“I’m all sweaty from the game. Stop,” I laugh as I spoon our dinner into bowls.
“You taste fuckin’ good, sweetheart. You always taste so fuckin’ good. Let’s be lazy and eat in the living room while watching a movie,” he suggests. I nod my agreement. He can ask anything that sweetly and I’ll always do it.
Pete leaves me and goes to the refrigerator, grabbing himself a bottle of beer and a bottle of my favorite white wine. As he pours me a glass, it hits me that this is surreal, domestic, and normal. I love it all.
We end up watching an action movie, one I am not into in the slightest. But after we’ve eaten, I curl my body into his side, laying my head on his chest, and just enjoy the moment. Somehow, I end up falling asleep; probably because, to me, action movies hold zero plot. I need more than just a bunch of guys blowing shit up, although I do tend to be able to watch it when they’re hot and shirtless. I open my eyes as Pete carries me to his bed and strips me of my clothes. Once I am wrapped in sheets that smell like him, I instantly crash.
I don’t know that this peaceful moment between us could possibly be our last. I don’t relish in it or savor it as much as I should. I take it for granted. I wish there was a way to know exactly when shit falls apart so that you can treasure the little things like sleeping in your husband’s bed. Cuddling on the sofa with him for the first time or sharing a simple meal together that you prepared with your own hands.
AS MY EYES FLUTTER OPEN, I know that I am completely alone. I can feel the emptiness of the apartment surround me. I roll to my side and see a note laying on the nightstand next to me. I don’t reach for it immediately. I know that it was left by Pete. He had to leave this morning for an away game and, as disappointed as I am in myself for passing out before I could give him a proper send off, I am thankful for the sleep. I needed it.
The past few weeks have been so emotional with such a change, and I find I am drained. Today is a travel day for him, so I know that I won’t hear from him until later this evening. I spend the morning lazing around, taking a long hot shower, straightening up the apartment, and starting a load of laundry. Eventually, I make it back into the bedroom and read his note.
The note is written in his small, neat handwriting, and just touching the word love sends butterflies to my stomach. How did this happen between us so quickly? It is almost overwhelming, and yet I like it.
I adore how he makes me feel loved, cherished, and beautiful. After all of these years, I decide that I deserve this, even if the happiness will only last a short while. I deserve every single piece of it.
I walk into Pete’s gigantic closet and start moving all of his things around. I am moving into his bedroom today and turning my room into a true guest room. Maybe I’ll make it a relaxation sanctuary, since I doubt we’ll ever have any guests actually stay there. It is my surprise to him, and I hope that it is one he will like. He hasn’t made mention of combining our rooms, but we’ve been sleeping with each other in the same bed since I came home from The Plaza.
A knock on the apartment door startles me from inside of his closet, our closet, and I wipe my hands on the leggings as I make my way toward the front door. A glance through the peephole shows me that Grammy Lillian is at my door.
“Grammy,” I say as I throw open the door.
She is dressed to perfection in Dolce & Gabbana. It is a high waisted Jacquard black pantsuit, trimmed in black velvet along with large black velvet pockets on the front, and a cream blouse underneath. I look down at her shoes and smile when I see that they are Christian Louboutin leopard print flats. Grammy has the best style ever.
“Well, don’t you look… different?” she says with a lift of her eyebrow. She whisks past me and right into my kitchen, dipping into the refrigerator to grab a bottle of sparkling water. Water I keep on hand for her, and her only, it’s her favorite.
“I’m just cleaning today. Pete isn’t around so I know I look homeless.”
“I came here to check up on you. You look happy.” Grammy’s eyes scan my body again and I see a smile tugging on her lips.
“You mean I’ve gained weight?” I know I have. My clothes are starting to fit a bit snug and, even though I am slightly panicky at the thought, I can’t help but feel beautiful when Pete touches and kisses my new slight curves.
“Yes, though it isn’t a bad thing. You looked more like an adolescent boy than a woman before, anyway.” She grins taking a drink of her water.
