“Do you know John?”
Chris hesitated. “We’re not friendly, or friends.”
“You don’t like him?”
“Not a fan, no.”
“Because . . . ?”
“He’s a dick. And now that I know he fathered Blake but walked away from you . . . I’d like nothing more than to take him out.”
She leaned close, kissed his lips. “Thank you.”
Chris drew her onto his lap and kissed her back. It was a long, warm kiss but at some point he broke off long enough to ask, “So should I break Meeks’s pitching arm or a leg?”
Lauren smiled against his mouth. “Neither. But I appreciate the offer.”
Nineteen
Lauren finally attended the third game of the Yankees series Saturday night and was thrilled she decided to go as Chris homered and the fans went wild.
Goose bumps covered her arms as the stadium cheered Chris around the bases. Reaching home plate, he’d looked up into the stands for her and found her there in the section reserved for family and she’d blown him a kiss.
It had been a magical moment and now they were heading to dinner. Chris had made reservations for after the game at his favorite restaurant, Flora, which was in the historic Oakland Floral Depot, a city landmark with its lavish silver, gold, and blue tiled art deco design.
Lauren had been to Flora before with Chris, and they’d sat at the bar having cocktails and small bites, but tonight Chris wanted real food. He was hungry, and happy, and over steaks he predicted that they’d win tomorrow, too, sweeping the Yankees.
She sipped her wine, smiling at his confidence. She liked it. She wanted the Yankees swept, too, because tomorrow night John Meeks was pitching, but she wouldn’t be at the game. She didn’t want to see John on the mound. Didn’t want to have anything to do with him.
But she wouldn’t think about John tonight. Didn’t want to think about him ever.
“You played well,” she said to Chris, putting her hand on his forearm and giving it a slight squeeze. “Three for four. Pretty sweet.”
He lifted her hand to his lips, kissed the backs of her fingers. “I liked having you there, watching me. I like it when you’re near me.”
“Does your family ever come to games?”
“Until a couple of years ago they attended a lot of games, but now that my dad has some heart stuff going on, they mostly see me when I’m in Arizona, playing the Diamondbacks.”
“Is your dad going to be all right?”
“His cardiologist is recommending a pacemaker, but Dad doesn’t want it, which really stresses my mom out.”
“I can imagine.”
“He’s a tough guy. Your dad reminds me of him.”
She tried to picture his parents. She wondered who he took after, his mother or his father. “You get your height from your dad?”
Chris nodded. “Yeah. He’s big. Bigger than me.”
Her eyes widened. “Seriously?”
“Dad played football for almost thirteen years in the NFL.”
“So sports are in your blood.”
Chris didn’t answer, his attention on something happening across the restaurant.
Lauren leaned toward Chris to see what he was looking at.
It took her a moment and then she saw.
John Meeks was here, along with several of his Yankees teammates.
Oh my God. Here. The same restaurant.
She hadn’t seen him arrive. But then, when she was with Chris, she never noticed anyone else.
But now that she knew John was here, she felt sick.
To think she’d waited years, hoping he’d return for them . . .hoping he’d claim them, love them, provide for them.
What a fool she’d been.
Such a waste of time.
“Do you want to go?” Chris asked, his voice deep, pitched low.
She glanced at him. His mouth was set, his jaw hard. Chris wasn’t happy.
“Don’t let him ruin your dinner,” she said softly, not wanting to let John spoil one more moment of her life.
“I’m done. You’re the one still eating.”
Her plate was still full. She’d taken her time tonight, eating and talking and savoring the meal. Savoring Chris’s company. But the mood had changed.
Chris’s mood had changed.
So had hers.
She didn’t want to be here now. Didn’t want to be anywhere near John. “Maybe we should go,” she agreed, as the waitress cleared their plates. “It’s late.”
Chris handed the waitress his credit card. While they waited for the waitress to return, Lauren tried to make small talk, feeling a need to fill the silence, distract Chris as he seethed now with tension, aggression.
Not good.
She just prayed they could leave without John seeing them. Not that he’d recognize her. He hadn’t seen her in over eighteen years, not since they’d found out she was pregnant.