“Who wants pizza?” Harper rubs her stomach.
Cain slings his arm around her shoulder. “Her love of food, it’s why I love her.”
Twenty minutes later, we pack into a corner booth at Salvatore’s, the local pizza joint. It’s a madhouse, with students and families everywhere, and we’re lucky that we’re with Boone and Cain, because a couple of people applaud loudly as we walk in and we’re ushered to a semi-quiet area like we’re VIPs or something.
Hell, I must be chopped liver because no one ever applauds when I walk into a restaurant, and I’m on television more than either of these two. I’d like to just say, men, and then mentally roll my eyes.
The waiter comes to take our order, and Cain asks for a round of beers.
“That’s okay, I don’t drink, water is fine with me.” Boone waves the waiter off.
“You don’t?” My eyebrows furrow in confusion.
“No, I haven’t had a drink since I was seventeen. Which seems ironic, if you think about it. I quit alcohol before I could even legally have it.” He chuckles.
Harper and Cain take this moment to talk to friends of Cain’s over the back of the booth.
I lean into Boone. “But what about that night in your car? You were drunk.” I am so confused.
“No I wasn’t. You were really drunk. I was just horny.” Boone’s teeth catch his bottom lip and I am momentarily distracted.
Which means that he’d slept with me of his own accord. Not that it hadn’t been consensual on my part, but I don’t think I would have had the courage to have sex with Boone if there weren’t shots of tequila involved.
“Wait, so why did you stop drinking?” And now alarm bells are going off in my head.
I immensely respect those who have recovered from an addiction. But … to bring that into a new relationship was difficult. I wouldn’t know how to act if I wanted a glass of wine, I didn’t know his triggers or whether or not it was still a struggle for him to be around any type of partying.
Boone touches my cheek, and it is like we are the only two people in this entire restaurant. “Relax, Anna. It wasn’t because I couldn’t handle myself. I just …” He sighs now, and I know he is weighing whether or not to tell me the real answer. “My dad is basically a drunk, and watching him, I didn’t want to end up that way. So, I just stopped.”
A lump forms in my throat. “I … I had no idea.”
Because I really hadn’t. Up until this moment, I’d been so consumed with my own baggage and ugly parental situation that I hadn’t realized that the man I’ve been getting close to was sitting in the exact same boat as me. I look at Boone with fresh eyes; maybe this was why we’d come back together after all these years. Maybe deep down, each of us had identified with the pain in the other. Maybe, we share the same insecurities and can heal that in each other.
My pessimistic heart could hope.
“And now you do.” He kisses my cheek and picks up a menu, which signals that he doesn’t want to discuss it further. At least not here.
“All right, one pepperoni, one sausage, one meat lover’s supreme and one buffalo chicken?” Harper slams her menu down on the table.
“You’d think she was a Texas girl and not a transplant with all the meat she eats.” I grin at my stepsister.
“You’re just annoyed because I won’t let you order a veggie pizza. Veggies on pizza defeats the entire point,” Harper whines.
I snuggle into Boone, happy to have a night off with him, and warmed at the thought that he just shared something with me that he definitely withheld from most.
“As if you’re going to stop me from doing anything I want to do.” I smirk.
Boone laughs at this, setting his water down after taking a sip. “Big mistake, Harper. Never tell this one what she can and can’t do. She’ll do the opposite and then convince you you’re the one who made the decision in the first place.”
Well, he wasn’t wrong about that.
Twenty-Seven
Annabelle
Her LinkedIn page is pulled up again, and I thumb through it under the work table I am at.
I’m like someone stealing answers to a test, glancing down sneakily at my phone every few minutes and then back up to make sure I haven’t been caught.
“Hey, darlin’.” Ramona’s voice echoes in the studio, and I nearly jump. “Whoops, didn’t mean to scare you.”
