When they got back to the house, Miri quickly stuck her head into Mark’s den to say hello and then bounded up the stairs leaving him looking at Dylan quizzically.
“What’s with her?” he asked.
Dylan shrugged.
He patted his lap. ”C’mere.”
Dylan went over to sit on his lap and he reached around, turning her legs so that they rested on the sofa, pulling her sneakers off her feet and massaging each one in turn. Dylan smiled. Soon enough, she would need foot massages like this daily.
“You’re gaining some of your weight back,” Mark said, and she tensed, wondering what else he noticed. “At least that knee injury got you to ease off on the crazy workouts for awhile.”
“They weren’t ‘crazy’. I was trying to be as disciplined as my husband is and stick to a routine,” she said, running her fingers along the collar of his shirt.
“Your husband isn’t disciplined at all when it comes to you,” he said. He kissed her on the collarbone in a way that made her lean in closer, wanting more. “That day in the locker room with Ray, I wasn’t . . .”
Dylan held her breath. They had never talked about the incident before and she had always been too afraid to ask.
“What happened?”
“I didn’t play well that night, so I was already frustrated. And I’d just seen the pictures the night before and . . .” Mark ran his hand over his head. “And I was watching Ray being interviewed by a woman reporter and he was doing that thing he does, with the all-out charm offensive. And I pictured him doing that same routine with you and I . . . I just snapped. I don’t even remember those few seconds . . . the next thing I knew I was just whaling on him . . .”
Dylan bit in her lower lip, not knowing how to feel about what he did, but knowing that she didn’t feel as badly as she probably should.
“Pedro and a couple of the other guys pulled me off or it could have gotten a lot worse. “
“I broke our rule,” Dylan acknowledged. “I made you doubt me.” She touched the side of his face and leaned into him, pressing her lips against his neck. “I’m so sorry.”
Mark squeezed her thigh. “I never doubted you as much as it seemed, Dylan. What I asked you at my parents’ house . . . about whether you’d . . . I never thought that. Not really.”
She nodded, unable to speak. That, more than anything, had been the most painful part of this whole ordeal.
“I was jealous,” he shrugged. “I’d never seen you attracted to another man before. And he has a reputation of going after other players’ wives, so . . . I lost my head.”
“I don’t want you fighting anyone,” Dylan said softly. “But I love that I can make you lose your head.”
Mark smiled and she leaned in to kiss him. His tongue pressed between her lips and she inhaled him, tasted him, fell into him, feeling tenderness, arousal, closeness all at once; wanting to open up completely and lay herself bare. It would be the perfect time to tell him about the agreement she’d made with Corey and to tell him about the baby.
But perhaps this was what discipline was about: foregoing what you wanted, your most basic impulses in favor of a greater good. So for now she would say nothing. Mark had only one more night with her before he hit the road again, and the season seemed likely to come to an end without the Mets making the playoffs, so he would be home soon and she would tell him everything.
Then, she promised herself, then, finally there would be no more secrets.
20
“I can’t tell you what a pleasant surprise it was when you called me,” Grant said, smiling at her from across the table. “Jenn and I had been wondering about you, if you’re okay.”
Dylan smiled at him, thinking how much she’d missed him.
He seemed so . . . normal. Like someone from a very different, very average, very attractive world that she’d long since left behind. Ava had been her only emissary from that side, and even she was being drawn more and more into the rarefied world of baseball, having recently begun dating a guy from the Mets front office whom she’d met at Pedro Lima’s house.
“I’m fine,” Dylan nodded.
She glanced at the menu but already knew what she would get. They were in a Chinese restaurant not far from the firm—a place Grant had taken her to many times before when they were working hard on a case and needed to get out for an hour, just to see that the world was still there and functioning. When the waiter took their orders, Grant too, was able to give his without looking over the choices.
“The news there for awhile,” Grant said wincing. “It was pretty brutal.”
“Yeah, it was. But none of it was true, Grant, I . . .”
