The Running Series Complete Collection: 3-Book Set plus Bonus Novella (180 page)

Some come for the food, others for the unique drinks, but a lot of them come hoping to catch a glimpse of the owner, Big Mac McGuire.  I always find the fans easy to spot.  Their eyes are constantly darting around the room, anxious to be the first to spot him.  Some even come in carrying posters, footballs, and other paraphernalia they want him to sign.  Evan has crafted a reputation for being very open and accommodating with his fans and he doesn’t like to disappoint a single one of them. 

It was once Adam’s job to run interference for him, but not any more.  I wonder who’s going to do that now?  Evan’s popularity has increased and his fan base has gotten much bigger since he became the Sentinel’s starting quarterback.  I imagine he may need to hire someone to fill that role eventually.

As the lunch rush begins to fade, the doors open and I know immediately without looking up that Evan is here.  The place erupts with excited chatter and I can hear dozens of cell phones clicking and snapping pictures, which are sure to be uploaded to Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter instantly.

I glance up to see how Evan’s handling the crowds and find that Marcus has stepped up in Adam’s absence and is pleasantly and patiently ushering the overzealous fans back to their seats.  Marcus is nearly as tall as Evan and could easily be mistaken for a member of the football team.  When he instructs a person to do something, most people readily comply.

Evan and Jette make their way through the crowd and after a quick chat with Marcus, they head directly towards Derek and me at the bar.  Derek knows what Evan will order, so he reaches into the freezer to get a frosted mug and pours his boss an ice cold Smithwick’s Red Ale.  Derek hands Evan his beer and the two start clamoring on about their Super Bowl predictions.

Evan has his arm around the back of Jette’s chair and he’s mindlessly caressing her shoulder.  She reaches into her bag and places her phone on the bar.  I can’t help but notice the beautiful wedding ring on her hand that sparkles and shines and perfectly compliments her engagement ring.  She is gloriously happy and incredibly lucky.

“Expecting an important call?” I ask.

“Not really.  I’m waiting to get a call back from the groomer so we can go pick up Maddy when she’s done,” she explains.  “Do you know what today’s special is, Emmy?  I’m starving.”

“Oh, sure.  The soup of the day is Italian Wedding Soup.  The sandwich is a Bacon-Avocado Panini.  Want me to write up an order?”

Jette nods.  “Sounds great, Em – thanks.”

As I’m writing up the ticket I ask if I should put in an order for some Kobe sliders for Evan.  Men’s tastes fairly predictable.

“No, he had lunch down by the stadium with a certain new MLB executive we all know and love,” she teases.  “I think they hit up the Irish Pub in Atlantic City for their famous corned beef sandwiches.”

“Evan had lunch with Adam today?” I ask, trying to hide my shock and disappointment.

Evan’s ears perk up at the mention of Adam’s name.  “I did,” he admits.  “And I got a tour of the ballpark.  He even brought me up to show off his new office.”

Curiosity gets the better of me and if I can’t get any info from Adam, maybe I can get some dirt from Evan.  “Really?  You saw his office?  What was it like?”

Evan takes out his phone and shows me pictures he took during the tour.  He’s got a great picture of Adam sitting at his desk.  He looks so happy and proud.  I just wish he were more interested in sharing this moment with me instead of Evan.

“What did you say when he told you he has a secretary?” Evan asks, shaking his head and smirking.  “I still can’t believe they gave him his own personal assistant.”

My jaw drops.  A secretary.  Long hours at the office.  Working late into the night, just the two of them.  It’s all starting to make sense. 

All I can do is shake my head.  “I didn’t know.  He didn’t tell me.  He hasn’t told me a fucking thing, Evan and frankly, I’m starting to worry.”

Evan sees the panicked look on my face.  He takes my hands in his and squeezes.  “Emmy, I know that look.  Relax.  Take a deep breath.  First of all, Adam would never in a million years fuck around.  If he did, I promise you, I would kick his ass from here to Timbuktu.” 

