Better Than Perfect (17 page)

“Don’t you ever get tired of the Harrisons?” Johnny asked after a few minutes of silence. “They act as if they own you.”

“Is that what you think?” She was surprised. Then she recalled their conversation at dinner. The way they referred to her as “our Alice.”

“I guess it was Mel who brought you home, and stuck you on a shelf like some kind of prize.” Johnny’s voice sounded strained. As if he worked really hard to control his anger.

“Are you saying I was a trophy wife?” She couldn’t help but laugh at that. She couldn’t have felt more out of place on Mel’s arm.

“Something like that. Only you were mine.” The hurt in his voice made her reach for his hand. “He had everything. Money. Family. A name he could be proud of. He took the one thing in this world I had besides baseball. He took you.”

“Johnny, I’m sorry we hurt you. Neither of us meant for it to happen. It just did.” This was hardly the conversation to get them in the mood. But maybe it was for the best. They really should hash it all out. Get to the truth before they even had a chance to make love.

If they had a chance at all.

“So how did it happen? How did you and Mel end up together?”

“I was missing you.” She let go of his hand. “We both were. So we turned to each other.”

“I see.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

“One night we went out to one of the casinos. Had a little too much to drink and instead of driving…” She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t tell Johnny about how she’d woken up in that hotel room, naked and full of regret.

“You don’t need to tell me any more.” Johnny let out a huge sigh. “I think we need to put the past behind us.”

Yes, but before they could do that, she needed to tell him everything.

“Johnny, the thing is…”

The car lurched to a stop.

“I promised you a romantic evening.” Johnny placed his fingers over her lips. “I need to deliver. Let’s go up to my place, shall we?”

One simple touch and Alice forgot about everything but getting this man into bed. It had been so long, yet her body remembered exactly what he could do to her.

Johnny paid the driver and led her to his apartment building. Once in the elevator, he took her hand. He seemed nervous, almost shy all of a sudden, so she squeezed his hand reassuringly.

“Don’t worry, you’re going to get lucky.” She smiled up at him flirtatiously, but he didn’t smile back. He simply unlocked the door and led her inside.

“I haven’t had time to really decorate.” He apologized for his apartment’s sparse décor. His lack of clutter. “I’ve barely even unpacked.”

She glanced around the room. It was a newer place, spacious and open. An efficient, state-of-the-art kitchen on one side, the living area on the other. A large picture window offered a gorgeous view of the ballpark. The walls were bare. He had a leather sofa, matching chair, stereo equipment and a large flat screen TV. A couple of barstools lined the kitchen counter and that was about it.

It felt very temporary. Like he wasn’t planning on sticking around. But then, Johnny had never been big on possessions. Back in college, he’d been happy with his ball and his glove. His beat-up Jeep to get him to practice and to take a drive when the pressure got to him. Or when they needed a change of scenery. As much as she’d loved hanging out at his and Mel’s apartment, sometimes they needed space. And a person couldn’t find more space than the Northern Nevada desert.

“Can I get you a drink, or something?” Johnny smoothed his hands down the front of his tuxedo jacket. “I have some wine. Or a beer.”

“Sure.” She’d had maybe four sips of champagne all evening, so the buzzed feeling had nothing to do with alcohol. “I’ll have whatever you’d prefer.”

Johnny had never been a big drinker. He didn’t like to give up control. But Mel had been a microbrew aficionado. He’d even experimented with home brewing back in college. That made for some interesting concoctions.

Johnny pulled a couple of Anchor Steams from his refrigerator. A local craft beer that Mel introduced to them back when most of their classmates were downing cheap light beer by the case.

“Glass?” he asked, prying the off the caps and tossing the opener back in the drawer.

“No. The bottle’s fine.” No use dirtying any dishes. It almost appeared as if his kitchen hadn’t even been used. It seemed so lonely.

“Cheers.” Johnny held his bottle up in a toast.

“Cheers.” She took a long drink. The rich amber liquid slid down her throat. But it didn’t quench her thirst for him.

The awkwardness continued. Somehow the magic they felt for each other had faded, as if neither remembered how to get started. She had an excuse, having been widowed for so long. Maybe Johnny was used to women throwing themselves at him. She tried not to think about how many he’d caught.

It didn’t matter. What he’d done when they were apart was his business. She’d let the mere idea of him being with another woman ruin their relationship years ago. Time to get over it. She wanted him, even if it was only for tonight.

“Can I use your bathroom?” She finished her beer and placed the empty bottle on the sleek granite counter.

“Sure, there’s one in the hall and another in my bedroom.” He sipped slowly from his bottle. Stalling. But he looked at her with longing. An ache they both felt.

She chose the one in his bedroom.

* * * *

Johnny didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He hadn’t had a woman up to his apartment in recent memory. The last woman he’d dated had complained that he never had her over to his place. That he didn’t
let her in
, whatever that meant. As if seeing someone’s choice of furnishings somehow made a deeper connection. What did it say about him that he didn’t hang pictures on the wall? That he spent his money on exercise equipment instead of throw pillows and knick-knacks?

Other than in college, he’d never spent much time at home. As a kid, he stayed away as much as possible. He preferred to be at the ballpark, or even an empty field, instead of stuck inside watching soap operas or talk shows with his mother or her roommates. He never brought friends over, that was for sure. So, entertaining wasn’t something that came naturally.