“Dylan, please,” he leaned forward and grasped her hand for a moment. “You insult me. Of course I knew it wasn’t true.”
Dylan smiled and shook her head. “How would you know? You knew me as an employee. For all you knew, I was a little bit of a floozy as well.”
Grant laughed. “I’m a man, Dylan. We can sniff out a ‘floozy’ as you call it, a mile away.”
Dylan laughed with him. “So how is Jenn? And Kennedy?”
“They’re great. Kennedy started K4, she’s wearing a uniform. I bawled like a baby when I took her to her first day.”
Dylan smiled. These were the talks they used to have all the time, Grant telling her about his family, Dylan bemoaning the lack of a sense of direction in her life. But Grant had helped give her one when he suggested law school. Just sitting across the table from him, being in his company, reminded her of why the idea had excited her in the first place.
“So law school fell by the wayside, I understand,” Grant said after a few minutes. “I called a friend at Columbia and they confirmed that you weren’t registered. What happened, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I messed up,” Dylan shrugged. “I got sidetracked.”
Grant touched her hand again. “Dylan, you were always so hard on yourself. You got married to a mega-sports star. You had a new life to contend with. You had different priorities for awhile. And nothing is irrevocable. If you still want to do it, it’s there for the taking. You just have to reach out and grab it.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Dylan admitted. “I want to go in the spring. But it seems like it’ll be somewhat of an abrupt transition so I was wondering . . .”
The waiter came out with their lunch and she stopped for a moment while Grant dug in.
“Go on,” he urged.”You were thinking . . ?”
“That I might come back,” Dylan said. “On a volunteer basis,” she hastened to add.
“Why? Our money’s no good anymore?” he grinned at her.
Dylan blushed. “Well, I just meant that it’s not about the money. And I don’t even know that you need anyone. I just . . .”
“I’m kidding,” Grant said shaking his head. “Of course, Dylan. Anything. And if you want to do it on a volunteer basis, that makes it that much easier to clear with HR. You can be my legal intern or something.”
Dylan brightened. “I would love that,” she nodded.
Grant shrugged. “Great. Just let me know what you have in mind when you get a chance to think about hours and days, that kind of thing.”
“I’ve thought about it,” she said quickly. “And I think it might be good for me to do full-time. Or as many hours as you can give me. I’ve been a little idle lately so I want to get a good routine going again, y’know? Have some place to be, some purpose . . .”
Grant extended his hand across the table and Dylan shook it.
“Welcome back, Dylan,” he said.
“But there’s one minor wrinkle,” she said when she released his hand. “It shouldn’t cause any complications at work, but I thought you needed to know.”
“What? There’ll be paparazzi staking out the building?” Grant joked, his mouth full of chicken and broccoli.
“No. Well, I don’t think so, anyway,” Dylan said. “It’s just that I’m . . . I’m p
regnant.”
Grant laughed out loud. “You’re full of news and surprises aren’t you?” he said. “Congratulations, Dylan that’s amazing!”
“Yes, but it’s also kind of a secret,” she said, looking about the restaurant. “So please don’t . . .”
“My lips are sealed.” Grant shook his head and grinned at her again. “It’s a long way off from the days when you complained to me about feeling like your life hadn’t even begun yet, huh?”
Dylan nodded.
She’d forgotten she’d ever said anything like that. Despite the ups and downs of the last several months, she couldn’t complain about feeling like she wasn’t living life. It wasn’t always what she wanted it to be, or what she expected it to be, but she felt alive for sure. And all because of a stupid party downtown when she’d wandered out onto the fire escape with a joint in her hand.
“So your husband’s playing pretty well these days,” Grant said. “Honestly if it hadn’t been for his kicking Ray Hernandez’ ass, those damn Mets might have . . .” He stopped as though realizing that he might have offended her.
Dylan shook her head and dug into her own lunch. “There’s always next season,” she said.
