Rick Lawrence
I’ve been in love with Mary Patrick for one hundred and ninety-two days and I have no idea how it happened.
It still blows my mind.
Regardless, I’m obsessed with her, have been from the first time I saw her in her little conservative outfit, hiding her beauty behind layers and layers of clothing, with her hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. I do the same shit I do every day—watch her from afar. Why the hell is she so hot? Is it the Christian thing? Yeah, she’s pretty religious, but not as much as people think. She appears super religious more than anything. That should’ve been an instant turn off.
Wasn’t.
Two smoking-hot transfers from the Dallas office walk by. One of them looks at me then looks away, damn near blushing, swaying her hips back and forth in her little skirt. It should make my dick hard.
Doesn’t.
Barely notice.
I want her the fuck out of my way so I can see Mary again. There’s nothing special about Mary either. She’s ordinary, volunteers at her church, dresses plainly. Maybe it’s because she’s so wholesome? Uncorrupted?
Innocent, perhaps?
I’ve been thinking about this shit for seven months and there is no rational explanation. I feel drawn to her, like the tide predictably coming in every night.
Go talk to her.
Great idea, brain. I believe I will.
My stomach knots up with the first step I take. That never happened until I met Mary. I don’t get nervous like this.
She’s dressed in a too-long, ankle-length skirt and a brown sweater that doesn’t hug her curves nearly enough. It does nothing for her figure. She looks like a fucking disgruntled librarian. She’s wearing glasses today.
Fuck me, those glasses. The dirty things I would do…
“Not today, Rick.” She doesn’t even look up from the file her eyes are glued to.
I didn’t even realize I was this close to her until she says the words.
I clutch at my chest, feigning like she just broke my heart.
She lets out a frustrated sigh, then stares up at me. Those eyes.
There’s nothing special about them. They’re ordinary, cow brown, but fuck, they’re mesmerizing at the same time. They’re soft, like her, even if she does get an attitude every now and again, annoyed with every breath I take.
I’ve talked her into four dates so far. Actually, I called them dates. She said they were not dates, just work colleagues hanging out together. She was adamant about that, made it very clear.
That’ll change.
“You’re killin’ me, Mary.” I still haven’t let go of my chest.
She rolls her eyes.
This is fun for me. Not so much for her.
“Do you need something?”
I hem and haw for a moment, thinking about my answer, so I can be near her longer. I start to say something when Decker Collins, the managing partner walks by.
He doesn’t even stop, just says, “In my office, shithead,” as he walks by.
Goddamn it.
“Thank you, Lord,” Mary mumbles.
“No need to bring our Father into this.” I give her a fake scold.
I swear she almost cracks a smile, or maybe I just hope she does. But she waves me away with a flippant hand and doesn’t even give me the pleasure of showing me those brown eyes again.
“I’ll be back.” I trail off behind Decker.
Mary’s gaze turns back down to her papers. “Oh, I know.”
Usually, when I see a woman I want, I go a hundred percent. Then, I usually fuck her and send her on her way the next day. Women complicate my life when they stick around after the orgasms. I’m not a fan of that.
I glance down at my dick as I follow behind Decker. Poor guy. I’ve been depriving him since the first time I saw Mary, when she transferred from Dallas last year and walked through the damn entrance to my floor, stealing my attention from everything I was doing.
Oh yeah, my dick.
This predicament is brutal for him. It’s pretty ridiculous, the more I think about it. Even when I jerk off, I only think about Mary.
Mary. Mary. Mary.
Fuck.
I tried to force myself to watch porn one day and it felt like I was cheating. I haven’t had to erase my browser history at work in seven months. The fuck is wrong with me?
I’ve got it bad.
My luck will change soon, though.
Mary is a Bible thumper, and I’ve become one too. Which brings us to my master plan. She mentioned at church a while back (yes, I go to church now because of her) about wanting to see Jesus of Nazareth, the play, at the Chicago Performing Arts Center. The way her eyes lit up when she said it… The memory is cemented in my mind.
This is my big moment. I already have the tickets, conned Donavan out of them to investigate his now fiancée, Paisley. It’ll be our fifth after-work outing, and first official date. All I have to do is stop being a pussy and ask her out, for real this time. No games, no bullshitting. I haven’t put in seven months of reading Jesus books and volunteering at her church to be denied. Oh no, my friends. Mary is going. I don’t care if I have to tie her up and haul her ass there myself.
“Close the door behind you,” Decker says as I follow him into his office.
I do as he instructs, walk to the chair opposite him, flop down, and kick my feet up on his desk.
He glares at my shoes, as if I just sullied his desk, but he manages not to say anything, despite the fact a blood vessel might burst on his forehead. Why, you ask? Because I’m the best goddamn private investigator on the planet and he knows it. The shit I do for these pricks around here, nobody else can do. So, I get to do whatever I wish, and I enjoy wearing Led Zeppelin tee shirts to work and propping my feet on their desks.
Decker swallows his pride, and his jaw sets. “I need a favor.”
I hold my arms out to the side like I haven’t a care in the world. “What does’t thou need?”
He shakes his head. “Fuck.”
I laugh my ass off. “Sorry, still in King James mode from being enraptured with the good book earlier.”
“First, I’m pretty sure you just butchered whatever language you were speaking, and second, you don’t know what I’m going to ask you yet.”
I grin. “Sure, I do. And it’s a yes.”
He shakes his head, too stubborn to ask how I figured it all out.
Knowing what people want is simple, you just need to have Holmesian skills of observation. People will tell you everything, if you know what to look for.
Decker huffs out a sigh. “Go on with it. Get this shit out of the way.”
I drop my feet and lean in, like I’m seriously staring into his soul. It’s nothing but a performance. I bring my hands in front of me and steeple my fingers.
“Goddamn it, just spit it out, Lawrence. How do you know?”
I break into a laugh. “How about I just ask you the only question I have?”
He rolls a hand forward like get on with it.
“Is Dexter gonna lose his shit on me if he finds out?”
Decker sighs. “I don’t know how the fuck you do this.”
“The question, sir.”
“He can’t find out. I need it kept secret.”
I click my tongue a few times and stare off at the wall. “Gonna cost you.”