Picking Up the Pieces (Pieces, #2)(78)

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 f*cking Virgin Mary. “So you’re a . . . you’re like a thirty-year-old virgin?” Real smooth, *. 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 f*cking 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.”