She comes around to where I am putting together inspiration boards for private clients, those who aren’t going to be on the show. To be honest, these are my favorite projects. These kinds of clients usually have taste, money and a better eye for decor than those who sign up for TV only wanting to gain their fifteen minutes on the screen. Making their vision boards, pulling from Italian architecture or Swedish linens, it is quiet, thoughtful work and I love locking myself in the open-air design studio James built for Ramona. And the plus is that he renovated an old brick office building only five minutes from campus in downtown Austin, so I could come here whenever I like.
Quickly, I shove my phone into my bag. “Hey, what’re you doing here?”
My tone sounds accusatory and nervous, and Ramona laughs slightly. “Am I not allowed to come to my own office?”
I roll my eyes. “Of course you are, sorry. I was just enjoying the quiet.”
She thumbs through a couple of things on her desk and then looks up. “I can leave if you want me to.”
“Don’t be stupid, it’s your place, you can do whatever you want.” That came out harsher than I intend it to.
“Is something wrong?” She comes over to sit on the stool next to mine at the big steel table in the middle of the room.
Other than the fact that I’m entertaining an offer to knock your show down the ladder? Or that my mother hasn’t cared about me in ten years? Or that I’m back together with the guy I cheated on and I’m walking on eggshells not to lose him again?
But I don’t say any of those out loud. Because per usual, I want someone to care, but didn’t want to let them in. Drama, as Boone would say.
“Why would you think that?”
“Honey, I’ve never said anything, but I know that there is some drama when it comes to your mama. You know that I am always an open ear whenever you need one, right?” She rubs my knee, her face so open and honest.
How the hell could I sit here, with a huge secret in my back pocket, and basically lie to her? This woman has done nothing but jumpstart my career, make me a part of her family, and given me every kind of support possible. And here I am with a contract sitting on my dorm room desk to basically bump her off the Flipping Channel.
I am a terrible fucking person.
So I go with the third problem in my life right now, because I need to tell her something. And, it will actually be helpful to talk to someone who doesn’t know the history between Boone and me.
“Well, I’ve been kind of seeing someone …” I scratch my nail at the steel table.
“It’s Boone Graham, isn’t it?” Her face goes all moony.
I give her a pointed look. “How did you know?”
She pats my shoulder and smiles. “Honey, I may be an old, married woman, but I know what it means when a man looks at you the way that Boone does. Like you hang the moon.”
I can’t help the blush that creeps onto my cheeks. “He does not look at me that way.”
“Sweetheart, from the minute James fangirled over him in that stadium, I could see that boy was crazy about you. Don’t be your usual ice princess-self and try to deny that.” Her green eyes scold me.
“I just am not sure what we’re doing,” I confess, more to myself than to her.
“Well, what do you mean?” Her brows furrow.
I sigh, setting down the pen I’d been scrawling notes with. “We spend a lot of time together. I go to his games and sometimes he texts me when he’s caught an episode of the show. I … spend nights at his place. He takes me out to dinner. But, we haven’t had the talk yet. And he doesn’t seem all t
hat rushed to do so.”
Ramona laughs. Tilts her head back and laughs some more. “Oh, darlin’ … didn’t I tell you? Men are lazy, and they can be dumb as a box of bricks. I thought you knew better than to let them do the defining. Hell, when James and I were dating, I dragged him to the jewelry store, pointed out the ring I wanted, and told him he better not mess it up. I was not wearing an ugly bobble on my hand for the rest of my life!”
My mouth drops open. “See, I knew there was a dark side of you. Maybe you are more of a mother to me than I thought.”
“Aw, I will be a mother figure to you any day, honey. But in all seriousness, forget etiquette and what Southern belles are supposed to do. If you want the man, claim him. Who cares? Wouldn’t you rather be happy than be in purgatory?”
Her advice is honest and true, and I have never been one to sit back and let the things I want pass me by. Except when it came to Boone.
Ramona hugs me and gets up, going to sit at her desk and take a call from a marble distributor.