“Hey Johnny, could you help me with something?” Ali called from the back of the apartment. Oh no, did he forget to put towels out? Or worse?

He found her in his bedroom. On his bed. Naked.

He swallowed. Hard. “What do you need?”

“You.” She stretched out on his bed, giving him the perfect view of what she was offering. “Well?”

“You’re beautiful.” So beautiful he couldn’t move. The last time they’d made love, he’d been twenty-one. And desperate to show her everything he’d been unable to tell her about how he felt.

They’d broken up weeks before. But he’d stopped by her place on his way out of town. One last attempt at changing her mind. He was scared and hurt and a little bewildered by her insistence he go off to the minor leagues unencumbered. He wanted to tell her he needed her. He loved her. But the words wouldn’t come. So he’d done the only thing he could.

Nearly out of his mind with the thought of losing her, he’d made love to her in a frantic and fumbling fashion.

He wasn’t going to let her get away this time.

“So, come get me.” She shifted, turning away from him slightly, like she might be having second thoughts.

That got him moving.

He shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket, grabbing a condom out of the pocket before dropping it on the floor. He kicked off his ridiculously shiny shoes and tugged at his collar.

Ali rose from the bed and helped him with his buttons. His zipper. She snuggled against him, burying her face in his chest.

“Johnny…” She inhaled as she slid his boxer-briefs down his thighs. “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed this.”

“Me too.” He eased her back toward the bed. “You’re even more beautiful than I remember.”

“Oh, please. I’ve gained weight. After having Zach.” She blushed, covering her stomach with her hands.

He laid her on the bed then slid in next to her. He put his hand on her stomach and stroked her skin, so smooth, so soft, so perfect.

“Beautiful,” he said again. Brushing his lips across her exquisite skin, he kissed her on the mouth. The soft spot behind her ear. He flicked his tongue into the hollow of her collarbone. Then blew gently, eliciting a sound that was part whimper, part giggle. He moved down her body, tasting her along the way. He paused between her breasts, deciding which one to savor first, slid his right hand over her left breast and lowered his mouth to her right nipple. A flick, a swirl, and then he pulled her into his mouth.

She moaned, whimpered, begged for more.

He dragged kisses across her chest to take in her other breast, moved his hand down her body, grazing her hip as she thrust forward. Her skin was silky, soft. And sensitive, too, judging by the way she squirmed beneath his touch. He slipped his hand between her thighs, finding her sweet spot. She was so hot. So wet. So
perfect
.

More unintelligible noises escaped her throat as he stroked, dipped and drew out her orgasm. Her sounds became more urgent and he knew he’d be in trouble if he didn’t give her what she wanted.

Him. Inside her. Now.

He tore open the condom wrapper and covered himself. Then he plunged deep inside her.

They came together and it was like they’d never been apart. He remembered where and how she liked to be touched. He recalled the taste of her. The soft little noises that quickly turned into insistent moans. Their bodies collided with the present and the past.

She cried out his name. For real this time. Not like the thousands of dreams he’d had over the years. The times he’d woken up in a strange hotel room in a strange city, sweaty with his heart racing and for a moment, in that place between asleep and awake, he’d swear Ali was there with him. Sometimes, he worried her nightmare had come true, and he’d open his eyes to find a nameless stranger in the bed next to him. But it was only Ali. It had always been only Ali. Or rather, the dream of her.

But tonight she was real. She was beneath him, rocking with pleasure. Accepting everything he had to give. The only thing he’d been able to give her way back then.

It was over far too quickly. But they had all night. A fact he planned to take full advantage of as soon as he was able. Until then, he was happy to just hold her. To feel her warm body pressed against him. Her heart beating in her chest, slowly creeping down to a steady pace.

They fell asleep. Woke up and made love again. Then drifted into a peaceful, perfect state of bliss.

This. This was what he’d been missing. What he’d longed for more than anything. This was the real reason he’d come to San Francisco.

* * * *

“Do you want to watch a movie?” Zach’s friend Ty was trying to get him to stop thinking about his mom being out with Johnny Scottsdale, but it wasn’t working. Not when he couldn’t stop wondering if he was more than just her old boyfriend.

“I don’t care.” Zach knew he wasn’t much fun tonight. But he was tired of playing dumb old video games. He wasn’t interested in watching YouTube videos of people doing stupid stuff. And he had absolutely no desire to try to sneak a beer from Ty’s mom’s fridge out in the garage.

“You’re not much fun tonight.” Ty was one to talk. It was like he was in some kind of funk, and only wanted to bring Zach down with him.

“Yeah. I guess not.” He’d brought his ball and his glove. But Ty hadn’t wanted to play catch. Even though the park was right across the street. Ty had stopped playing baseball a few years ago.

“So did Johnny Scottsdale give you that glove?” he asked in a way that sounded like he was kind of making fun of him. Like he thought it was lame to be so excited about meeting the guy who’d been his hero for so long. A guy who might be a whole lot more.

“No. I’ve had this glove for years.” It was exactly like Johnny’s. That’s why he’d wanted it. So he could be like his hero. Maybe he was like him in a whole lot of ways. Like, genetically.

“I can’t believe you’re still into that. I mean, it was okay when we were kids, but baseball’s kind of boring.”

“No it’s not.” Zach never understood why Ty quit playing. He was good. He could hit the ball a lot farther than Zach could. At least, he could when they were eleven. “I like playing baseball. I hope I can play in high school. Maybe even college.”