“I was thinking about calling my personal trainer tomorrow and setting up our sessions again; but I’ve been doing yoga here at home and loving it, so I might hold off,” I admit.
“You shouldn’t. Not for a while. Enjoy yourself and enjoy your husband. How are things on the Peter front?”
“They’re good. My parents came and acted crazy, afraid of the scandal that broke out. Pete kicked them out. It was pretty great.”
I smile, thinking back to how Pete stood up for me with my family. When my father said horrible things to me and admitted my true paternity, it startled and shocked me, but I can’t help but be glad that I’m not his daughter. It explains so much about the way he’s treated me, the way he has always looked at me with disdain. It hurts that they kept this secret from me for years, but it doesn’t change the person that I am.
“I heard. Your mother and sister both called me in a tizzy. I promptly told them that when they let a tyrant rule their lives, they are stuck with the consequences. Your mother understood, but your sister, I’m afraid, is living in la-la land and won’t be catching the bus back to the real world anytime soon,” she mutters, taking another sip of her water. I nod in understanding and smile.
“Annette has always been in la-la land. Nothing new there. Mom… I think she wants what’s best for me, so she’s keeping her distance. I admit that I miss her, but not enough to deal with dad.”
“Have you been seeing your therapist?” Grammy asks, her eyes searching my face for any sign of lying.
“I see her again tomorrow, actually. I feel good Grammy, so good.”
Admitting how great I feel and how well my relationship with Pete is going lifts this invisible weight off of my shoulders. Grammy knows the good, the bad, and the ugly with Pete, and yet she has never judged us. I love her for that.
“He’s being good to you, then?”
“Yes, very much so.” A blush creeps across my cheeks and Grammy laughs.
“Now you need to make sure you have something sexy to wear when your man comes back from the road. He needs to know what’s waiting for him every time he leaves. Go put something on that’s less cleaning woman and more my granddaughter and we’ll go slutty lingerie shopping.”
“Grammy!” I cry. She just winks and pushes my shoulder.
“Been with enough men on this earth to know what they like between the sheets, honey. Now get up and let’s get shopping.”
The shopping trip with my Grammy Lillian is exactly what I need. I admit that the dirty old bird has great fashion sense when it comes to slutty lingerie. I pick up some pieces that I absolutely love and can’t wait to show off to Pete. I am exhausted from the day, but I don’t stop and relax. Instead, I spend the rest of the evening and into the early morning moving into Pete’s bedroom and bathroom.
I look around the bedroom and start to make a list of what little touches I can add that will bring in a bit of femininity to the space. It is far too masculine. I don’t want to make it all hearts and flowers, but I do want to add a bit of myself to the room.
After making my shopping list, I look at my phone and realize I only have an hour before my counseling appointment. I haven’t slept in a full twenty-four hours. I rush to get dressed, grabbing a shift dress and heels, not caring about my jewelry as I throw my hair up into a haphazard high ponytail. I don’t have time to go down to the garage and get my car out to drive myself, so I run down to the lobby and ask the concierge to call a cab for me. Once I step outside of my building, I am blinded by the flashing light bulbs of th
e paparazzi cameras.
“Elizabeth, how do you feel about Pete’s secret rendezvous with the other woman last night?” one reporter yells. I turn to her, my eyes narrowed.
“What?” I all but screech. She smiles wickedly and shoves a phone at me.
I grasp the thin plastic in my hand and look down to see a photo of Pete with the same girl he was kissing just months ago—the slightly chunky, badly dyed and dry haired, cheaper version of me. I want to believe that this is an old photo, but the shirt Pete is wearing is one that I know for sure isn’t in his closet I just went through it the night before. It’s my favorite shirt on him, a simple black button down with black thread that is stitched in a swirling design around the sides.
“What the fuck?” I whisper to myself.
“They look pretty cozy, don’t they? So, I’m assuming by your reaction that you didn’t know about their relationship status this time around?” I grip the phone in my fist for a second before I hand it back to her.
