The Good Wife (27 page)

“No.”

“Wow
.
”
He laughed, hard, and he bent over, still laughing, hands on his knees. “That was a rough no. Nothing apologetic about that one at all.”

Lauren blushed, face heating. “Maybe it was a little harsh.”

“A little? You’re mean. I think I’ll go have a seat at the counter and cry.”

Lauren’s cheeks burned, and her insides felt fizzy. “You’re ridiculous.”

He stopped laughing and reached out to sweep his thumb across her warm, pink cheek. “Okay, I won’t cry. But I will go sit and let you wait on me, hand and foot.”

Lauren giggled, and spluttered, “You’re beyond hopeless.”

“I’ve heard that,” he said, nodding earnestly.

She laughed even harder, her eyes watering at the corners. She wiped beneath her eyes, making sure they were dry. “This won’t work. I can’t possibly manage this restaurant, take care of my section, train Crystal, and handle you.”

“Sure you can. Just take a couple of nice, deep, cleansing breaths, and you’ll find your center. In the meantime I’ll grab a seat at the counter and I’ll eat whatever you bring me. Steak, corned beef hash, omelet. It doesn’t matter.”

And then he strolled to the one open seat at the counter, his faded denims so soft and worn they looked like a second skin, outlining his butt and hamstrings.

Thirty some minutes later Chris was finishing his breakfast, which he’d ended with a slice of her peach mango cobbler and then a second serving of cobbler.

“That’s good,” he said, nodding approvingly. “My grandma’s from Texas and she made cobblers, good cobblers, but this rivals her best.”

“I like cobblers, too,” Lauren said, removing the dessert plates and returning with another glass of milk. Chris liked milk. He drank two or three glasses with every meal. “Were you raised in Texas?”

“No. Phoenix. But I went to school in Texas. UT.”

“Ah. A desert boy.”

“Boy?”
Chris gave her a look. “I’ll have you know I’m a
man,
Ms. Summer.”

He was teasing her, trying to be funny, and yet the sexual implication made her blush. “You’re thirty,” she said, having read his age and all his statistics in the A’s program when she attended the game with Karen.

“Is that not a man where you come from?”

She laughed, her cheeks suddenly impossibly hot. “No, it is.”

“But you don’t take me seriously, though, do you?”

“I, uh—” She glanced up at him, perplexed. “I do.”

He gave her a pointed look.

She frowned. “Don’t I?”

“No.”

“Order up, boss,” Bob called from the kitchen.

Lauren shot Chris a quick, troubled glance and went for the plates under the warmer, and yet as she served lunch to her table, and refreshed their drinks, and then the drinks at another table, she kept mulling over what Chris had said. About her not taking him seriously. As if he wasn’t a man.

She walked behind the counter, stopping in front of him to fish out his bill. “Maybe it’s because you’re younger than me.”

“By shoot, what? Five years?”

“How did you know?”

“Boone told me.” He held her gaze, his expression searching. “I guess you told him.”

“Can’t believe he remembered.”

“Apparently you and his wife are around the same age.” Chris’s gaze never wavered. “She’s here now. With the kids.”

“That’s good. He’s missed her.”

“It’s good they’re here now. They’ve been going through a rough patch for a while.”

“How do you know?”

“He and I share a room on the road.”

“Ah.”

Chris grabbed a roll of cash from his pocket and counted out three tens, leaving them on the counter. “So when are we going out again?”

She smiled, shook her head. “You’re shameless.”

“I’m not giving up.”

“You should.”

“I won’t.”

“We’re not at all compatible.”

“How can you say that?” He leaned on the counter, looked into her eyes. “You don’t even know my type.”

“What
is
your type?”

The edge of his mouth lifted. He stood, towering over her. “You.”

And then he was walking out. Make that sauntering out. And drawing every single woman’s eyes in the café.

She shivered.

He was certainly hot, handsome, and available. Which is why he terrified her. There wasn’t a single safe thing about him.

Apparently her sister, Lisa, knew exactly what she was talking about.

