Hail Mary

by C. C. Galloway

  One long, extended feel.

  “No problem. How long have you had him?” Michael continued to rub Max’s head and ears while they made their way into the living room.

  “I adopted him two years ago. It’d been a long time since I’d had a dog, but since he’s been with me, I can’t imagine my life any other way. Do you have any pets?”

  “No.”

  “Please have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? I’m drinking beer, but I also have vodka, gin, whiskey, soda, orange juice, and water. I have to warn you though, the water isn’t bottled, but it’s the best Brita has to offer.” Mary clenched her beer bottle hard enough that her knuckles started to ache. Telling herself to relax, she tried not to notice how Michael completely dominated her space. She’d never thought of her furniture or decorating style as particularly feminine or fussy, but with him in it, everything looked positively like it came out of Girls-R-Us. The loveseat that comfortably held two adults barely contained his six foot four inch frame. He crossed his right leg over his left knee, settled back against the right corner, and placed his hands on the back of the loveseat and its arms.

  Even his hands are beautiful, she thought. Long, elegant fingers ended in short, clean nails that filled out hands large enough to palm an NBA basketball. Man hands she wouldn’t mind putting all over herself. Feeling herself blush, she pasted another smile on her face and waited for his decision.

  “Water’s fine.”

  “You sure? It doesn’t bother me to drink alone, but I’d enjoy it more if you were my partner in crime.”

  Michael shook his head. “I don’t drink. I mean, I don’t drink during season.” He looked sheepish and quickly averted his eyes while his fingers tapped the arm of the loveseat.

  “Water it is.” Mary turned around and headed towards the cupboards. “I hope you like lasagna, although if you don’t, I’ve got plenty of bread and salad, and chocolate cake for dessert.”

  “You made dessert?” Michael asked, his expression equal parts hopeful and surprised.

  “Of course,” Mary responded, carrying a dark blue glass full of water she handed to him as she settled onto the couch and motioned towards the plate of cheese and crackers perched on the living room table between the two of them. “Please help yourself. It’s going to be a bit. The lasagna has another ten minutes and it needs to sit for awhile before we can cut into it.” Mary folded her legs underneath her, took another long pull on her beer and watched Michael. Max had quickly grown bored when it became evident Michael wasn’t going to sneak him any snacks and had returned to snoozing softly on his bed.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  The longer he was there, the more Michael convinced himself he’d made the right decision. During the short drive from his condo, he’d second guessed himself, and tried to come up with plausible scenarios for cancelling at the last minute.

  In the end, his long-dormant and practically non-existent sense of propriety asserted itself and he’d kept driving until he arrived at her apartment, an apartment as different from his as Texas was from Oregon, Michael realized. The hardwood floors and the warm colors on the walls and in the furniture revealed a woman who had made the space a home, not simply a place to eat, sleep, bathe, and prep for the next game. In his youth, he’d dreamt of owning a big, gracious house of the kind found in the oldest, most settled parts of any city.

  A variety of books, magazines, and picture frames graced her two living room tables. Off to the loveseat a bookcase housed both CDs and more books. Her kitchen counters were full of appliances, paper towels, and other assorted kitchen accompaniments.

  His kitchen? Completely devoid of anything on the countertops except for an occasional bowl of fresh fruit stuffed with apples, bananas or oranges.

  This was an apartment that invited you to sit down, take a load off, and settle in. Actually want to be in when you weren’t working, as opposed to a place you hung your head after getting the shit kicked out of you.

  Their color schemes couldn’t have been more different. In contrast to Mary’s rich and warm hues, everything was neutral in his brand new condo. It lacked any sense of personality and color and contained only the most basic of necessities: bed, sofa, television, and some appliances.

  His one luxury was a high-def TV mounted on the main living room wall opposite his only piece of living room furniture - a leather couch he’d picked up on sale when he’d first moved in. As Michael sunk into Mary’s loveseat and settled back, he realized how uncomfortable his own couch was. All stiff, thin, and unyielding. Nothing anyone would ever nap on. He was embarrassed to think it looked like something you’d expect to find at a Motel 6 kitchenette suite. Good thing Mary was never going to see the inside of his condo. He’d be mortified if she knew how he lived, how sparse his life was.

  It didn’t matter. He was used to uncomfortable things. It made him more focused, more alert. Getting too comfortable led to desiring things you could never have. You were safer never wanting them in the first place.

  Although, he did like Mary’s couch. Visions of getting comfortably horizontal with Mary rolling around on the loveseat flashed through his mind. As quickly as they materialized, he immediately tamped them down. There was no use going down that road. This was nothing more than a thank-you dinner she’d been compelled to invite him to, an invitation he’d accepted without a thought. She undoubtedly didn’t share his fantasies of naked loveseat action and even if she did, she was entitled to a whole lot more. A whole lot more than he would ever be capable of giving her.

  The lasagna smelled fantastic and made his stomach grumble. It reminded him of all the fantasies he’d harbored as a child of a warm, loving, stable home with two parents who actually cared about their kids. Those fantasies lasted until he grew up and realized fantasies only made you wish for something you were never meant to have.