“¡Eso es perfecto!”
Dylan smiled when her mother-in-law tasted her chicken and pronounced it perfect. It was probably her hundredth attempt at pollo guisado, and the very first time she believed that it was being received with sincere pleasure rather than polite acceptance.
“I’ll make it for Mark when he gets home on Friday,” she said beaming and giving herself a round of applause. “But for now I’ll be satisfied if Peter and Matt eat it. Can we not tell them I made it?”
Mrs. Acosta laughed. “Of course. We’ll get an honest review.”
“Exactly,” Dylan said winking.
She’d been in the Bronx for two nights now, ensconced in the warmth of Mark’s family, her family. She’d driven into town to have lunch with Grant and to drop Miri back home after yet another visit and somehow she’d just stayed. She lazed about the house in sweats and Mark’s old t-shirts, considering the visit a mini-vacation of sorts because on Monday she was starting work again, which felt strangely exciting.
For the past three days, she’d been ignoring calls and voicemail messages from Lauren Morales and Stephanie Alfieri, feeling exasperated that they wouldn’t just leave her alone. Her interest in them and their lives had waned over the past several weeks and though she knew she would have to call them sooner or later, she didn’t feel like doing it. Mark’s last trip home had been close to perfect. They’d spent almost no time apart—not to shower, not to eat; never.
He’d even skipped trail-running, instead waking up late with her, having breakfast with her and Miri in the kitchen and later working out in the gym while Dylan walked a slow pace on the treadmill. In the afternoon, they lay about in his man-cave, watching television, Mark’s head in her lap while she raked her nails across his scalp and he ran his hands up and down her thighs, making her incredibly excited even though his sister sat just feet away.
They took baths together—which Dylan was careful not to make too hot on doctor’s orders—and Mark talked to her about his teammates’ funny and quirky pre-game rituals and the pranks they played on each other in the locker rooms and dug-out. He had reached a detente with Ray Hernandez, it seemed, mostly because they silently agreed to avoid each other and he shared that at least once, Cindy had showed up at a game with their kids.
In every city he played in, Corey had been relentless about organizing charity appearances, which he complained about half-heartedly and then went on to describe how much the events touched and humbled him when he saw how much they meant to people. The distance, his absence and Dylan’s reluctance of late to go out with him seemed to have made him more determined to make the most of their time together.
And so they did. They locked their bedroom door and made slow, languorous love, spending hours just touching, feeling and tasting each other before Mark finally entered her.
One morning, Dylan awoke to the sound of raindrops on the roof and the comforting feel of Mark’s hand resting on her stomach, smoothing over it, feeling, pressing. It was beginning to grow slightly rounder, but interestingly, harder as well, and she held her breath wondering if he would figure it out. But he’d simply looked at her when she opened her eyes and pressed his cheek against it.
Your skin right here, he said with puzzlement in his voice. It’s so much warmer than the rest of you. Almost hot.
Dylan had rolled over atop him and opened her legs, sliding her pelvis against his morning erection, successfully diverting his attention elsewhere.
The two days until he was home again could not come quickly enough.
Across the dinner table, Dylan and her mother-in-law exchanged smiles and secret looks as the rest of the family enjoyed the pollo guisado, even taking their customary second helpings, none the wiser that they’d had a new cook for this particular meal. Only Miri seemed to notice, but that was only because she noticed everything.
When everyone was done eating, and there were no leftovers of the dish she’d made, Dylan proudly broke the news and watched as eyebrows rose in surprise. Even Peter graced her with a smile and a nod of approval. He’d been the last to come around when Mark first introduced her to the family, and the last to recover from the Ray Hernandez debacle. He still regarded her with something less than warmth, more like cordiality, but Dylan was counting on the baby, a cousin for his son, to further break the ice between them. It didn’t much worry her, because she had a lifetime to change his mind.
“You cooked, so Xiomara and I will do the washing up,” Miri offered.