Quickly, Lauren began gathering the rest of Chris’s dishes, put them under the counter in a dish tub, and scooped up more dirty dishes from another spot farther down.

“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.”

“Didn’t see you come in.”

“I know. I’m hurt.” But Boone smiled as he said it.

She smiled back. “Let me get the counter cleaned up and I’ll get you some coffee.”

“Take your time.”

But she didn’t. Lauren returned with a clean dishrag and wiped the counter down before setting him up with a new place setting. She chatted with him as she put the silverware down, asking about his road trip, and his wife and kids, and what they were doing for Father’s Day tomorrow.

It was easy talking with him, she thought, after putting in his order. Easy being around him because she was comfortable with him. Boone Walker was handsome, but nonthreatening. Chris Steir, on the other hand, was very threatening.

Again Lisa’s words came back to her. Married, safe. Single, not safe.
Hmm.
The pattern was becoming uncomfortably, overwhelmingly clear.

“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—” He broke off as he saw the look on her face. “You okay?”

Lauren simply stared at him, thoughts spinning in every which direction. Meg. Meg Roberts. Meg had a sister named Sarah. Meg also had a sister whose husband played Major League Baseball. Was it possibly the same Sarah . . . Boone’s Sarah . . .

“What’s wrong?” Boone reached out, grabbed her wrist. “You feeling faint?”

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?

Oh God.

“I think . . .” Lauren drew an unsteady breath. “I think I’ve met your wife.”

Boone’s hand fell away. “Sarah?”

Lauren nodded. “Yes. Back in April. Does she have a sister named Meg? Meg Roberts?”

“Yes.” Boone looked dumbfounded. “Where did you meet Sarah?”

“At Jack’s funeral reception. I catered it. With my sister.”

“You know Meg and Jack, then?”

“I used to work with Meg a lot when she handled PR for Dark Horse Winery, and we also did some parties for the Robertses. It was surreal returning to their house for the funeral reception.”

“I still can’t believe Jack’s gone. He died just days after my mother-in-law’s funeral. Sarah was there at Meg’s when it happened.”

“I remember your wife from the reception. We talked for a little bit when I was giving the bartender a break. Sarah’s beautiful, and funny.”

“She is,” he agreed.

“Boss, order up!” José shouted from the kitchen.

Lauren carried plates to customers, refilled coffees, and then took care of two different customers at the cash register before grabbing Boone’s breakfast from under the warmer.

She placed the steak and eggs in front of him. “Let me know if it’s overdone. José’s been overcooking the steaks lately.”

“Will do,” Boone answered, picking up the steak sauce. But then he hesitated. “Steir likes you,” he said bluntly. “I think you should give him a chance.”

“Has he ever been married?”

“No. But he was with his former girlfriend for three years. They lived together for a couple of those years, and the relationship ended last February.”

“Do you know what happened between them?”

Boone shook his head. “I do know she’d like to get back together. She attends games sometimes. Hangs out at the nightclubs some of the players go to, hoping to attract Chris’s attention.”

“Does it work?”

“Chris doesn’t go out much. And when he does, he’s not into hooking up. Not to say he’s a choirboy. But as men go, he’s pretty decent.”

“What? So the rumors aren’t true? You ballplayers aren’t all easy?”

Boone was supposed to laugh. She’d been outrageous just to make him laugh. But he gave her an odd look and then shook his head. “Nope,” he said quietly, wearily, cutting into the steak. “Not that Sarah believes me.”

Seventeen

S
arah had dinner ready for Boone when he returned from the park. The A’s won, 6–4, and Boone had called as he left the Coliseum, letting her know he’d be home in thirty minutes or so.

The kids were both in bed when he walked in, and she’d lit candles all over the house and dimmed the lights, and greeted him in a pink, floaty sundress he’d bought for her a couple of years ago and some gold dangly earrings that made her feel like a harem girl.

“Wow,” he said, dropping his duffel bag by the door and glancing around the entry and the sunken living room glowing with candlelight. “What’s the special occasion?”