  Fuck, Michael thought. It had been so long, over five years to be exact, since he’d had to make small talk with someone who he was concerned about not pissing off or alienating, let alone a woman like Mary. What was he supposed to say? What were they supposed to talk about?

  ~ * ~ * ~

  It had been about a million years since any man--and Michael was definitely, certifiably one hundred percent man--was in Mary’s apartment, for dinner or anything else. His intensely male presence made everything else seem more feminine. No wicker furniture. No pink or peach throw pillows. While she did have a few candles, she certainly didn’t have enough to qualify as sad and desperate. At least, not yet. Her place wasn’t particularly girly, but Michael’s male dominance made it seem positively pink.

  “Are you sure you’re ok with water?” Mary asked to fill the silence. Sitting in their respective spots, her on the couch and Michael the loveseat, they both looked at one another and then glanced away.

  “I’m sure.”

  Great. Mary had convinced herself after the success of College Career Day that Michael would open himself up tonight. They’d connected that day in a way that had never occurred during college. She thought it would spill over to tonight and Michael would attempt to make conversation without her constantly directing it.

  “Well, thanks again for speaking at Walker the other day. I can’t tell you how much it meant to the staff and the students. I think you made a real impact on them, which is saying a lot.”

  Michael maintained eye contact until the end of Mary’s statement, but quickly looked away when she finished. As though he was embarrassed by her thanks.

  He cleared his throat and asked, “How long have you had Max again? Did you say two years?”

  Alrighty, then. Moving right along. “Yes. I adopted him about two years ago when I was still living in Michigan. He was one of the trainee dogs for leading the blind, but unfortunately, he wasn’t good enough at it and he was kicked out. One of my friends ran the program and asked me if I’d be willing to adopt him. You’ve seen his face. How could I possibly say no?”

  Michael’s top lip sort of lifted
up and off to the side, almost like he wanted to smile, but not quite, but he didn’t comment.

  “How do you like Oregon? The winters are certainly a lot different from Madison.”

  “It’s ok. It’s where my job is.”

  He thought of his professional football career as a job? Where most people would think of it as a gift? A privilege?

  “Is it hard being away from your family? Are they all still in Texas?”

  While Michael wasn’t exactly open before hand, as soon as Mary asked the question, he completely shut down. His dark, bottomless eyes shuttered, he ran his right hand over his short trim, and crossed and uncrossed his legs a couple of times before he responded.

  “You could say that.”

  ~ * ~ * ~

  This was the problem with having no social life, Michael realized. He desperately wanted to change the subject, but didn’t know how. No way in hell were they even going to approach the subject of his family. The only problem was he couldn’t form the words in his brain to travel to his tongue. Even though he knew they couldn’t go down this path. Not now. Not ever.

  “Your parents must be proud of you,” Mary continued, undoubtedly hoping he would dole out more than the terse, short answers that had barely been forthcoming. Didn’t she know any better?

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  He could tell his responses put Mary off and cursed himself for being such a rude motherfucker. There was no way in hell he was going to infect Mary with any information about his family. Never going to happen.

  “How’d you come to teach at Walker?” Michael finally broke the silence and Mary couldn’t have appeared more grateful. At the question, he could see her pretty eyes light up behind her glasses and her face became even more animated.

  “Well, I went to school with another math major named Calleigh who grew up here in Portland. After Wisconsin, I returned to Michigan and started teaching in a small town in Northern Michigan called Traverse City. Last year, Calleigh gave me a call and told me Walker needed high school math teachers and asked if I’d be interested. I think it was one of those right-time, right-place kind of calls. I was frustrated with what I could accomplish in Traverse and decided to make the move.” As she finished, the timer on the stove started beeping.

  “Lasagna should be done,” she stated, rising up from the couch and making her way into the kitchen.

  “Now, that’s what I’m talking about,” Mary sighed, pulling the lasagna out of the oven as the cheese bubbled and the heat fogged up her glasses. She walked back into the living room. “It’s going to be about another ten to twenty minutes since the lasagna should sit for a while before we cut it. I just threw the garlic bread in.”

  Michael’s subtle nod was the only indication her words impacted him in any way.

  “I’m sorry I don’t have a formal dining table for us to use,” Mary said as she came back into the living room and settled herself back on the couch. “Well, that’s not exactly true. My table is currently the home to my CD player, CDs, bills, and mail. While I do have a table, I never actually use it for eating. Although it’s usually only Max and me, Max isn’t exactly picky.”

  He chuckled.

  “Yeah. It looks like he does pretty well around here.”

  He could do this. He could ask her questions, keep the focus on her. Her life. Her family. Her career. Her friends. So long as their conversation remained far, far away from any topic related to his family or his personal life, they could both escape from this evening unscathed.

  God willing.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Now she was actually babbling.

  Awesome.

  Play it cool, she tried to remind herself.

  But it was hard when Michael was so big, so male, so sexy and so infuriatingly, broodingly silent.

  How could she be cool in the face of all of his testosterone?

