Hail Mary (12 page)

“I’m sorry, Mary. I’m a jerk.”

“You’re only realizing this now?”

His soft laughter was the only sound.

“Maybe so.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you’re pointing it out to me?” Michael questioned. This was turning out much better than he’d even hoped. When he stopped on to the balcony, he didn’t have a plan. All he’d wanted was to get Mary to talk to him about anything. He hadn’t planned on apologizing, but it had naturally happened, which felt…liberating.

The right thing to do at the right time for the right reason.

For once.

“You can make it up to me,” Mary offered.

“Name your price.”

“We go out on a date. You choose what we do. Deal?”

Michael’s smile started out slow, which was a good thing because Mary wasn’t prepared for its star-quality. It dominated his face and turned him from a sober, aggressive athlete into a stunning man.

“You took the words out of my mouth, Mary. Be ready at seven next Saturday. I’ll pick you up,” Michael told her.

“Alrighty, then,” Mary murmured, turning around and fleeing back inside before either of them could change their mind.

Chapter 8

The next Saturday, Mary rearranged the wine colored skirt of her wrap dress for the thousandth time and took another long pull on her beer. She double-checked the backs on her stud earrings, and smoothed the front of her skirt. Straightened the magazines on the table. Twice. Checked her watch for the seventeenth time in the last five minutes. Changed the channels, never letting any channel remain on longer than a minute before moving on. Double-checking her cell phone to make sure she hadn’t missed any calls or texts.

But nothing she did alleviated her nerves.

It had all started when she’d caved earlier and called Michael.

“Where are we going?” she’d asked, silently hoping he’d cancel and she could go back to her normal, quiet, teaching life, where handsome professional athletes stayed where they belonged.

On the television.

“It’s a surprise.”

“I need to know what to wear.”

“Wear whatever you want.”

“Spoken like a man. I need to know what to wear.”

“Wear something comfortable.”

“Comfortable is relative,” Mary responded. “Comfortable for a soccer game is different from comfortable for dinner. Dinner is different depending on if we’re going to the Pearl or Southeast Hawthorne.”

Michael chuckled. “Nice try, but it’s still a surprise. I’ll see you in a few hours,” he said and hung up before Mary could lodge any more protests.

She’d selected the wine colored wrap dress that hit at her knees because she’d received lots of compliments on it over the years and she felt comfortable and confident in it. Strong. Self-assured. Her sheer stockings made her calves shimmer and sparkle in her four inch Stuart Weitzman black pumps. She was pretty sure her outfit would suffice for any place they’d go for dinner, be it posh or casual.

The bonus was that the dress revealed what Calleigh liked to refer to as “good cleavage.”

“Sexy, but not slutty, Mary,” she’d once opined. “The girls should invite a guy in, but not stay overnight. Good cleavage says you are a woman in your sexual prime and not afraid to show it.”

Calleigh knew what she was talking about.

She still hadn’t received the full scoop from Calleigh about David, but was reserving the topic for their planned hike in Forest Park. Maybe she’d have something of her own to share on the dating front. All week long she’d mentally tried to play it down, telling herself it was not a date. Even though everything about it screamed date. The night of the week, the activity…

Her nerves certainly believed it was a date. The last time her nerves were this strong was when she had come out to Portland for her interview at Walker. Like that day, her nerves felt the same: excited, hopeful, and scared. As though her body knew something that remained a mystery to her heart and her mind. Where she’d gained the courage, she’d never know. But now that the time was upon her, she was happy she’d taken the plunge. If she hadn’t, would he have ever asked her out? Probably not. Michael had a natural, almost ingrained reserve Mary suspected was a mix of history and biology.

~ * ~ * ~

As he parked the Jeep in front of Mary’s apartment building, Michael admitted the saleswoman at Saks Fifth Avenue knew what she was talking about. His new black silk Valentino was light as air, like his workout clothes, but fit better than anything he’d ever owned. Almost as good as his uniform. Just not quite as lived in. He’d nixed the tie; too high school prom crush dork meets adult geek. Guess what they said was true: you get what you pay for. In this case, any Valentino suit from Saks came complete with custom, hand-tailoring that Michael had reluctantly stood for at least thirty minutes while the little bald man whipped his tape measure around him with the force of an Italian general, all the while murmuring to himself.