I ignore that question, and all of the other ones being hurled at me, as I slide into the waiting cab. I refuse to believe the photo or anything else until I’ve at least talked to Pete myself. The paparazzi are always looking for a story and they’ll make shit up to create one if they have to.
Deep down, though, I am just a woman. My relationship with Pete doesn’t feel like it’s on completely solid ground, so I am concerned by the photo.
Did he meet up with her on the road so he could fuck her one last time?
Has he not stopped being with her, at all?
Does he love her?
The questions are swirling around so fast inside of my head that it’s making me dizzy and sick. I have never been so thankful to arrive at Julia’s office than I am right this very moment. She smiles at me softly, as is her way, and I know I have to look like a crazed disaster.
“Talk to me, Libby,” she urges. Tears start to pour down my cheeks before I even start my story. I get through the little known facts as quickly as I can, like ripping a damn Band-Aid off. I knew it would hurt me if he wasn’t truthful about his feelings, but I had no idea it would feel this horrible.
“It could be innocent, Libby,” she says softly. I want to slam her face against the desk and tell her she’s a blind and stupid idiot but I don’t. I’m angry and embarrassed.
“How on earth could it be innocent? Any contact with her couldn’t be innocent. What if he still wants her? What if he’s in love with her?” I ramble.
“You need to talk to him about it, Libby. Be rational and calm. Just talk. That is the only way you’ll find out the facts,” she says, her voice staying even.
“He could lie, then what? Then I look like a fool all over again. I defended him to the media, Julia. I came out publicly and talked about my depression, my leaving him, and his infidelity. The world is waiting for him to cheat on me. They’re all sitting around waiting to watch me fall apart again,” I babble. Julia closes her eyes before she stands up and walks over to me. Grasping my hands in hers, she kneels in front of my body.
“Libby. Calm down. Nobody else matters right now, just you and your health. What Peter has done or will do has no bearing on you. Pete makes his own decisions, just as you make your own. He has changed dramatically, you have told me this more than once. Talk to him before you make assumptions and drive yourself crazy with scenarios,” she advises. I nod at her words.
I am trying so hard to agree with her, to calm myself, but pictures don’t lie and they looked pretty fucking cozy together. However, I do understand what Julia is telling me. What Pete does has no bearing on me. He could hurt me, but that doesn’t mean that it would be my fault. I breathe deeply and close my eyes.
I need to woman up.
As much as I want to go home and crawl into a hole after my session, I decide to get out and enjoy myself. I call Maggie, Amalie, and Victoria to inform them that they need to meet me at the spa. Victoria responds immediately that she can’t make it, and a few minutes later Maggie and Amalie say the same. I’m alone. Again.
I crawl into the back of a cab and tell the driver to take me to the Bronx. I instruct him to take me to the little skanky clubwear dress store I visited a few weeks ago. I am thrilled to see that it’s open. I walk inside, hoping the same sales girl is at the counter, and I am pleasantly surprised when she smiles widely at me.
“Did you get your man?” she asks, rounding the counter.
“Kind of,” I admit with a smile.
“Ain’t no kinda girl. Either you got him or you don’t,” she says. I nod, chewing on the corner of my lip.
“I’m not sure…” Admitting that I don’t know if Pete is being faithful hurts so damn bad.
“Then let’s get some sexy as shit dresses. Either he can drool about you from afar, or he can get his head outta his damn ass and claim you, baby.” She smiles widely and I am so glad that I decided to come here.
Several hours and about fifteen slutty dresses later, l leave the shop lighter, happier, and a little poorer. Kayla, I found out, is the shop’s owner. I had so much fun with her. She helped me realize that if Pete is being unfaithful, I don’t need him. Not really. I may want him, but need him? No.
“You don’t need his triflin’, cheatin’ ass girl. You’re beautiful, and if he don’t see that, well then fuck-em,” she stated with a big smile on her face. “I know about a hundred guys that would beg to have a bitch like you at their side. Don’t mean they wouldn’t be dogs too, but hell, you gotta weed through those boys to find you a real man.”
