The Good Wife(108)
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
Sarah 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.”