At home, while Brennan and Ella ate their dinner—grilled chicken, broccoli, and fresh fruit cups—Sarah took the marinating steaks from the refrigerator and turned the broiler on. She’d prepared the twice-baked potatoes before she left for the park, and they were ready to be warmed. Boone loved a big steak after a game, and tonight had been a great game, a big game, especially as contract discussions would begin in another month or so. Everyone had thought he’d be finished with ball by now, but if he continued to hit the way he did today, he could easily play another year. Maybe longer.
He definitely made good money playing ball, and it was still exciting to see him at bat. Boone was gorgeous naked, but there was something undeniably thrilling about him in his team uniform. The shape of his quads, his little butt, the bulge of biceps beneath his jersey. He was tall, big, muscular, and he had a huge swing. When he connected with the ball tonight in the eighth inning, he cracked it. You knew just by the sound of it that it’d be a huge hit, and as the fans surged to their feet, Sarah jumped up, too, holding her breath as her eyes became glued to the ball, watching it sail high, out toward center field, and then over the fence.
Gone.
The fans erupted into wild cheering and Sarah applauded with them, feeling like that young bride who’d never missed a game, either at home or away, and who, when Boone traveled, watched every game on TV, or when that wasn’t possible, listened on the radio. Boone always called her after each game, too, and back then, they’d talk for hours at night, he in his hotel room, ordering burgers or steaks from room service, and she curled up somewhere comfortable, eager to hear every detail.
She knew all the dirt on the players, too, from who was hitting well to who was hooking up with groupies. Amused by her questions and endless curiosity, Boone told her virtually everything, which turned out to be too much.
She didn’t actually want to know that so many players were players. She didn’t want to hear her husband excuse the cheaters and liars’ behavior, saying it was hard to judge them when they were living in hotel rooms for six months of every year. “How can you defend men who’d knowingly, willingly, hurt their women?”
“You’re getting yourself all riled up,” he’d say, drawing her onto his lap and kissing her. “I shouldn’t have told you anything.”
No, he shouldn’t have. Because it just made it all that much worse when she found out he was one of them.
“What’s wrong, babe?” Boone asked now, entering the kitchen and dropping a kiss on her head, dressed once again in the jeans and T-shirt he’d worn to the park earlier that afternoon.
She flashed him a smile as she gave the sautéing mushrooms a stir, hiding her conflicted feelings. Talking about the affair never helped. Boone would just get quiet, and then she’d shut down, and then the tension would be back as well as the isolation. And she didn’t want that tonight, didn’t want to feel distant or lonely, not when she loved him so much.
Boone came up behind her, standing close, settling his hands on her hips. He peeked over her shoulder into the small saucepan, sniffing the butter, wine, and garlic. “Smells amazing. I’m starving.”
She could feel him, and he was hard. “We’ll eat in fifteen minutes or so,” she said, sucking in a breath as he rocked against her, making her aware that he wanted her.
“Where are the kids?” he asked, dropping his head to kiss the side of her neck.
Her legs went weak and she caught the edge of the stove for support. “In bed, but hoping to see you.” She sounded breathless, and he knew it.
He ran his hand along the outside of her hip, and then over to her belly, his palm flat against her tummy, even as he pressed from behind. “It’s good to have you home,” he said, moving her long hair away so his lips could travel down her nape, sending shivers of pleasure through her.
“I’m going to burn dinner,” she whispered, her mouth drying as he slid his hand up her torso to cup her breast, her nipple tightening, body aching.
“If the kids were asleep I’d take you right here,” he said, his teeth scraping her skin, fingers kneading her breast, working her nipple so that she felt maddeningly aroused.
He knew exactly what he was doing, she thought, head spinning, stars dancing before her eyes. He knew exactly how to turn her on, make her wet, make her come. “I can’t concentrate when you’re doing that, and these are nice steaks, and they’re already under the broiler.”
“I’ll go see the kids, tuck them in,” he said, stepping back and giving her butt a last rub. “But later you’re all mine. And I’m going to take my time.”