The one thing I hadn’t told her, though, was that love is the one thing I couldn’t go after and claim. I’d seen love, relationships and marriage completely destroy my mother and father. It had tied one down for too long, while the other was left heartbroken when it vanished.
I wasn’t going to do that to myself. I wasn’t going to be the one tied down, or the one left in pieces. No, if this was going to be solidified, if we were going to commit to a relationship, Boone was going to have to be the one to initiate it.
Otherwise, I’d be left vulnerable.
Otherwise, I would shatter if it ended. Again.
Twenty-Eight
Boone
A month whizzes by when you are an athlete and a student, and not a hybrid but actually two separate people.
Sometimes, I feel as if I’m in a tornado, being whipped from one place to the next. A game in this city, an exam for this class, a group study with these people or a media day or charity event for the team.
I try to schedule phone calls with my mom for when we are on the bus driving to a game and studied for the last month of classes in between double headers.
Any spare time is reserved for Annabelle, and I feel like a dick that it is so little. I attempt to take her out at least one day a week, because it’s important to me to court her. I was there when they removed her cast, and even bought her a nice bracelet to adorn her newly healed wrist. To make her feel special, to show her that this isn’t a repeat of the closed-off, self-centered asshole I was in high school.
At some point along the way of us starting a new chapter, that chapter has turned into a relationship. It just happens that way, more often than not. A pattern becomes a routine, and then you’re just in it with that other person, and you’re a we instead of a me. I guess we should have a talk about it at some point but … I’m a guy. If I’m spending all my time with you, I’m with you. I don’t understand the need for the titles or declaring our status on social media.
Tonight is a study session at my apartment, since finals are looming and graduation, for me, is on the horizon. My girl is lost deep in the large book she has open and is scrawling notes in a three-ring binder next to it. I should be concentrating on the trigonometry problems that have been stumping me all semester, but I can’t stop looking at her.
Annabelle ditched out on a design expo last week to come to one of my games, because she’s my new good luck charm. I averaged two home runs a game in the six games she’s been able to make it to, and I don’t realize that she’s going to miss another day of class and shooting until she randomly blows up at me when I bring the trip this weekend up.
“Hey, make sure to pack a bathing suit this weekend, I’m pretty sure we can fit in a beach day since this team we’re playing is so close to the ocean.”
The design textbook she’s reading suddenly slams down on the table. “So now you’re telling me what to wear too?”
I’ve had a long day, and in the back of my head, I knew things were going too well. The dramatic side of Annabelle hasn’t reared its ugly head in a while, and I knew it was lurking under the surface.
“What’s the problem?” I huff, annoyed and tired.
“The problem is that ever since we started … you know, I’m not even sure what we’re doing here! Yet again! How do I keep falling into this trap with you?”
The hair on my skin stands up and I can feel my blood pressure creep higher. Have I not been open with her? Have I not told her things and shared about myself? I’ve been trying so hard to do this right this time.
“So is this about a fucking bathing suit, or do you want to admit the real reason you’re being a brat?” I walk out of the kitchen where I’d been cleaning a pot and try to restrain myself by crossing my arms.
“Don’t curse at me, Boone Graham. Not when I’m the one making all the sacrifices here. I’ve missed days of shooting and class, rearranged my plans to see you whenever you’re not on the road.”
I throw my hands up, because she’s being ridiculous. “I didn’t ask you to do that! I thought you wanted to make us work! And it’s not like I can just tell the team I’m going to sit this one out because I need to go on a date! Jesus, Anna.”
“No, but you can call me your freaking girlfriend once in a while!” she screams, her voice reaching a pitch I haven’t heard it get to before.
I’m so pissed off, I could spit nails. “Are we so immature that we have to ask each other to be girlfriend and boyfriend? For fuck’s sake, yes, you’re my girlfriend, okay?”
“Well don’t sound so happy about it!” She jumps up from the couch and stomps toward the bathroom, slamming the door shut.