“It’s an early Happy Father’s Day dinner,” she said, smiling, bringing him his favorite drink, Jack Daniel’s on the rocks. So okay, it was in a juice glass because most of their dishes were still packed, but Boone wouldn’t mind.

She was right. He smiled and kissed her. “Lucky me,” he said.

She smiled as he took a long drink from his glass. He swallowed, shook his head, and then he was kissing her again, not the light kiss of a moment ago, but a deep, hungry kiss that tasted of whiskey and desire, a kiss that put fire in her veins and need in her heart.

Reaching up, she clasped his face, holding him closer, kissing him more deeply, giving him everything, just as she always had. Just as she always would—

“Yuck,” Brennan said, making a gagging sound as he came down the stairs in his pajamas. “Gross.”

Sarah pulled back, blushing, smiling, her gaze briefly meeting Boone’s before looking at Brennan. “What are you doing up?”

“Hungry,” he said, skinny and wide-eyed. “I need something to eat.”

“You already had dinner, and you’re supposed to be in bed,” Sarah said, moving toward him and lightly swatting his backside, trying to get him back up the stairs. “It’s now your dad’s and my time.”

Brennan danced past her and went to Boone. “Mom said you got a home run.”

“I did,” Boone said, scooping him up, giving him a hug before putting him back on his feet. “But you’re supposed to be in bed.”

“Can’t I hang out with you?” he asked.

“No,” Sarah answered. “It’s eleven. You need to sleep—”

“Not tired,” Brennan said. “And I’m hungry. Can I have a snack?”

Sarah exchanged glances with Boone. Boone shrugged. “Fine,” she said, aware that the sexy moment was gone. “Come on. Let’s see what we can find you in the kitchen.”

Boone and Brennan followed her into the vast kitchen with its adobe tile floor, bright green ceramic-tiled counters, and white plaster walls. Horrible color scheme and an even worse layout. Boone sipped his whiskey as Sarah searched the still empty pantry for something Brennan could eat.

“Goldfish?” she asked him, holding up the bag of crackers.

Brennan shook his head.

“Granola bar?” she tried.

He shook his head again “Pop-Tarts?” he suggested.

“Not before bed,” she answered.

“I’m
hungry.
”

“A breakfast bar?”

“Yes,” Boone said, answering for Brennan. He crossed behind his son, reached past Sarah, and grabbed the box, pulling out one foil-wrapped bar. “Here. Take this to your room. It’s late. Go to bed.”

Brennan grimaced at the bar in his hand and glanced over to the stove, where steaks were marinating. “Why can’t I have a steak?”

“Because those are for your dad and me,” Sarah said, crossing the kitchen to turn the oven broiler on.

“I didn’t have steak for dinner,” Brennan protested.

“No, you had mac-and-cheese, and turkey wieners. Now take your breakfast bar, give me a kiss, and go back to bed.”

Brennan started to protest but caught sight of his dad’s face and sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Fine,” he said unhappily.

“Good night, Brennan,” Boone said.

Brennan sighed again. “Good night.” He gave his dad a hug, and then his mom, and head hanging, he headed for the stairs, looking utterly dejected.

Sarah watched him go, lips curving ruefully. “He does a good job making me feel guilty.”

“No need to feel guilty,” Boone answered, draining his glass and moving toward her, hands settling on her hips. He tipped her back, exposing her neck, and kissed his way from her earlobe to her collarbone as one hand slid under the filmy fabric of her skirt to the inside of her thigh.

Within a few minutes neither of them was even thinking of steak.

* * *

L
auren was at work the next morning, absolutely slammed, the waiting area filled with people and a crowd outside all waiting to get in because it was Father’s Day and everyone wanted to treat their dad. Their wait time was running close to an hour and even the counter had been full all day.

Crazy.

But then, around ten, the crowd shifted by the entrance, making way, and there was Chris. It was, she thought, like the parting of the Red Sea.

Not that she was comparing Chris to Moses or anything . . .

“Morning,” she said, placing a menu in front of him as he took a seat at the counter that had just been vacated.

“Morning,” he answered.

