by Wolf, Alex
“Yeah?” I don’t know what just happened, but her voice just changed. I can sense the apprehension in it. The hell is going on? “What’s up?”
“No, never mind. It’s nothing. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t do that. You can tell me anything.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Mary, tell me.” Now I have to fucking know. You can’t drop shit like that on me then be like, oops, sorry.
“Okay.”
She goes into what happened to her. About her Decker-approved meeting with Wells Covington.
I don’t think much of it at first. I figured Wells Covington would know what was going on. He’s not an idiot. The dude has a one-seventy IQ or some shit, and a megaton of resources at his fingertips.
Then, Mary tells me he’s threatening Decker with information he has on me. That’s when my face turns into a glowing red ember.
Hold. It. Together.
Mary keeps going, and the more she does, the more I want to punch something, but the last thing I want to do is take this out on her. I can’t. I just won her back to my side.
What the fuck does Wells Covington know about me? How does he know anything about me? My tracks are all meticulously covered.
Maybe it’s nothing. Could be some shady work you’ve done for the brothers.
“Rick, you there?”
“Yeah, sorry.”
“You okay? You want to talk? I can call my mom real quick, tell her I’m fine and I’ll call her tomorrow.”
I grind my teeth but manage to sound convincing. “No, no, call her back. But before you go, there’s just one thing.”
“What is it?”
“Can I push our date to Friday night? Sorry, I just remembered, I have something on Thursday.” My whole body trembles with rage as I say the words, and I grip the phone in my hand so tight I think it might break.
“Sure, Friday works.”
“Can’t wait.”
“Me either.” She says the words, but her tone changes too. She knows something is wrong, but she’s afraid to ask.
“Okay, go call your mom.”
“Okay, goodnight.”
“Night, Mary.” I take a deep breath as she hangs up the phone.
The second I hear a dial tone and close out the screen, I scream, “Fuck!” Then I sling the lamp across my table, shattering it against the wall.
I have no idea what I’m going to do. At least I bought myself an extra day.
Mary Patrick
It’s Friday evening, time for date number two. I haven’t seen or heard from Rick except for a text earlier that said, “Be ready at six.” Rick shows up at my door at five ‘til. It’s been weird, not talking much since the phone call, the one where I made an idiot of myself, but he looks incredible and he has a fresh vase with more orchids in it.
Just like last time, I smell them, set them on my little table, and head out the door with him. The feelings running through me are all familiar, same as last time, but there’s something off about him. I get the same vibes from him, that he’s into me, but his mind is somewhere else at the same time.
I can’t help but think it has something to do with what I told him about Wells Covington. What was that all about anyway? Should I have told him? I want to push him about it, but I don’t really know how.
Don’t ruin the date.
Rick is an interesting man, and I want to know everything about him, even if he has dark secrets. He’s a good man at heart. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. But it’s only our second date, and I shouldn’t ask for all the information up front. Plus, I really want him to actually kiss me this time, not run him off.
It’s none of my business anyway. We’re not married.
We make it to the restaurant. Last time it was Smoque, this time we pull up to Bavette’s Bar and Boeuf. It’s super romantic and gorgeous. He couldn’t have picked a better place. It’s so nice and formal, I think we might be a little underdressed, but Rick doesn’t seem to notice. He has such a confidence about him that it takes me by surprise every time he says I make him nervous.
Do I really have that big of an effect on him? I believe him when he says it, it just feels weird. Nobody has ever said the things he says to me.
If there is one true thing about Rick Lawrence, though, it’s that he’s interesting. He could be a character in a novel, and I’d read about him nonstop. Especially some of the dirty novels I’ve read that came recommended from ladies I went to church with. I just finished the Pucked series by Helena Hunting, and fanned myself the entire time. I don’t even like hockey, but they were definitely five stars and hilarious.
The conversation with Rick starts up light and easy, and it flows so naturally between us. It always does when we get out of our heads and just talk. I really think we’re finally settling into a sweet spot, learning the back and forth, each other’s paces and rhythms.
Don’t do it, Mary. Things are going great.
I do it.
Finally, I break down, because it’s just killing me, and I can’t help myself. “So, what was that all about the other night?” My eyes dip down to my glass of water as I say it.
“What?” Rick looks away as they drop salads in front of us.
“You know what. I brought up Covington, and the whole conversation shifted. You changed the date to tonight.”
He grips his own water glass a little tighter than he needs to.
Dang it. I want to smack myself.
He doesn’t look irritated, but it’s as if I can feel it in his veins. Finally, his face softens a little and he says, “Please, ask me about anything other than that.”
“Okay, I’ll make a deal with you.”
“Okay.” Now, he looks intrigued.
“I won’t ask about it again, if you’ll stop acting uptight and have a good time. I’m trying to enjoy this date like I did the last one.”
Rick blinks a couple times, like he just cleared his mind of everything racing through it, then finally smiles an actual Rick smile. “Deal.”
I take a sip of water. “Good.”