For the first time in a long time, he’d spent his recent evenings on something other than football, game footage, and calls. He’d devoted numerous hours on CitySearch and in Powell’s Portland section to research the perfect first date place in the city.

It was the least he could do for Mary.

It should be romantic, but not too obvious. Soft lighting would be a bonus. Preferably it would be located some place they wouldn’t be recognized. There weren’t a lot of people who recognized him in his street clothes, and even when they did, they rarely approached him, but he wanted a place he could have Mary all to himself since this was likely their one and only night together.

Ever.

Michael was leery of treading too far off the beaten path and ending up some place that was vegan only. He wasn’t interested in giving Mary the impression he’d only take her to out-of-the-way spots. As though she wasn’t worthy of splashier, more prominent restaurants.

He wanted to show her off to the entire city.

The restaurant couldn’t be too loud. He hated the few times when he’d been in a place and everything was overshadowed by the acoustics and other patrons.

It couldn’t be too silent either in case there were any awkward moments.

For which he would no doubt be entirely responsible for.

Tonight needed to be perfect. He owed Mary nothing less after his last performance.

Besides, if this was it, he wanted to cherish it in the long, lonely years ahead.

After he rang the doorbell, Mary met him outside on the steps, looking like a million bucks.

A curious warmth that seemed to always be present around her found its way into his body and squeezed his heart like a glove.

“Hi,” Mary welcomed, smiling at him.

“Hi,” Michael responded, motioning her ahead of him towards the cars parked all along the street. When she stopped, he realized she didn’t know which car was his.

“Up to your right, the black Jeep,” he answered in response to her silent question. Michael managed to move fast enough ahead of her to open the passenger door. Once they settled in, he maneuvered out of the spot as the Scissor Sisters came through the speakers.

“You listen to music?” Mary questioned.

“Yes,” he coughed. “I love music.”

“What kind? Are you a classic rock, new rock, alternative, or soul kind of guy?”

Swinging his eyes towards Mary in the twilight, Michael attempted to summon some secret reserve of flirtatious ambition.

“What kind of music do
you
think I like?” he teased back, loving the light banter.

Okay, he could do this.

He could flirt like any other man in the presence of an attractive woman.

“If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say maybe classic and new rock?” she suggested.

He beamed at her. “You would be right.”

Michael maneuvered the Jeep left on Southeast 35
th
off of Hawthorne.

“Are we going to Three Doors Down?” she asked.

“Yes. Have you been here before?” he countered.

“Once and I loved it.” Her enthusiasm was contagious. Michael smiled to share Mary’s joy as they entered the neighborhood Italian restaurant. The intimate setting was full, flush with patrons filling all the tables, the bar stools, and milling around waiting for the hostess to call their name. Younger families with school-age children blended with couples of all ages - twentyish hipsters in cords and clogs mingled with retirees sporting political messages on their shirts. The space was brighter than Michael originally wanted, but Mary’s smile banished any doubts he had about choosing the place.

They didn’t wait long and were seated at an intimate table towards the back corner, private and intimate. Mary ordered a Moretti. As though by tacit agreement, they both looked down at their menus rather than at each other.

Michael was content to stare at her when he thought she wasn’t looking, occasionally lifting his lips in an imitation of a smile, but wasn’t quite sure how to make it happen. Or wasn’t completely sure he should be smiling.

Mary looked fantastic. All female and feminine in her pretty purple dress, although he wished she’d worn her glasses. He liked her with them. He wanted the whole world to know how smart she was. And she was out with
him
. Michael Santiago. The poor, dumb, fucked up kid from Larson, Texas.

