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433 pages, Paperback
First published September 3, 2013
They’d spent the past few days monitoring her eating, her drinking, her parenting skills, and then bombarding her with unsolicited suggestions and advice, forgetting that at thirty-five, she was an adult, a woman, not little Sarah, the charming, good-natured baby of the family.
She’d never thought it’d been a mistake—trading her dreams for his—until her world fell apart a couple of years ago, and she’d been fighting to rebuild her marriage, and her self-esteem, ever since.
Since she’d married Boone he’d been traded five times, which meant five huge moves. But even when they were settled with one team, she wasn’t. Because Boone wasn’t settled. He was constantly traveling and training and nursing a real, or perceived, injury. And when he was home, she fluttered around him, alternately thrilled and resentful.
“I shouldn’t have told you anything.” No, he shouldn’t have. Because it just made it all that much worse when she found out he was one of them.
Sarah hated the uncomfortable knot filling her chest. Hated the anxiety and unease. Hated that she always flashed to Stacey from Atlanta. Hating that Stacey from Atlanta still had this power over her . . . them. “Who was the text from?”
And now he was going out again, hanging out with the guys, doing whatever it was macho guys did to chill out. Strip clubs. Titty bars. Nightclubs.
Boone didn’t arrive home until close to three. He took a shower before he came to bed, waking her, and she lay in the dark, staring at the clock, wondering why he was showering now, wondering what he was trying to rinse off.
She was mad that he needed to go out two nights in a row and drink and hang out with guys who liked nothing more than “tapping that.”
Once a cheater, always a cheater, and yet for the past three years Boone had been so focused and committed. But he didn’t feel that way to her now.
Still smiling, she moved on, aware that she might have developed a small, teeny tiny crush on handsome Boone Walker.
The problem with insecurity is that once the first doubts crept in, they multiplied quickly.
Lauren hopped into her car to head up to Napa for the night. It’d been a relatively quiet few days at the café. The A’s were on the road, and she wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but she was lonely. She was missing Boone.
But riding her bike to work, Lauren knew why she was making bread pudding. It was for Boone. The A’s were supposed to be back in town today. Lisa would be so disgusted.
Boone didn’t wait for her to return, meeting her at the register instead. “I don’t know what your schedule is,” he said, taking the cash she gave him, having already left her tip on the counter. “But if you’re out of here early enough, why don’t you come to the game tonight? I can put you and a friend on the pass list.”
“No. I was just thinking about your wife, wanting to be respectful.” Boone’s gaze searched hers. “I love my wife.”
Lauren watched him go, heart thumping, feeling emotions she hadn’t felt in years, feeling emotions she shouldn’t feel for him. He wasn’t hers. He would never be hers. He wasn’t a man she could fall for.
Did you have fun last night?” Boone asked, taking his favorite seat at the counter. “I did,” Lauren said, bringing him his coffee. “You put on quite a show, with that second home run in the ninth. Had the fans going crazy.”
Later, when Boone reached for his wallet, Lauren refused. “Today’s on me,” she said. “My treat for taking care of us last night.”
“Want to go again tonight?” he asked,
“You can come late. I’ll make sure they put you in the family section. The wives and girlfriends are all really nice—”
What was he doing in California? Why did she hear from him so infrequently these days?
She had everything she ever wanted and it meant nothing. Because she didn’t have Boone. Not with her. And she wanted a husband who would be with her. Sleeping with her. Eating with her. Going on walks and to the store and to a movie and whatever else they wanted to do.
But he didn’t sound as if he missed her. He sounded frustrated and irritated that he was even having to listen to her.
Lauren glanced past Chris to Boone. He was observing her, curious. There was something intent, and watchful, in his eyes. It made her grow warm, too warm. It made her wonder if he might possibly be attracted to her.
At work on Saturday morning, Lauren wondered when Boone would return to the café. She hadn’t seen him in nine days and knew he’d been on the road for six games, but the Athletics were back now, had played at the Coliseum last night, with another game tonight, and Boone always stopped by the café on his way to the stadium.
“He likes you,” Boone said abruptly. Lauren’s head lifted, and she turned toward him, hands filled with dishes. He must have arrived while Chris was still here, and neither of them had noticed. “When did you get here?” “Five minutes ago.”
“My wife’s family is attending tomorrow’s game,” Boone said, adding milk and sugar to his coffee. “Should be fun. First time they’ve seen me play in an A’s uniform. Then after the game we’re all going out to eat somewhere. Sarah’s sister Meg is making reservations—”
She shook her head, but truthfully, she was feeling a little faint. As well as stricken. Had she . . . had she . . . been lusting after Meg’s sister’s husband?
And just like that, Sarah found herself thinking of that woman he’d hooked up with. He’d had a big SUV then, too. And they’d done it in the car . . .
And his affair did make her hate herself because she loved him, needed him, more than she loved herself. More than she loved her self-respect.
It’d been three years, but she still couldn’t forgive him for wanting another woman. And he hadn’t merely wanted her, he’d taken her, enjoyed her, enjoying her again and again over weeks . . . months . . . He said it wasn’t months. He said it was weeks. But weeks was almost the same thing. Weeks was bad enough.
She hadn’t suspected before, and yet when she discovered the truth she was shocked by the heat of it, and how carnal it was between them, he and that woman . . . and when Boone had said it was nothing, that the woman meant nothing to him, that it was just sex . . .
“But if Boone was the one who cheated, why would you hate yourself?” Cass persisted.