The meal is amazing, and everything changes after that moment. We laugh, we have serious moments. The conversation runs the full spectrum, learning about each other. Insignificant little things, but it adds up to a better understanding of each of us. It’s not lost on me that everything we talk about is him after the age of about twenty, but it’s good enough for now. He’s giving information instead of just taking, and that sets my mind at ease a little. Slowly, he’s opening up more.
Each second toward the end of the meal, my pulse speeds up and my limbs start to tingle. I think about our phone conversation and where it was headed when Mom texted. I’d never done anything like that with another man, ever. It was exhilarating. I don’t know if my pulse has ever sped up so fast. I’ve definitely never had a man talk to me the way Rick did, command me to do things the way he did, and it did something for me. It did a lot. I want more of that.
It’s not just him being so confident about sexual things, though. He makes me feel confident in myself when it comes to intimacy. I think that’s one of his strongest attributes. I’m realizing he’s amazing, outside of the sexual stuff, but let’s be honest—the sexual stuff is a big deal to me too. I’m not pretending to be anyone, and I haven’t been sized up and fit into a mold with him.
I can be whatever I want to be in the moment, and he just embraces it without judgment. That’s a rare quality to find in someone you like. It wasn’t what I expected at all, and it only draws me closer to him.
Rick finally pays the bill after our meal, and we walk outside. The sun is down and it’s a little chilly with the wind coming in off the lake. Rick drives us over and parks near the office, then gets out, opens my door for me, and takes my hand.
He notices me shiver a little when I step out into the windy evening. “Shit, it’s kind of cold, hang on.”
I have no idea what he’s doing, but he pulls a leather jacket out
of his backseat and drapes it over my shoulders.
Of course, he has a leather jacket, and just, wow. It smells like him and his cologne. I want to wear it to bed as a blanket. If I was cold before, that’s no longer the case.
My whole life, I watched the bad boy in the movies pull this same move on girls, and I always wondered what the big deal was. It’s just a leather jacket for crying out loud. But now I get it. I so get it.
He takes my hand and we cross Michigan Avenue to Cloud Gate, then walk along the paths in the park.
I can count on one hand, the number of men I’ve dated in my life, and never has it been like this. Storybook perfect. The nice dates, the walking in the park, opening doors for me, draping a leather jacket over my shoulders, the staring up at his sharp jaw line and gorgeous hazel eyes, the smoldering stares from across the room that heat me to a thousand degrees.
All the other men I’ve dated were so straight-laced and awkward. Super nice men, they just weren’t, you know—forbidden, rugged, beautiful in a very male, testosterone-filled way. They were all reliable, routine-driven, men. Yeah, they were boring. Nice, but boring.
This, what I’m experiencing, is romance, excitement, suspenseful—every checkmark outside of reality, and Rick is ticking them all off, one by one.
I glance over at him. I know he has secrets, know he probably has a difficult past—that he’s done some shady things, has experiences I could never relate to. But he’s so alluring, and dangerous, and I just want to break down those walls and get to the cogs and gears of him, because there’s something powerful between us, even when he was acting like a maniac around me, borderline stalker-ish—there was something drawing us together. I don’t know if it was God, or the universe, or some kind of undefinable force at play, but it’s there. It’s always been there. I think that’s just how it is with some people, whether they want to admit it or not.
I stop in front of a park bench and turn to Rick.
He looks down at me, clearly confused. “It’s called a walk, you know? Walking is involved.” He’s teasing, and shows me the whites of his teeth with a cheesy grin that makes me want to melt.
Don’t do it again. Are you really going to sabotage this perfect moment?
Yep.
“I want to know about your childhood, what you were like as a boy.”
Rick’s jaw tenses, and his eyes harden. Then, he does the classic Rick move and smiles again, showing off a dimple on his right cheek I’d never noticed, but the lights hit him just right. I want him so bad in that moment, but at the same time, I want to know him too. If I’m going to give myself to him, surrender and be all in with this, I have to know first. I need to push him, because he’s not going to just volunteer this information, no matter how many dates we go on. I can just tell.
“Wouldn’t you rather see this beautiful skyline…”
I stand there, his jacket still draped across my shoulders, shaking my head slowly and deliberately. “Not at all. If you want to date me, you have to trust me. And I have to trust you. I’m sorry, but it’s non-negotiable. As much as I want to just ignore, and dive headfirst into this, I just can’t. It’s not who I am. If you want to date me, I have to know who you are.”
There’s a sparkle in his eye, something, every time I mention dating him.
He stands there, staring into my eyes for a long moment, like he’s contemplating everything about us. I think he’s about to say something, but right then, something else happens.
His palms come up to my cheeks, and his mouth slants over mine, and in the brief second it takes for his lips to come into contact with mine, and for my nerve endings to fire a message to my brain and say, “Rick Lawrence is kissing you,” and for my brain to receive and recognize that information… In that fraction of a second, I think I might have a heart attack, and then, I think I might melt into a puddle or float away.
Because oh my wow, this man can kiss, and he can kiss good. More than that, we naturally fit together, like two long lost puzzle pieces finally reunited. My hand slides up around his neck, and his fingers smooth down the sides of my hair as he tilts my head whichever way he wants me to go.