So she’s pissed at me for not labeling us, but freaks out when I do actually call her my girlfriend? Women were so fucking dramatic.
I walk to the bathroom, the anger letting out of me like air from a balloon as I hear a sob from inside. Knocking, I try to make my voice soft. “Babe?”
It’s the first time I’ve called her the nickname, but I want to use the endearment. I want her to know that yes, we are in a relationship.
After a minute, Anna opens the door. Her eyes are red, and guilt fills my stomach. The last thing I ever want to do is make her cry.
“I’m not going to be some trophy wife on the arm of a ballplayer.” She shrugs, not meeting my eyes.
Taking her hand, I lead her to the couch, where we sit down facing each other. I’m not going to wimp out of this discussion, and I’m going to force us both to be adults.
I sigh. “And I’m not asking you to. Just like you would never ask me to give up my career. I’m not the bad guy here, Anna. I’m trying to compromise. I wouldn’t want to be with you if you weren’t exactly the way you are. Maybe a bit too stubborn at times, but I want to be with you because you’re so difficult. Sue me, I’m a masochist.”
I can see the wheels going in her head, and I intervene. Moving in close, I slide my lips over hers, kissing her gently but in a steady rhythm. My goal is to get her out of that steel trap of a mind, to stop thinking, to stop internalizing all her fears for once.
When I can feel her panting breath on my lips between kisses, I pull back. “Talk to me. Stop creating scenarios in your head and just talk to me.”
Anna has to look away to speak, but at least she’s speaking. “Did you know that my mother left my dad and I when I was ten?”
Fuck. I’d always known something was up with her family situation, but I never asked back in high school. And I didn’t want to pry now. “I didn’t know the specifics.”
She nods, and I do my best to look like I’m here for her as a sounding board. “I honestly don’t know why she did. I’ve never had the closure to be able to talk to her about it. Although, that just might hurt too much to actually do. But … I can sometimes understand it. My dad, he’s great. But she was a stay-at-home housewife. For ten years, all she did was clean up after her family and drive me around and live under Dad’s shadow. He’s succes
sful, a workaholic, and has gotten so many accolades in his job that it must have been hard for her. She must have felt … just so much less. I never want to be like that. I never want to live behind someone else. I want to be independent, both emotionally and financially. I hate having to rely on someone.”
My fingers tangle in her smooth chocolate locks. “I don’t want you to rely on me. I want us to rely on each other. That’s what a relationship is, Anna. Your mother was wrong for taking off like she did. If she felt like that, then she should have said something. I understand following your dreams but leaving those that love you behind is also completely wrong. By you just sitting here, opening up to me … you will never become her. Because even though you didn’t say it, I know that’s what you’re really scared of.”
Her eyes search mine. “When you told me about your dad, part of me felt like we were cut from the same cloth.”
I pick her up, all the way into my lap so that I can cradle her. “We are. And you are my girlfriend, even if you scream at me. I’m not leaving you, babe.”
She tucks her head under my chin. “Thanks for putting up with my drama. I just … need validation sometimes. And it’s big of me to admit that, realize it. I want to let you in, but the way I was conditioned sometimes makes me freak out. You have to give me time.”
“I’ll give you all the time you need.”
Twenty-Nine
Annabelle
I gave a verbal commitment two weeks ago to the show that Kenneth Kutch had pitched me.
I lied and told his assistant, who’d been pestering me for the last month and a half about signing that foul contract they’d sent over, that my attorney was still looking it over.
But the truth is, I want to keep the offer on my plate while also deliberating with my conscience. Deep down, I know this isn’t the right opportunity. The show would be gaudy and tacky, with clients that I’d hate even more than those I had to deal with on Hart & Home. On the other hand, though, it is just the right launching pad to get me recognized, make me infamous, and have a certain someone take notice.
You’re the One I Don’t Want Page 11
