The Good Wife(91)

He wasn’t hers.

He would never be hers.

He wasn’t a man she could fall for.

* * *

The new waitress, Karen, went with Lauren to the game. Lauren had been unsure about actually going, but Karen—a die-hard A’s fan—knew everything about the Coliseum, from what to wear (a jersey and shorts, or a jersey and jeans), to how to get there, to which parking lot was best.

Lauren didn’t have a jersey and instead wore a white T-shirt to avoid clashing with the team’s colors. Reaching the stadium, they parked and Karen hurried her to the will-call booth, then steered her to the right entrance and on down to the lower seats next to the field to get as close to the players during warm-ups as possible.

They were just like Blake and his friends, Lauren thought, watching players lob the ball back and forth as others took practice cuts, while still others did easy sprints in the outfield . . . only she and Karen were big kids.

Big kids, she thought, gradually becoming aware that she was just one of many crowding the fence. Kids clinging to the fence were cute. The women in tight T-shirts and skimpy dresses weren’t. Lauren drew back, self-conscious, not wanting to be one of the overzealous females trying to draw attention to herself.

Karen didn’t have any qualms about making a fool of herself. She whistled loudly when Boone headed into the cage for batting practice. He looked up, she lifted her hands, gave him the Shaka, and whistled again when he nodded acknowledgment.

“He saw me!” Karen crowed happily, climbing the stairs to join Lauren at the next level.

“I saw,” Lauren said.

“This is so cool,” Karen enthused. “Do you think he can get me some autographs?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll go ask.” She dashed back down the stairs, pushing up to the fence. Boone was still in the cage, swinging, but as he finished he stepped out, adjusted his batting glove, and looked up into the stands.

Karen shouted something down to him, he nodded, he asked something, and Karen pointed behind her, to where Lauren stood.

Boone looked up, spotted Lauren on the landing, and gestured for her to come down. She shook her head. He rolled his eyes, gestured again, and Lauren reluctantly headed down, watching the kids swarm Boone, baseballs and programs and Sharpies in hand.

Boone was signing autographs as Lauren reached the fence. “Is it always like this?”

“This is nothing,” he said, handing a ball back to a little girl, then tapping her lightly on the brim of her hat. “You should see it in New York, or Philadelphia. Fans are rabid there. This is pretty tame.” He looked up at Lauren. “Haven’t you been to a professional baseball game before?”

Lauren shook her head. “No.”

“No? Never?”

She shook her head again, stepping aside to let two teenage girls pass.

“But you know the game, right?” he asked, signing a program and then another quick scrawl on someone’s miniature souvenir bat. “You’ve seen it played?”

“Yes.”

Someone on the field shouted something to Boone and he glanced over, nodded, and signed one more autograph before stepping back. He lifted his hands, indicating he was done. “Got to go,” he said, and then smiled good-naturedly at the resulting groans and boos.

“Good luck!” Lauren called to him.

He winked at her and jogged out onto the field, and as he jogged away, his uniform pants clinging to his powerful legs, Lauren’s insides did a funny little flip.

God, he had a body. And a killer smile. And he was nice, so nice . . . and she was pathetic, so pathetic.

Pathetic, she repeated, following Karen up to their seats. Everything about her crush was juvenile and pathetic, but she couldn’t help liking him. Couldn’t help liking everything about him—his build, his face, his age, his maturity, his swing, his love for his wife.

He was an incredibly beautiful man, she thought, reaching her and Karen’s row and stepping over feet as they headed for the seats, yet his love for his wife was probably the thing she found most appealing about him.

Which was also the thing that made him so completely off-limits.

But God knew, Lauren silently added, sitting down, she had to have a thing for unrequited love. First, John in high school, then Damien, her former neighbor and a best friend, and now Boone. Boone Walker.

Opening her program, she leafed through the pages until she came to his bio, reading it once, and then a second time, and then putting it away, feeling rather sick inside.

He’s not free. He won’t ever be free. Which meant she couldn’t do this, couldn’t fixate on him, couldn’t allow herself to become any more attached. The last thing she needed was to have her heart broken again.