He grabs the phone from my hand and swipes through the pictures until he finds the one he’s looking for.  He hands the phone to me and adds, “This is his secretary, Margie.”

I brace myself, take the phone from his hand and look.  Staring at me is the face of a kindly woman in her sixties who’s at least fifty pounds overweight and bears a striking resemblance to Kathy Bates.

Phew.  “You know, Evan, I’m not normally like this.  I’ve never had a jealous bone in my body and I’m not at all insecure.  I know Adam loves me.  I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately.”

“Oh, I think we all know what’s gotten into you, Emmy,” Evan teases.

“Bullshit!”  There’s no way I’m going to let Evan McGuire or anyone else try to make me think I’m wrong for feeling this way.  “Don’t blame this on hormones or my pregnancy.  He won’t talk to me on the phone, doesn’t answer my texts, leaves before I get up, and comes home after I’ve gone to bed.  What, exactly, am I supposed to think?”

Evan lets go of my hands and his grin that was there just a moment ago suddenly vanishes.  Reluctantly, he has no choice but to agree.  “I don’t know.”

“Well, that makes two of us.”

R
EESE MEETS ME
back at the house after our shift ends.  I pour a tall glass of ice water while Reese slices us a twist of grapefruit for flavor.  “You wouldn’t just happen to have a sprig of rosemary, too, would you?”

I raise my eyebrows and look at her derisively.  “Fresh herbs?  The closest thing I have to rosemary is that pine tree in the back yard.  Help yourself,” I tease.

As I begin to pull last night’s dinner ingredients from the fridge, I decide it’s time to drill for some juicy information.  “You know, Red, I still haven’t gotten the dirt on your big night out with Hayes.  How did it go?”

Reese pulls out a chair and sits down at the kitchen table.  I grab my glass and join her. After taking a refreshing swig, she leans onto the table with both elbows, obviously ready to divulge sensitive information.  She props up her chin and smiles at me with dreamy eyes.  “It was the best first kiss I’ve ever had.”

“Do tell,” I encourage.

“He took me to this little pub called the Shakespeare in the William Hotel down on 39
^th
Street.  The atmosphere was warm and cozy and the wait staff was really friendly.  I’ve never really considered myself a fish and chips kind of girl, but Hayes convinced me to give them a try and holy cow – it was absolutely delicious.  The fish was fresh and crisped to perfection.”

“That’s great, but I’m hoping you’re not about to tell me you kissed the fish or one of the waiters.”

Reese leans back in her chair and grins devilishly, “Hayes asked the bartender if the Snug was available.”

“What the hell is a Snug?” I ask.

“It’s a single private table in a sort of ... nook.  You order drinks from the bartender through a private window that opens right into the Snug.   Hayes would order us some beers and then close it back shut — leaving us alone and in complete privacy. What happens in the Snug stays in the Snug.” 

Her eyes sparkle as she tells the story.

“Is that where he kissed you?”

She nods.  “A-huh.”  And smirks.  “He traced my lips with his fingers and he looked right into my eyes.  He asked for permission to kiss me.”  Her smile grows larger as she takes in a big, deep breath.  “All I could do was nod up and down like some kind of an idiot.  He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on each of my lips at first.  He pulled away and our eyes locked for just a moment.  Then he kissed me for real.  Damn, he knows how to kiss.  I hate it when the guy thinks your mouth is a slip-and-slide.”

“Or plays Whack-a-Mole with your tongue,” I add.

“Exactly!” Reese agrees.  “I’ve kissed lots of guys, Emmy.  Some were good and some were great, but this was different.  It was ... electric.  I’ve never experienced anything like it before.”

“I get it,” I tell her.  My mind drifts to that first kiss with Adam.  It was different and I knew right away that it was my last first kiss.  And just knowing that made me happier than I ever imagined possible.  “So are you going to see him again?” I ask.