“Thanks,” Dylan accepted, knowing that the real reason was that Miri was constantly on the lookout now, making sure she didn’t over-exert herself or do anything that might be threatening to her pregnancy.
Upstairs, she stripped for a shower and wrapped a towel about her, leaning over to check her phone before making the trek down the hall to the shared bathroom. There were two more calls from Lauren Morales, and one from Stephanie. Sighing she sat on the edge of the bed and decided that this might actually be the best time to call. She could rush them off the phone by saying, truthfully, that she was visiting her in-laws.
She called Stephanie first, because the interval since she’d spoken to her was the longer of the two, and because she was easier to talk to. Lauren had become a little sharper with her lately, a little less warm, and she thought she knew why but didn’t much care. The last thing she needed was to get into a catfight with someone about a man who was available to neither of them, and whom Dylan did not even want to have anything to do with.
“I wondered whether I’d offended you in some way,” Stephanie said, her voice was shrill when she answered. “It seems like it’s been ages.”
“It has been,” Dylan acknowledged. “But I’ve been so stretched. And I’ve decided to go back to work, so . . .”
“Oh really,” Stephanie said. “Huh.”
Dylan rolled her eyes, recalling how all the women had reacted similarly when she first met them, like gainful employment was some quaint and antiquated concept.
“So I don’t suppose you’d be up for going to Saks to do some damage on Friday,” Stephanie finally said.
“No,” Dylan said, trying to sound regretful. “The team’s back on Friday, remember? So Mark will be here . . .”
“Home, away, makes no difference to me anymore,” Stephanie said.
Dylan didn’t respond. It had always been this way. Stephanie had always talked about her husband and about MLB with such cynicism. But it was beginning to get old. If you didn’t like your circumstances, didn’t there come a point that you had to decide to change them?
“Well it still does to me,” Dylan said. “So I probably can’t do shopping on Friday.” And when only silence greeted that. “But maybe another time.”
“Yes, maybe,” Stephanie said, her voice false and
bright.
“So you called quite a few times,” Dylan prompted. “Was there something in particular . . ?”
“Nope,” Stephanie said briskly. “I just wondered whether you’d fallen off the face of the earth.”
“Feet planted firmly on solid ground,” Dylan said. “But thank you for thinking of me.”
“No worries. Look, I can hear my kids in the next room. Or more accurately, I can’t hear them so I’d better go see what the hell’s going on. You call me when you’re freed up a little more, okay?”
“Sure.”
But when Dylan hung up, she already knew that it would be a long time before she called Stephanie again.
Lauren was next. Dylan took a deep breath and hit the ‘call’ button, waiting through three rings before Lauren finally answered.
“Dylan,” she said sounding a little over-excited. “I’ve been trying to reach you for ages. What the . . .”
“Sorry,” Dylan said as though reading from a dialogue sheet. “I’ve been a little tied up.”
“Have you spoken to Steph lately?” Lauren interrupted her.
Dylan’s brow furrowed at Lauren’s tone. “A few minutes ago, why?”
“You’ll need to sit down for this.”
“I am sitting down.”
“Stephanie’s been talking to the press, Dylan.”
It took a moment for it to sink in. And even when it did, she had to be certain that she understood precisely what Lauren meant.
“What . . .do you . . ?”
“All of that stuff about you and Ray. She’s been the source.”
“How . . ?”
“A friend of mine at the Daily News told me. We were having a completely unrelated conversation about a charity I support and she blurted it out. I think she thought I knew. I think she thought everyone knew.”
Dylan felt her heart begin to race. Her decision to distance herself from Stephanie hadn’t been born of suspicion. If anything she would have suspected Lauren more so than Stephanie. Her decision to distance herself from Stephanie came from a completely independent realization that they had nothing whatsoever in common besides being married to professional baseball players on the same team. It still seemed incredible. That Stephanie could smile in her face and even court her friendship and yet . . .
The Seduction of Dylan Acosta Page 32