in with my friends as I’d hoped she would.

Chapter 30: Max

In the spirit of my New Year’s resolution, I’d managed to make it over three months without pissing anyone off. I tried to focus all of my energy on the positive elements in my life: family and my job auditions. I’d made it a habit to go to my parents’ once a week for dinner, and my television try-outs had been going fairly well. I’d had more than a few pre-game spots, while some of the other guys only had one or two before they weren’t asked to come back again.

But other than that, there wasn’t much going my way.
Especially when it came to my love life. For some reason, I hadn’t considered that being so selective
about who I bang would cut down on my sexual activity. And out of all the things that I’d recently been trying to change about myself, abstaining from fucking and chucking
had been by far the hardest. I hadn’t hit a dry spell this long since puberty hit. And it was killing me.

As it
turned out, being an unemployed ladies man is an unbearable combination. It led to long stretches of boredom that can only be sufficiently filled with a little “self-love.” Surprisingly, using a cheesy euphemism didn’t make what I was doing seem nearly as lame. But it didn’t matter what I called it. When it came down to it, flogging the log, giving myself a one-gun salute, making stomach pancakes, or using some other name coined by an imaginative middle schooler didn’t make a damn bit of difference. It all meant the same thing. If I were being honest with myself, I was a thirty-year-old man sitting around on a random weekday watching porn and masturbating.

M
y rock bottom had arrived a few weeks ago when I’d caught myself Googling home remedies for carpal tunnel syndrome. Then I started debating whether to continue my search or fill my day with porn again. When I decided that porn was always the better option, I knew it was time to take my mom up on her offer to go on a date with her friend’s daughter.

***

Months ago, when my mom had suggested that I go out with Mary, I’d been too busy banging randoms and being a selfish prick to even entertain the idea. Mary and I had gone to grade school together, and though our moms stayed close friends, I hadn’t seen her since eighth grade when her family had moved to Atlanta for her dad’s new job. A few months ago, the idea of dating the lanky, awkward girl I remembered from seventeen years ago could not compete with stickin’ it in a drunk blonde with a perfect rack.

             
But now that the most action I’d seen in months had been from myself, lanky and awkward seemed preferable, hands down. Literally. And when I almost didn’t recognize the dark-haired beauty that tapped me on the shoulder at the bar, I couldn’t have been more pleasantly surprised.
Hell yes.
The color of her eyes matched her silky hair: a gorgeous shade of midnight that, when combined with her tanned skin and perky breasts, created an erotically exotic look.

Before I realized it didn’t matter, I briefly wondered why I hadn’t ever picked up on the fact that she was probably partially
Hispanic. I’d probably do just about anything to get those plump soft lips on my mouth. And I’d
definitely
do anything to get them around my dick, which was already perking up at the thought.

“Max?” she said shyly, her soft voice pulling me out of my erotic daydream.

“Mary?” I knew my voice revealed my shock at her changed appearance.

She wrapped her arms around me, pulling me in for a hug so tight her breasts squeezed against my chest.
I momentarily wished I’d gone to church more regularly so that God would answer my prayer that there’d be more to her than just her physical features. That would at least make me feel less like a man-whore if I wanted her for more than her body.
I don’t ask for much, God.
After that, I did a cursory check for a wedding ring.
All clear
. I wasn’t making
that
mistake twice.

As we got re-acquainted, I found out Mary and I had a lot in common.
She had spent a few years as a sports writer before deciding to move back to Philadelphia to start a sports-
themed magazine. “A friend of mine from college had the idea,” she explained.
“It’s nothing major yet, but we’re hoping in time it’ll take off. I have a few connections in the area, so that should help.” She tucked a few stray hairs behind her ear as she spoke, and I wondered what it would be like to pull on that hair. “Luckily,” she continued, “I had a great job out of college at a Dallas paper. It paid well enough for me to save some money so I could pursue my dream.” She took a sip of her wine and licked a stray drop from her lips. “I’ve always wanted to be a part of something big.”

“I know the feeling,” I said.
I told her a bit about my hockey career, leaving out the less flattering parts, and jumping to my current job opportunity. She seemed impressed and, judging by her hand resting comfortably on mine on the bar, at least somewhat attracted to me.
Thank you, God.

We spent much of the next hour and a half catching up on how our families have been and reminiscing about when we were little and life was so much simpler.
“Remember that time you sledded right over the creek and hit that tree on the other side?” she asked. “I can’t believe they just let kids sled down that hill with nothing to stop them from falling into the creek or hitting rocks. That would never happen today.”

“No kidding.
They put up one of those orange plastic fences a few years after you moved. Not nearly as much fun.” I laughed at the memory. Even back then
I had no fear.

We never even made it to a table.
Instead, we just shared a few appetizers and another drink at the bar before I suggested we take dessert to go. I figured that would be a good way to gauge her interest level. If she was willing to take me back to her place, then she was probably interested in more than a walk down memory lane. And while I didn't want to be presumptuous, I was pretty sure if I could get her alone, I could at least get her partially naked. Hell, even a heavy make out session would be preferable to jacking off all night.

“We can,” she said hesitantly.
“But I should tell you . . . this won’t be what you think.” For the first time since I’d greeted her, she seemed a little bashful, and I wasn’t sure why. “It’s just that I don’t have meaningless sex. I want to be in love first.”’

What the hell?
Did I just hear her right?
I am on a date with the fucking Virgin Mary.
“So you’re a . . . you’re like a thirty-year-old virgin?”
Real smooth, asshole.
I heard my voice crack as I said it, and I knew she could hear the shock in my voice.