“Absolutely.  He’s going away for a few weeks.  He has to consult on a new project in Chicago.  But when he gets back, we’re definitely going out again.”

After a nice long chat, Reese helps me hone my cooking skills and before long, I am staring down at an absolutely perfect plate of shrimp scampi that was remarkably easy to make, even for someone as inexperienced and inept as me.  I even garnished the damn thing with dill and fresh lemon.

Reese insists that I take a picture of it and Instagram it just to show Adam what he’s missing out on.  I agree, but not because I want to torment Adam.  I upload it and tag my mother in it to show her.  I think she’d be proud of me.

As we sit together to enjoy the gourmet meal I made with my own two hands, my phone pings with an in-coming text message.  It’s seven o’clock – the time we normally eat dinner together.  I rush to grab my phone, hoping that it’s Adam finally reaching out to me.

I take one look at the screen and see that it’s not my boyfriend, it’s my mother.  She saw my pic and wants to tell me to enjoy what looks like a very delicious meal.  And she feels the need to warn me that eating too much shrimp and seafood during my pregnancy could be dangerous.  She’s a good mom.

I can’t hide my disappointment as I rejoin Reese at the table and she notices immediately.  “Was that Adam?” she asks.

I shake my head.  “Nope.  Just my mom.”  I plop myself down in the chair.

Her cool green eyes lock on mine.  “Is everything okay?  Is your mom alright?”

“Mom’s great.  I was hoping it was Adam,” I explain.

Something’s not right and I can’t quite put my finger on it.  This isn’t normal.  Something is wrong – I feel it in my bones.  I always listen to my heart and follow my hunches.  And right now, my intuition is flashing warning and caution signs like a railroad crossing. 

My eyes widen and my heart rate increases as my mind races with possible explanations.  I wipe my sweaty palms onto my lap as I connect the dots.  We have sex every day – every
single
day.  But last night when he finally climbed into bed, he slammed on the brakes the moment things got heated.  He didn’t want me.

“Emmy, I’m sure there’s an explanation. Adam is nuts about you.” She reaches for my hands, giving them a comforting squeeze, trying to console me. “I know he loves you and Bean more than anything.”

“That doesn’t mean that he’ll wait forever,” I whisper.  “He’s got a new job and he’s meeting new people.  Suppose he’s found someone he has more in common with?  I can’t really hold an intelligent conversation about baseball.  Football, maybe – I never really minded watching football.  But baseball?  I remember going to my brother’s Little League games, but I never once thought about turning on the television and sitting down to watch a baseball game.  The only players I can name are Derek Jeter and A-Rod.  And the only reason I know about A-Rod is because he used to date Madonna.”

“Emmy, there’s always going to be someone younger, or smarter, or prettier, or richer, or whatever.  You know that.  Especially with someone like Adam.  He’s got a good job, he’s easy on the eyes, and he’s surrounded by professional athletes and celebrities.  If you can’t trust him, then why the hell are you still with him?”

“I know, I know.  I do trust him.  I just don’t understand what’s happening,” I mutter into my hands as I cover my face, trying to hide my embarrassment.

“Then your first step is to come right out and ask him,” Reese decides.

“How can I do that if I never see him or if he won’t take my calls?”

“Don’t be so dramatic.  Tomorrow is Saturday and you’ll have the whole weekend together.”

I shrug and look away.  “Maybe.  But something inside me thinks that even though it’s the weekend, he’s still not going to be around much.”

Reese agrees to stay with me until Adam comes home.  We stream four back-to-back episodes of “Outlander” with its period dress, sweeping Scottish vistas, and no small amount of bodice ripping.  And by midnight I can hardly keep my eyes open; I can’t ask Reese to stay any longer. 

After seeing her off, I lock up the house and tuck myself into bed.  Worry and stress are exhausting.  It feels as if energy is being drained out of me, as though I'm leaking electricity.  I think I actually fall asleep before my head hits the pillow.