“You’re right. Fuck-em, if he’s cheating on me,” I felt brave just saying the words and Kayla winks.
“See you soon, girl,” she called out. I waved, promising to bring the girls with me the next time we all got together.
Luckily, the ride home is silent. My cabbie is quiet as we make our way toward the apartment. My phone buzzes in my hand and I notice that it’s Pete. I can’t answer it, not with some smarmy, sweaty cabbie in front of me listening to every word.
I personally don’t want anybody to ever see me break down again. It is embarrassing. The phone stops ringing in my hand for only a moment before it starts up again. I feel badly for possibly making Pete worry, but I’m too hurt, angry, and upset to talk to him this exact moment. I have to wait until I’m alone and in my own space.
My cell phone has ten missed calls showing on the screen as I walk through the front door of the apartment. When Pete calls, yet again, I am finally alone to answer.
“Hello,” I say softly.
“Where the hell have you been? I’ve been fucking worried sick, Libby,” Pete roars in my ear.
“I was out and unable to answer the phone. I’m sorry, Pete,” I admit quietly—too quietly. Pete picks up on it immediately. He’s too fucking observant for his own damn good.
“What’s wrong? Did your appointment with Dr. Kramer not go well?” He sounds panicked and I feel badly for worrying him.
“No, my appointment with her went well; but before my appointment, something did happen,” I admit.
“Tell me, Libby Baby” His voice is soft and low. It’s so fucking sexy that I feel that now familiar ache between my legs slowly building as the sound slips into my ear.
“I think you have something you need to tell me first, Peter.” I try to keep my voice even and calm, when all I want to do is scream and act like a fucking lunatic.
“I honestly have no clue,” he says. I close my eyes in disappointment.
“You met with her. I saw photos. How could you? Then how could you lie about it?” I cry out, unable to stay calm and rational.
“She confronted me here after practice. I had no clue she was going to be here. Nothing happened, baby, I swear it.” He sounds panicked, as he fucking damn well should.
“Why should I believe you?” I ask, readying myself for a full on verbal fight.
“I’m telling you the truth, Libby. If I wanted to fuck some other bitch, I’d fuck some other bitch and I wouldn’
t be with you at all,” he says, his voice deep, dark, and hard.
“Yeah, forgive me if I don’t believe you, Peter, since you were fucking her when you were married to me,” I snort.
“That was different and you know it, Libby. The contract is null and void. I don’t give a shit about it anymore. I care about you. I want to be married to you. I love you.” His voice changes to something unrecognizable, soft, even and it tugs at my heart.
“I saw you together. You were looking in her eyes and you were standing close,” I murmur, feeling so fucking weak.
“I was looking into her eyes because they were darting around and she was high as fuck on whatever prescription shit she eats like candy. She was talking nonsense and sounded insane. That bitch couldn’t hold a candle to you, Libby. You’re mine—my wife and the only cunt I want from now until I die,” he growls. “Fuck, I do not want to have this goddamned conversation over the phone.”
“You’re disgusting, Pete,” I say through my tears, a smile playing on my lips.
“Yeah, you like my dirty mouth, baby,” he responds. I laugh a little, wiping away my tears of frustration.
“Believe me, Libby Baby, that sweet pussy is the only one I want to taste and sink inside of.” His voice is laced with sugar but his words are dirty and I love it.
“Pete,” I whisper, feeling that ache between my legs beginning to grow again.
“Yeah, baby. I’ll be home soon and I’ll take care of my girl,” he mutters.
I shiver in response.
We say our goodnights and I wish him luck on his game tomorrow afternoon.
I fall asleep thinking about his words, his rough but sweet words.
Pete isn’t the most poetic man I have ever known, but he’s real and that is one of the things I love about him. All of these years we have wasted on stupid miscommunication, on anger, and on being manipulated. It’s depressing.
I want to trust him and I want to believe him, but part of me still wonders, still worries, and still waits for the moment when he’ll leave me for another woman.
Forced Play for Libby (Men of Baseball #3) Page 15