Lauren wrinkled her nose. “Yuck. No thank you.”
Boone’s deep laugh rumbled in his chest. “What do you mean, yuck? No thank you?”
“I’m not into that scene. It’s not for me.”
“What scene?”
“Baseball groupie . . . being one of those girls who chases players.” She saw his expression and hurriedly added, “You’re a friend, and I like you, but I’m sorry. I couldn’t ever date a baseball player.”
“Why don’t you like baseball players?”
“I think they’re arrogant and spoiled and self-centered—”
“How do you really feel, Lauren?”
She laughed and blushed. “You did ask.”
“I did, and yes, there are players who can be total dicks, but there are nice men in this world, and nice baseball players.”
“Perhaps.”
“So . . . you might come tonight?”
“No.”
“Chris is going to be crushed.”
“Yeah, I bet.”
“He wants to meet you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sure he does.”
“I’m serious.” Boone reached into his pocket and fished out a folded piece of paper. “He wanted me to give this to you.”
Lauren took the slip of paper and opened it. Call me, it said. And underneath the scrawl was a phone number and the name Chris.
Lauren looked up at Boone, eyebrows arching higher, incredulous. “This is a joke.”
“No.”
“He wants me to call him?”
“He likes you.”
“He doesn’t even know me.” She wrinkled her nose. “And where’s my name, hmm?” She waved the slip of paper. “This could be for anyone. He could have a hundred of these all photocopied and ready to go. One for you, little lady, and one for you!”
Boone laughed. “Chris isn’t like that.”
“How do you know? You’ve only been with the team what . . . two weeks? Three?”
“Three.”
“Well, I’ve never met him, but I can tell you, he’s not for me.” Lauren crumpled the paper and dropped it in Boone’s water glass.
Boone grinned. “Should I let him know that you weren’t impressed?”
“Tell him—politely—no thank you.”
“He really is a good guy—”
“No. Not even remotely interested. But I do hope you’ll have a great game.”
* * *
Sarah woke up to the sound of rain. She’d gone to bed to the same sound. It’d been raining off and on for three days now, but when it rained, it really came down, a hard, warm downpour that heralded the start of the hurricane season.
She put on a robe over her pajama shorts and tank top and headed downstairs to make coffee.
She’d gone to bed blue and woke up frustrated. Still no word from Boone.
What was he doing in California? Why did she hear from him so infrequently these days? It seemed like the only time he had time to talk was when he was on the road, which didn’t make sense. He should have just as much time in Oakland.
Last night he’d had an amazing game, too. She knew because every one of her Bay Area friends from high school had texted her.
He’s amazing!
What a game.
You must be so proud of Boone!!!
Sarah had to get on ESPN.com to see what all the fuss was about. And her friends had been right. Boone had been a rock star the night before, belting out two big home runs in the game at the Coliseum, putting five runs on the board, helping crush the Rangers.
This morning they were still talking about him on SportsCenter. Sarah listened as she made breakfast for the kids.
If he keeps this up, he could easily play another couple of years.
Walker certainly is hitting the ball well right now. I think going to Oakland was exactly what he needed.
Sarah woke the kids up and fed them, keeping an eye on the storm outside. The wind was shredding the palm trees in the yard. She was glad this was the last week of school, glad they were flying out Friday afternoon, but seriously irritated with the storm for killing all the momentum on selling the house. No one wanted to look at houses when they had to wade through rivers of water to reach them.
A half hour later, after dropping the kids off at school and watching as they sloshed across soggy grass for the building, Sarah headed home to clean on the off chance someone would call and want to come by today. Windexing done, vacuuming done, dusting done, she stared across the gigantic living room with the high ceiling and big dark beams. A beautiful Spanish/Tuscan–inspired house. So come on buyers, buy.
But standing there in her big, lovely house—a house Boone paid for, just as Boone paid for everything else—Sarah felt empty.
She had everything she ever wanted and it meant nothing. Because she didn’t have Boone. Not with her.