“How did you get a seat that fast?” she asked him, gathering the previous customer’s dirty coffee cup and beignet plate and wiping the counter clean.

“Offered a guy twenty bucks.”

“No, seriously.”

He looked her in the eye. “Seriously.”

She held his gaze, searching his blue eyes for the truth. He didn’t seem to have a problem with it. He just let her look and look.

“I didn’t see you approach him,” Lauren said, putting a hand on her hip.

“I didn’t have to. I sent that kid—there, see him, in the white T-shirt, with his family by the door?—to ask. And he did.”

“The kid did?”

“Yes.”

“And the man gave up his seat because you offered him money?”

“He was done. Just lollygagging and licking the powdered sugar from his thumb.”

“You can’t give my customers money to leave.”

“That’s a valid point, and you should know, I didn’t actually give him any money.”

She sighed, slightly relieved. “Okay.”

“Just an autograph.”

“Chris!”

He smiled. “Half the people here are going to the Coliseum for today’s one o’clock game, including the guy at the counter and the boy in the white T-shirt. They all know we won’t have a game without me, so everybody’s happy to help.”

She leaned forward, leveled her gaze with his. “You do know that is the most absurd thing I’ve heard in years.”

Chris smiled into her eyes. “A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do to win the woman he loves.”

“I have never, ever met a bigger flirt in my life.”

“I flirt with you because it’s fun. And I might say outrageous things, but I do it to make you laugh, but I don’t say anything I don’t mean. And I fully intend to make you my woman. It’s just a matter of time.”

“No.”

“Come on, darlin’. Work with me.”

“Why me? Why not another waitress somewhere else?”

“I’m not interested in a waitress, Lauren. I’m interested in you. I saw you at the ballpark and I just”—his big hands lifted, an expansive gesture—“knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That if you were single, you were meant for me.”

“That’s not love, Chris. That’s lust.”

The corner of his mouth tugged. “Then I fell in lust with you at first sight.”

She glared into his blue, blue eyes. She was not amused and not going to fall for this any longer. She wouldn’t smile back, and wouldn’t listen to this banter.

He was trying to tease her, trying to make her laugh, and it was how he was trying to win her over. But she wouldn’t be won. She wouldn’t. The fact was, she didn’t even like him. Didn’t even like—

Bullshit
.

She liked virtually everything about him. Lauren gulped air. Her heart raced. “You don’t know anything about me . . . who I really am. I’m not all fun and games.”

His jaw flexed, and a small muscle popped in his jaw, back by his ears, as he fought a smile. “Now, that surprises me.”

Heat rushed through her. Heat and a funny, dizzying wash of hope. “I’ve had a lot of things happen . . . things that aren’t nice and pretty.”

“No one gets through life unscathed.”

His deep voice shivered through her, low and male and sexy, making her insides jump and quiver and her skin tingle to life.

If he’d had a less appealing voice, maybe she could do a better job ignoring him . . .

Resisting him . . .

Chris’s blue gaze met hers, held, holding so long that she forgot to breathe and her head became light.

“What?” he asked quietly. “What do you want to know? Ask. I’ll tell you.”

Her eyes searched his face. Strong cheekbones, a broad brow, thick jaw, square chin. A masculine face, but also open. “Boone said you were with your girlfriend for three years and it ended a couple of months ago.”

“Yes.”

“He also said she’d like to get back together.”

“Sounds like Boone’s doing a lot of talking.”

She shrugged. “Tell me about her.”

“She’s . . . beautiful. A model.” He ignored Lauren’s arched eyebrows. “And ambitious. But Holly works hard, and deserves every good thing that comes her way.”

Holly was her name . . .

A girlfriend named Holly.

“Are you still in love with her?” Lauren asked, feeling a squeeze in her chest. Why she’d feel anything was beyond her. She didn’t like Chris . . . did she?

“No. Not like I did. I mean, I’ll always care about her. But we’re done. I’m done. Have no desire to get tangled up with her again.”

“Things ended badly?”

