Extreme Bachelor (2 page)

There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for
Leah, but there was at least one big thing he couldn’t do—he just
couldn’t seem to be the guy she wanted, the guy who could go the
distance. He was like a marathon runner who would make it to within
ten yards of the finishing line of full commitment, where he would
inevitably peter out, falling flat on his face, gasping for air and
wanting a drink.

He told himself he was doing the right
thing. His job, his history, and his lifestyle said he was doing
the right thing. He was. He just had to keep reminding himself of
it.

A half hour before the
curtain went up on Leah’s last performance as Christine, a bundle
of orchids arrived for her with a note from Michael.
Break a leg, baby
! it
read.
I need to talk to you after the
show
.

Leah blinked and read the
note again.
I need to talk to you after
the show
. A shiver of delight raced up her
spine— what if her best friend, Lucy, was right? What if Michael
was going to ask her to marry him?

“Nah,” she said with a
laugh, as she arranged the orchids on her dressing table. The
couple of times she had broached the subject, she had gotten the
very serious vibe that Michael wasn’t ready to settle down. Maybe
because words like
not ready
and
commitment is a big
step
had come tumbling out of his mouth on
those occasions.

But what else could he
possibly want? It wasn’t as if they hadn’t seen each other quite a
lot the last few days. Maybe the tide had turned. It was obvious he
loved her, wasn’t it? Granted, he’d never actually uttered those
words, but what guy ordered orchids once a week? Or had very
expensive origami paper shipped to her when he was overseas? Or sat
in the front row of her play, shouting
bravo, bravo
? Or made love to her
like he’d just crawled out of the desert after being lost for
twenty years?

Oh yeah, Michael Raney loved her. He might
not say it, but she could feel it.

Of course she hadn’t said
it, either. Lucy had warned her about that. “The guy has
got
to go first,” she’d
said. “Otherwise, you come off as needy and end up with egg on your
face.” Maybe that was true, and maybe it wasn’t, but Leah hadn’t
yet found the courage to say it.

She thought of Michael as he’d been this
morning after they’d made love. She was combing through trade
papers while he lay sprawled across the bed, sleeping. The top
sheet was wrapped around his leg, the rest of him wonderfully
naked. His shoulder-length, thick black hair, which he often wore
in a ponytail, was covering part of his face. He was beautiful—a
strong, square jaw, high cheekbones, and a single dimple in his
right cheek when he smiled. And he had beautiful penny-brown eyes
with thick black lashes that made her absolutely melt.

But it wasn’t just his looks that she—and
most every other woman in New York—loved. It was that he was so
good to her, so supportive. And witty. And smart.

Leah picked up the note
again, which she had put down on a stack of reviews that called her
“brilliant and exciting” and “a sure bet in Hollywood” and a
“genius comedic actress,” and read his note again.
I need to talk to you after the show.

Maybe Lucy was right. It had been nine
months. They were perfect for each other. And they hadn’t talked
about the future in a long time. Maybe, she thought with a smile,
her career and her love life were reaching new heights. Maybe
everything was coming together in perfect symmetry, a gift from
heaven.

“In ten!” someone shouted outside.

She still had her last performance, then the
strike party. And then, tomorrow when she woke up, she would be
headed for a new life altogether.

Maybe they’d get a new apartment, she
thought as she tossed off her dressing gown and did one last check
of her costume. Something bigger. Something uptown.

THE play ended to thundering applause, and
the cast was brought back for three curtain calls before the lights
came up. At the strike party, the cast was aglow—many of them would
be touring with the production in the next few weeks.

They were all excited for Leah. “You are so
going to Hollywood, girl!” one of the crew shouted at the strike
party, which prompted an eruption of cheers for her.

Leah felt so alive—she couldn’t imagine even
sleeping again, much less coming down from the exhilaration. And
there, across the room, leaning against a column, was the man of
her dreams. He was nursing a drink, watching her as she flitted
from group to group, saying farewell, accepting warm wishes and
accolades from people who had become her friends.