Her laugh told me I’d made more of a fool of myself than I’d originally thought.
“No, Max, I’m not a virgin. But that doesn't mean I sleep around. I’ve been with two people, but I loved them both. It’s just kind of a thing with me, I guess.” She shrugged her shoulders and bit down on her bottom lip in the most sexy way.

Confusion spread across my face.
“So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying . . . we can see what happens tonight.
But no sex. Is that okay with you?”

Well only a complete douchebag would say no.
And
oral
sex doesn’t actually count as sex, does it?
“Sure, who said anything about sex?”

***

Mary’s apartment was only a few minutes away from the restaurant, so I decided to follow her in my car. Staying true to my resolution, I’d cut down on my drinking significantly, and only had two beers at the bar. I was happy I wouldn’t have to call a cab and worry about coming back to get my car in the morning, especially since I clearly wouldn’t be spending the night at Mary’s.

Somehow, in the few blocks we had to travel to her apartment, I’d managed to nearly hit a cat, forcing me to slam on the brakes.
And in an effort to save the dessert in the passenger’s seat like I would a small child in an accident, I reached my hand across to catch it, only resulting in the tiramisu covering most of my hand and the sleeve of my sweater, along with the dashboard and floor mat.
Real fucking smooth, jackass.

By some
miracle, I was able to parallel park my car on Mary’s street without getting any of the tiramisu on the wheel. She parked her car across the street and started toward me. “Uh . . . could I grab a few paper towels from your apartment?” I asked, holding up my right arm. “There was a fatality on the ride here.”

“Sure,” she laughed.
“Is it all over your car too?”

“Pretty much,” I smirked.

“Oh no.
Come up, and you can clean up and then bring down some wet paper towels for your car. It’s probably not good to leave it on the leather too long.”

I followed Mary up the two flights of stairs to her apartment and into the kitchen, glancing around her apartment as I strolled through.
For someone who had just moved in, her place was well put together. The living room was furnished tastefully: neutral furniture with a few splashes of reds and oranges to give it a less sterile feel.

“Here,” she said, grabbing my sweater at the bottom with both hands.
“Take your shirt off, and I’ll throw it in the wash for you.”

I didn’t really care what she planned to do with my shirt once it was off of me.
When a hot woman tells me to take off an article of clothing, it usually takes very little convincing for me to do so. I set the Styrofoam container on the counter and lifted my arms above my head, enjoying the feel of Mary stripping my shirt from me. As she stretched to reach up, her body inched closer to mine so that when she finally peeled my sweater over my head, our faces were nearly touching. Immediately, I felt the tension between us. Me: resisting the urge to pull her against me and inhale the scent of her flowery shampoo. And her: resisting the urge to let me.

She swallowed hard and took a step back, but the physical distance did nothing to alleviate the electricity between us.
“Uh,” she stammered, “I’m just gonna throw this in the wash.” She pointed toward the stackable washer and dryer behind her, but her eyes never left mine. “You can wash up, and then we can clean your car out.”

My right hand was still covered in mascarpone, pudding, and cocoa, so I made a move toward the sink to my left before stopping. “We should at least taste it first, don’t you think?” I asked, lowering my voice softly in that seductive way I knew most women couldn’t resist.
I slid my index finger inside my mouth, licking off the sweet dessert before pulling my finger out slowly. “You want a taste?” I asked.

I heard only the gasp of a sharp inhale before Mary let her mouth fall open just enough that I knew her answer.
Stepping toward her, I extended my thumb, letting her suck gently. The feel of her soft wet tongue around my finger made my already semi-erect cock stiffen fully against my jeans as I imagined her mouth around it instead. There was no amount of jerking off that would satiate the need I felt for her.

I slipped my thumb out, tugging slightly on the corner of her mouth on the way.
My hand came to rest around the back of her neck as I leaned in to push her lips against mine. Quickly, I spun her, slamming her up against the fridge, causing her to drop my shirt. My mouth worked its way urgently down her neck to her collarbone, and the moans that escaped her made me harder than I’d been in weeks. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” I promised her. Despite the fact that I would have one hell of a case of blue balls if we stopped now, I respected Mary. I liked her even. And I didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable.

I rubbed shamelessly against her, enjoying the friction of her body stroking my cock through my jeans.
There was only one other time that I remembered being so turned on that I thought I might actually come in my pants, and I quickly pushed
that
thought from my memory. The last thing I needed was to think about
her
right now.

Mary’s moans told me she didn’t want me to stop, but I needed a respite from the stimulation.
So I slid her away from the fridge, picking her up with one fluid movement and sitting her on the counter. I positioned myself between her legs, spreading them farther apart as I pulled her ass closer to the edge.

I let my fingers stroke the insides of her thigh to see if she’d shy away.
When she didn’t, my hand inched up above the hem of her dark gray dress to the lace of her underwear. I pulled roughly on the fabric, causing the back of her thong to slide up the crack of her ass. It seemed to startle her at first, but this was a Samson Signature Move, and I anticipated her response perfectly. After a few moments, she enjoyed the feeling of the taut fabric rubbing against such a private area, and she leaned back to allow me access to her slippery cunt. “I bet I can make you come just like this,” I said, massaging her clit with my fingers as I pulled roughly on her thong to stimulate her ass.

Her only response was a whimper as she reached for my belt, fumbling for a few moments before slipping her hand down my pants to grasp my pulsing hard-on.
God, yes.
“You don’t have any boxers on,” she said.