  Deciding it had settled for long enough and unable to bear the terse silence any longer, Mary piled two plates high with lasagna, Caesar salad, and cheesy garlic bread, and she and Michael dove in. Michael ate methodically, cutting up his pieces with surgeon-like precision, his beautiful hands making efficient work of the meal while he chewed deliberately. Mary had never noticed his hands while they were in school, but she kept making covetous glances towards the long, graceful fingers that dissected the pasta and romaine cleanly and efficiently. He scraped up the extra sauce with his bread, like she did, but otherwise kept all of his food separated from each other. The salad never bumped elbows with the noodles.

  Michael cleaned his plate long before Mary did and looked a little sheepish when she caught his eye.

  Deciding to make it easy for him, she asked, “You want more? There’s way more than I’ll ever be able to eat.”

  “Are you sure it’s ok?”

  “Absolutely. Mi casa es su casa.” When Michael looked slightly confused, Mary blushed and murmured, “Sorry. My house is your house. Help yourself.”

  As Michael made his way to the kitchen, Mary looked up from her plate and took in the view.

  The view from her angle? Spectacular.

  Too many men didn’t have an ass. Many were completely flat with nothing to grab or playfully pinch and their slacks sagged in the exact space they were supposed to cup. Which wasn’t the case with Michael. His ass was perfect. Perfectly shaped and made a statement in his jeans. Like, hey, don’t you want some of this? It practically begged to be patted and caressed. Lovingly. Tenderly. Or roughly. If he was into that.

  Which she could be on board with.

  She wondered if he was seeing anyone. Would he have told his girlfriend about tonight? Of course he would. Why wouldn’t he? It wasn’t like they were on a date. Crap. She should have told him to bring a guest tonight, but the thought never crossed her mind. Although if he was seeing someone, wouldn’t he have said something? Like, “Hey would you mind if I bring my girlfriend?”

  When she’d Googled him, the first three pages turned up nothing but professional references about his games, the Tide’s original draft, his MVP awards, and other various stats. There were no social website postings about him or any women he’d dated in the past. No broken or failed engagements. No references to him dating any porn stars or spending time with any Penthouse Pets in Vegas. There was simply nothing about Michael’s life outside of football.

  Or anything related to his life before football.

  Mary couldn’t imagine he lived like a monk. What an absolute and utter waste that would be. His facial structure was gorgeous. Broad, high cheekbones graced each side of a regal nose that highlighted lean cheeks. His skin was a beautiful olive color which Mary imagined only tanned in the summer, never burned like her own did after any amount of time in the sun. His eyes were dark and mysterious and viewed the world from under perfectly straight eyebrows.

  No clothes could disguise his body or camouflage his masculine grace and coiled power. The breadth of his shoulders had practically spanned her entire doorway between the hallway and the living room and anchored powerful arms.

  Michael returned to the living room, his easy gait carrying him forward where he tucked himself into his former seat and wasted no time in getting down to business. He’d piled his plate high with another helping of lasagna, bread and salad.

  “What do you do on your Friday nights when you’re not indulging me?” Mary asked as she chewed on a crouton and covertly admired her guest.

  He briefly looked up and seemed to consider his response. He finished chewing, took a sip of his water, sat the glass on a coaster and looked at her.

  “I, ah, usually watch game tapes of whoever we’re playing on Sunday.”

  “That’s what you do every Friday?” Mary’s inflection sounded accusatory to her own ears as Michael flushed slightly and looked down at his plate.

  “Um, yeah.”

  “What do you do in the off season?”

  “The same. Our schedules are set far in advance so I study our opponents in the off
season.”

  Michael had been an intense student and she shouldn’t have been surprised he’d transferred his academic intensity to his career. She was kind of embarrassed. She’d been teasing him and fully expected he’d say he went out with his buddies or with a girlfriend to hit the town. Eating in the Pearl. Maybe taking in a Blazers’ game at the Rose Garden or a concert at the Roseland. There was nothing. Only work.

  She cocked her head and drank him in while he finished dinner. He was as reticent to talk about himself or what was on his mind as he had been during college. He was shy, a trait she found endearing. If a two hundred pound defensive end could qualify as endearing.

  “Have you always done that?” Mary questioned.

  “Pretty much.”

  She laughed softly and took a long pull of beer to wash down her final bite. She contemplated a second piece, considered the cake waiting for them, pulled a Nancy Reagan, and just said no.

  “When you’re not watching tapes, what do you do for fun?”

  Michael had been steadily sucking the remainder of the meal down, but looked up again at the question. Max still snoozed softly on his plush bed, completely oblivious to the sudden tension springing up around him.

  “Why do you think watching tapes isn’t fun for me?” he countered.

  She felt his eyes on her, measuring her, waiting for her response as her face flushed. Mary wasn’t flushing from the heat of the red sauce or even from the couple of beers she’d thrown back, but from the censorious retort implicit in Michael’s question. It would be akin to him assuming she didn’t have fun prepping her Quiz Bowl questions for the week or drafting her quizzes, mid-terms, and finals, all of which she often did on Friday nights.

  “I’m sorry. That was rude. I didn’t mean to imply there was anything wrong,” she stammered, continuing to feel the heat rise on her cheekbones, no doubt making her look like a plump, overripe tomato.