Michael seemed nervous, Leah thought gaily.
Like a man on the verge of a life-changing event. He was usually
the life of the party, famous for making men laugh and women
swoon—he was always flirting—but tonight, he kept to himself, his
eyes on her.

He was going to ask
her.
She just knew he was, and she was
floating in anticipation of the moment, buoyed by the knowledge
that he was The One.

Later, when Michael caught her by the elbow,
kissed her cheek and said, “It’s getting late . . . do you think we
could talk?” she beamed at him.

She grabbed her coat, kissed everyone
good-bye, laughed at their calls for her to find a place in her new
TV show for them, and left on Michael’s arm.

He took her to a coffee shop at the corner,
which she thought was odd—but it didn’t matter where he asked her.
The important thing was that he loved her.

He sat across from her, his penny-copper
eyes dark as he gazed at the orchids she was taking home. “You were
wonderful tonight,” he said. “You’re going to be a huge star.”

“Oh God, I don’t know,” Leah said
sheepishly. “I hope so.”

“You are,” he said adamantly, and reached
for her hand. “You’re great, Leah. Everyone who meets you
recognizes your talent. You will be very successful.”

“Wow,” she said, still beaming. “That’s so
sweet of you to say.”

He smiled, too, but it was a strange smile—a
smile like he was dying. “You’re going to be so successful that you
won’t need me.”

“Oh, Michael!” Leah
laughed. If only he knew that she worried she’d lose him. “I
do
need you,” she
assured him. “I will always need you. You’re my rock.”

He sighed and withdrew his hand, then
gripped the edge of the table so tightly that his knuckles were
white, and Leah’s belly did a strange little flip. “What I’m trying
to say is that you really don’t need anyone—you’re great all on
your own. The world is your oyster.”

“Well maybe,” she said with a smile, “but I
don’t want to be alone.”

“But you will be, baby . . . because I’m
leaving.”

Leah laughed. “I know. We talked about that
this morning, remember?”

He looked absolutely miserable. “But this
time, I’m not coming back,” he added quietly.

Something thick and hard snapped inside
Leah. Her mind couldn’t process the words, but her heart was
reeling. “What do you mean, you’re not coming back? That’s silly,”
she said with a flick of her wrist.

“Leah . . . I’m ending it,” he said, his
voice depressingly soft.

“Ending it?” she repeated
dumbly. “
Ending it
! Ending
us
? But . . . but why?” she asked as panic started to rise in
her.

He looked away, shoved two hands through his
hair. “My job,” he said simply. “It doesn’t leave room for a . . .
a significant other.”

This could not be
happening.
This could not be
happening
! She
loved
him. She adored him, and he’d
just chopped the legs out from beneath her. She couldn’t seem to
find her balance, a center where she could even absorb the words he
was saying, much less understand them. “Just like that?” she asked
him breathlessly. “No warning, no indication? We made love today,
Michael! What, is this about the Hollywood thing?”

“God, no,” he said, shaking his head. “No,
Leah I want that for you. I want you to go on and be as great as I
know you are.”

“But . . .” She surged forward, reached for
his hand. “But Michael, we have a great relationship. Why would you
do this? Why would you hurt me like this? I don’t understand.”

He grimaced. “I don’t want to hurt you. I
never wanted to hurt you. In all honesty, I should never have
entered this relationship in the first place. I’m not the kind of
guy to settle down, and I knew, I . . .” He paused there, seemed to
be searching for words. “I’m sorry, Leah,” he said again. “I am
leaving for Austria in the morning. I’ll be gone indefinitely.”

The words fell like rocks between them, each
one heavier than the last. Yet Leah could not believe it. She could
not believe that nine months of a blossoming, fantastic
relationship, that was, by all accounts, a match made in heaven,
was ending so abruptly with no warning, no clue. It was a
blindsided blow. “I don’t get it,” she said, as tears began to well
in her eyes. “I thought we were so good together. I had no idea
there was anything wrong—”

“There’s nothing wrong. You’re an amazing
woman.” He sighed again and looked very pained. “I’m so sorry I
have to do this to you. I am sorry I ever let it go this far.”