~ * ~ * ~

For a man who earned his living wearing a football uniform, he should have been a professional model, Mary mused. The black silk of his jacket cradled his wide shoulders and emphasized his deep chest while the black shirt he wore underneath tantalized with a hint of his throat, enough to make a woman want to lean in and kiss him right there at the exact spot where his collarbone connected with his throat. One, long, luscious lick from throat to bone. His suit set off his dark skin while the lighting made his skin glow as though there was a special spotlight on it. His skin was beautiful, his high cheekbones prominent and his full lips softened from his perpetual grimace. His trim haircut emphasized the beautiful bone structure of his face.

After they ordered, Mary got down to the business of conversation. She wanted to find something completely non-controversial, determined to avoid a replay of their prior dinner.

“It seems like you guys are having a good season this year,” Mary began.

“Yeah. Yeah, we are. We’ve had a few unexpected injuries that have changed our dynamics a little bit, but we’re limping along.”

“Who’s been injured? I watch football every week and I don’t remember any mention of any major injuries,” Mary queried.

Michael frowned. “The press only likes to mention what they consider the big injuries to the big names. But any starting player who is out or is injured for any length of time affects the team. A couple of weeks ago I lost my left defensive end and in his place, we have a rookie.”

“Johnson?”

It was as though a thundercloud passed over Michael’s face.

Oh no. Not again
.

“You know Tamar?” Michael accused, glowering at Mary across the table.

“Of course not,” Mary assured him. “But I did watch the game when the other guy--Campbell--was it, was injured. At that point, I remember one of the commentators remarking one of the Tide’s first round draft picks was a defensive end and would likely start in his place if he was out for any amount of time.”

Michael visibly relaxed. His hunched up shoulders rolled back and his intensive stare lightened up.

“Oh, ok. Good. That’s good,” Michael said, while a slight flush crept up on his cheeks and he looked away for the first time all night.

“Did you ever consider doing anything else other than playing football?” Mary asked after a few minutes as patrons clinked their glasses and the wait staff scurried around the restaurant.

“No. You? Anything other than teaching?”

“No, not really.”

Throughout the rest of their meal, they stuck to benign subjects like how wet and rainy the Portland winters could be, whether the Blazers had a chance. Michael admitted he didn’t watch or know much about basketball, but decided to give them the benefit of the doubt, if the mayor would be re-elected despite a current sex scandal involving an eighteen year old intern, and reminisced about some of the best things at Wisconsin.

“I can’t believe you never, not once, hung out at The Terrace on a sunny afternoon, drinking beer and scoping girls,” Mary teased as they made their way out of Three Doors Down, full of pasta and tiramisu, and slightly, pleasantly buzzed. From both the Moretti and Michael. Michael clasped her hand in his much warmer, much larger one as they made their way towards his car as though it was the most natural action in the world. Expected, even. After opening her door and seeing her safely inside, Michael jumped around the hood to the driver’s side, got in, fired up the Jeep and drove them back towards Northwest.

“If you drank, I’d suggest we go somewhere for a nightcap,” Mary mentioned.

“If you want to go somewhere, we can,” Michael offered. “Just because I don’t drink doesn’t mean you can’t.”

“No, it’s ok. I’d feel selfish making you take me somewhere for a drink while you’re drinking water.”

Sometime during the ride to her apartment, Mary noted the air shifted. Earlier, the air between the two of them had been playful and fun with a minor current of sexual tension and sparking anticipation.

Now the sparks had turned heavy with excitement.

As they reached her street, Mary asked, “Would you like to come in?”

“I’d love to.”

He parked the Jeep directly across from her apartment and followed her inside. Max promptly greeted them at the door all full of love and delight. “Just a minute. I need to take him out for a sec,” she remarked while reaching for his leash.

“Let me take him. You shouldn’t be out at night,” Michael declared.

Mary looked at him. “I’m a big girl, Michael. This is a safe neighborhood and Max will protect me from anyone.”

“I’m still taking him out. We’ll be back in a minute.”

“Ok, take my keys then,” Mary said handing him her set. “This way you can let yourself back in when you’re done.”

After he left, Mary placed her pumps in her closet, turned on some old school Radiohead, grabbed a glass of water, and waited for Michael and Max to return. She seated herself on her couch, tucking her legs under her, waiting and thinking.