“We had one of those hot and cold relationships, where it was either really good or bad, and after years of breaking up, getting back together, I just had enough. Not going to do it anymore. And I’m not blaming her. Might have been me.”

The entire restaurant might as well have shrunk and disappeared. Lauren could see only Chris. “Why would it be you?” she whispered.

His blue eyes held hers, burning her, burning into her. “Because I started out wanting one thing but then realized I needed something else.”

“What was that?”

“Need a best friend, not arm candy.”

For a moment there was just silence. Lauren exhaled slowly, dizzy, dazed. Her heart was thumping and a lump the size of her fist filled her throat, making her want to cry.

At that moment she felt completely undone and she didn’t even know why.

“Today,” Chris said quietly, breaking the silence.

She looked at him blankly.

“Today, after the game. You and me,” he added. “It’s a one o’clock game, it’ll be over early, you won’t even be out late.”

She swallowed hard and stared at him, lost, thinking she was already lost.

“Unless . . .” His lashes dropped as his gaze rested on her mouth, making her lips tingle and her skin feel far too sensitive.

“Yes?”

“You’d like to come to the game. Watch me play. Then go have dinner with me.”

She didn’t want to.

Not true.

She did.

But she had to work through this crazy Father’s Day rush at the café, and then, once things had calmed down, she’d been toying with the idea of heading home to surprise her dad. It was Father’s Day after all. She’d told her mom she’d try to come home if she could pull it off, but Mom wasn’t to tell Dad in case Lauren couldn’t. Lisa, the optimist, had made a dinner reservation for the five of them at six.

“I’ve got to work until fairly late this afternoon, so I’ll miss the game. I’m sorry.”

“And dinner?” Chris’s blue gaze held hers, steady, so steady and calm.

He had nerves of steel, she thought. And that crazy confidence. She still didn’t know quite what to think of him, but she wanted to know more. Was ready to learn more.

“I have to go home tonight. It’s Father’s Day.”

“Where’s home?”

“Napa.”

“Nice.”

She looked closely into his eyes, not sure what she was looking for. “Want to go with me after the game?”

If she’d surprised him, Chris didn’t show it. He nodded once, decisively. “I’d like that. But the game could go extra innings.”

“So we’ll drive up whenever you’re done.”

He was studying her just as intently as she studied him. “Should I drive, or do you prefer to?”

“I’ve been up since four. So if you like driving . . . ?”

“I do. I’ll drive. You can chill.” He grabbed his phone from the front pocket of his jeans. “Give me your number and address, and I’ll text you when I’m on the way.”

* * *

L
auren couldn’t believe she’d invited Chris home with her. Couldn’t believe they were driving home now, and making great time. They were just twenty minutes from Napa and they’d probably miss dinner itself, but it looked as though they’d make it for dessert.

Lauren had texted Lisa the news at six, letting her know they were running late and not to count on them for dinner, but to save two seats for dessert.

Lisa had immediately texted back.
What? Who is coming with you!?! Tell me it’s not the married man!!

It’s not,
Lauren answered.
Someone new.

Who??

It’s just a first date
, Lauren texted back
. Nothing serious
.

Lisa couldn’t believe it.
You’re bringing a first date home on Father’s Day???

Thought it’d be a good litmus test . . . don’t you think?

Ok. Feeling sorry for the poor bastard.

Lauren was in the car when she got the message and giggled. Chris glanced at her, eyebrow lifting. “What?”

“My sister.” Still smiling, Lauren slid her phone back into her purse. “She’s worried about you.”

“Why is that?”

“I’ve never brought anyone home before.”

Chris’s brow creased but he didn’t look too concerned. “Never, as in . . . lately, or . . . ?”

“Never as in never. I don’t date.”

“I see.”

Lauren looked at him, adding with great relish, “My parents think I’m gay.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Are you?”

“No.” She glanced down at her fingers, noting she’d torn a nail. She kept them short, but she’d still managed to rip one doing something or other at the café. “My dad doesn’t like the A’s either.” She looked back up at Chris, feeling horribly evil, and unusually mischievous. “Maybe we don’t say anything about your career?”