“Let it go this far?” she
cried, and felt the first tear fall. “What does
that
mean? You weren’t into it, but
you just strung me along for no reason?”

“No,” he said instantly. “It wasn’t like
that. But I never thought . . . shit, I don’t know what I thought.
I just can’t commit, baby.”

“Who the hell asked you to commit?” she
cried.

He reached for her hand, but she yanked it
out of his reach. “I can’t be with you, not anymore. I have to
leave. This is for the best—”

“Don’t you dare tell me
what is best,” she snapped, swiping at the tears that fell from
her eyes. “Just . . .
just go,
if you’re going.”

“Let me help—”

“No!” she cried. “Don’t do anything except
get the fuck away from me, Michael!” She turned away, fumbled in
her bag for some tissues.

He got up and moved toward her, but Leah
wouldn’t look at him. She couldn’t look at him. Her whole world had
just been turned upside down in one stunning blow. He’d stolen her
breath, crushed her heart, and now she lay bleeding and gasping for
air. She hated him in that moment. She absolutely hated him. She
flinched when he put his hand on her shoulder, as if he had burned
her. Michael removed his hand, and she listened to his footfalls as
he walked out of her life, leaving behind nothing but the ashes of
what had been the greatest love of her life.

New York

Five Years Later

SOMEONE hurled an empty beer bottle at the
limousine Michael Raney was riding in; it bounced off the back
windshield and hit the back fender before crashing onto the
pavement as the car eased out of the Shea Stadium VIP parking
lot.

“Lemme out,” Parker Price said through
clenched teeth, and reached for the door, but his brother Jack held
him back.

“There are dozens of them, bro. You can’t
take them all,” Jack said.

Parker shoved his brother off and sagged
against the plush leather seats, defeated. “It’s over. It’s so
over. I might as well shove my cleats up my ass.”

“That’s the spirit,” Jack said. “And anyway,
I don’t think it’s that bad,” he added, and rather unconvincingly,
considering that it really was that bad. Frankly, Michael had never
seen a shortstop play a game as poorly as Parker Price had just
done. The Yankees had made the Mets look like a bunch of little
leaguers, and the shortstop, for whom the Mets had shelled out one
hundred and ten million dollars plus bonuses over seven years to
make sure that never happened, was the worst of the lot.

Another beer bottle hit the top of the car.
Parker snapped his head up and punched the button that lowered the
window separating them from the driver. “Hey pal, if you haven’t
noticed, angry fans are hurling beer bottles at us—do you think you
could pick up the pace a little?”

“Yo, genius, I’m not the one who had a hole
in my glove you could drive a truck through, right?” the driver
snapped back. “I’m going as fast as I can, but there are a lot of
vehicles in front of us.”

Parker punched the “up” button, raising the
window, and stared morosely at the floor.

“Look at it this way, Park,” Jack tried. “If
you were hitting well, they’d probably say you’d juiced up.”

Parker groaned and dropped his head.

Something else hit the car, bouncing off the
top. A baseball, maybe?

“Oh for four,” Parker said. “I haven’t had a
hit in eight games.” He suddenly punched the window button again.
“We’re going to the Essex, Central Park South.” He sent the window
up again without waiting for an answer from the driver.

That address,
unfortunately, was where Michael Raney and Jack Price, two of the
four Thrillseekers Anonymous boys, were putting up for this
baseball series. T.A., as they liked to call themselves, was the
premier private adventure club in the United States, catering
exclusively to the very wealthy. They also did some of the best
stunt work in Hollywood. In fact, Michael and Jack were taking one
last little break in New York, while Eli McCain and Cooper Jessup,
the other two partners, were back in L.A., finishing up a new deal
for the film
War of the Soccer
Moms
.