His tongue licks and explores my mouth, learning as he goes, figuring out the dance so he knows exactly what I want, and what I like to feel.
My skin tingles from my scalp down to my toes. Euphoria shoots through my veins. It’s a rush I’ve never felt before, all of it funneling down to my center. Without thinking, my hips press into him and grind, as if I need more, like I can’t get close enough to him.
He growls, just slightly, across my lips the second I do it, like I’m driving him just as wild as he’s driving me.
After what feels like a nanosecond and an eternity at the same time, our lips part and Rick stares at me. Not just any stare. A stare like he just received part of me, like he now knows me even better.
I lift a finger to my mouth and touch my lips. They’re slightly swollen because Rick just kissed me harder and better than anyone has ever kissed in the history of the world.
His eyes are still on me, and without hesitation he says, “Nei tuoi occhi c’è il cielo.”
I stare at him, still dazed.
Rick’s eyes dart around, then land back on mine. “You have no idea how bad I’ve wanted to do that.” He smooths down the sides of my hair, sliding his hands all the way down to my waist, then his fingers dig into my hips and I think he may never let go of me. Then, as if he can read my mind, he says, “And it’s Italian. It means ‘heaven is in your eyes.’”
I don’t know how to respond, but I think the meaning is clear. Did he just say he saw God when he kissed me? Everything happens in front of me, and I understand it, but my mouth won’t move. He made me catatonic. Kissed me so hard and spoke Italian so good it put me in a fugue state.
All I can do is nod.
His palms slide back up to my cheeks, and he looks me in the eye, as if he’s still going to address the questions I had before the kiss heard ‘round the world.’
“I’ll tell you everything, I promise. I won’t hurt you. I won’t corrupt you, either. You make me a better person, and if I thought I would make you worse, I’d leave you alone, no matter how hard it’d be. I promise, Mary.”
This time I lunge in and kiss him back. He squeezes me in a tight embrace as our mouths collide. He feels so good, pressed up against me, his hard chest as close as I can get to it. In this moment, I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so—safe, taken care of. I don’t have a worry in the world. I can do anything. When our kiss breaks, I lean up to his ear, and not even I can stop what comes out of my mouth, especially after he opened up and promised to tell me everything.
“Take me to your place. I want to see it.”
Like I said, this man makes me confident, so comfortable in my own skin. I can’t remember the last time I let my guard down and said everything I wanted to say to someone. I would never tell that to another man on the planet, especially on date number two.
Rick’s eyes get big, then he shakes his head. “No, it’s too soon, too fast.”
My jaw tightens a little, and I put a palm on his cheek. “I’m a grown woman. I make my own decisions. And what I want is you.”
He looks me up and down for a long time, staring into my eyes, and I start to worry he’s going to reject me for a second time in a row. The way he stares at me, like he’s wondering if he really wants to do this. Maybe he doesn’t want to. Maybe it’ll ruin things.
My mind is playing tricks on me. I know how bad he’s fighting with himself because he wants it too. The phone call, all the signs, the way he just kissed me. I can tell he wants to do the right thing—for me. At the last second, he takes me by the hand without saying a word and pulls me to his car.
And just like that… It’s happening. This is actually happening.
I feel alive.
Rick Lawrence
I can’t stop kissing Mary every chance I get. Now that I’ve had a taste, I want more. No, I
need more. I need her so bad, my whole body aches for her, every damn cell, every fucking strand of DNA in my body screams out for her.
I’m a man. I’ve had urges before. It’s only natural, but absolutely nothing compares to this. If I don’t have her as soon as possible, I might die.
We stumble up the stoop to my apartment building, hands flying everywhere, mouths fused together. When we finally get to the elevator, then my door, by some sheer force of the greatest willpower of all time, I stop us. I unlock the door and push it open, then turn and look hard and long into Mary’s eyes.
My only apprehension is that I don’t want to ruin her. I don’t want her to regret this tomorrow morning. I want to make her love me the way I love her, and if I have to wait, as hard as it may be, I will do it. I will gladly sacrifice what I want now, for a lifetime of this.
“I’m happy right now.” I cup her cheek, and she nuzzles into it. “You have no clue how happy you make me, Mary. Look at me.”
Her eyes shift up to mine.
I try to tell her with my own eyes, how I mean every single word of what I’m about to tell her. With every ounce of willpower I have, I make her see the truth. “If tonight ended right now, I would be the happiest man on the planet. I don’t want to ruin anything. We don’t have to do this, if you’re not comfortable with it. I don’t want you to regret…”
“I know.” She walks past me, into my living room.
I mentally fist pump. This may be the best night of my life. No, it definitely is. I turn to see her checking out my apartment. It’s such a bachelor pad, and I worry about what she thinks, but she doesn’t seem to mind as she takes everything in.
“You want a drink?”
“No.” She shakes her head, then turns around and shows me that gorgeous face of hers. She walks up and kisses me again, then tugs at my shirt and says, “I want you.”
This. Is. Happening.
It’s Mary. I’m doing this with Mary.
I kiss along her neck, up to her ear, and whisper, “What do you like?”