For the Love of Us Page 3

“Please don’t leave yet. I really want to get to know you.”

  The look he gives me seems sincere. It’s cute, like a little boy begging for some candy. Maybe he’s a good guy after all, and I shouldn’t be so quick to judge him.

  “Okay, I guess I have some time before I have to leave. I do have to study tonight though.”

  His pout turns into a warm smile melting away some of the icy walls I’ve built to protect my heart from guys like him. In an instant I feel a deep connection that I can’t explain. A wave of calm flows over me, like a warm blanket, keeping me safe and protected. It’s a feeling I’ve never had before now.

  “Looks like you just got off the field too. Are you on the softball team?”

  Shit! Perfect! I forgot I was still in my practice clothes. I’m a mess. Oh well, nothing I can do about it now. “Yeah, I play second base like you. I’ve played since I was a kid.”

  “It’s cool we have that in common. I used to pitch but decided to move positions last year. If I want to keep playing, I have to save my arm.” He lifts his left arm, stretching it and making a full circle.

  Being this close to him, it’s impossible to miss how muscular he is, even when covered up by his grass stained uniform.

  A tight black T-shirt is visible under his unbuttoned jersey. It stretches across his broad chest like a second skin. His large bicep flexes with each circle he makes. And those thighs. And that butt. God created baseball pants just for guys like him.

  Quit gawking Callie! Before you get caught again!

  “So, you’re leaving to play ball in college?” My disappointed tone can’t be missed. Figures, I find a guy I want to get to know and he’s leaving in a few months.

  “I have a couple of offers. Some close to home, some really great ones out of state which I’m leaning towards. I haven’t decided yet. My dad’s on my case to hurry up and choose. What about you?”

  “I’m still waiting to hear if I’ve been accepted to USC.”

  University of Southern California has been my dream school since my freshman year of high school. They put me on the waitlist. I rush home every day to check the mail for an acceptance letter but so far nothing.

  “USC is one of the offers I have. It wasn’t on my radar, but maybe I need to look again. I planned to get as far away as possible, but that could always change, if I had something, or someone worth staying in California for. Seeing you again could change my mind.”

  There’s that flirting thing he is so good at, again. Implying he would change colleges just to spend time with me.

  “Sure, right. You’d stick around just to go on a date with me.”

  “Who said anything about a date? The minute you caught my foul ball I knew without a doubt, I’m going to marry you.”

  “Marry me? Oh yeah, that’s a good one. Is this how you always ask a girl out?”

  His serious expression doesn’t waiver. “I’ve never said that to any girl, only you. Let me prove it to you. Go out with me Saturday night. Wherever you want to go.”

  I want to see him again. Maybe he’s just a flirt but I like it. I might like it too much. Convincing myself a date with this sweet, gorgeous baseball player is a good idea doesn’t take a lot of thought. Why wouldn’t I go out with him? After all, it’s just one date.

  I give in easily. “Okay, how about the new bowling alley they just built? I can show you my curve ball.”

  “Great, that’s a start, but I want to know more about you now. How old were you when you started playing softball?”

  We continue talking for hours until they shut off the stadium lights.

  Brad took the scholarship to USC and I was able to transfer in after a year at junior college. He continued to ask me to marry him every month on the anniversary of the day we met until I finally agreed to become Mrs. Bradley Thompson.

  The rest as they say is history.

  It’s time to turn the music off and walk down the hall to meet Brad. Just like yesterday and every day before. Brad’s keys rattling in the lock make me pause.

  When he walks in, I take a minute to simply stare at him.

  I’ve watched him walk through the front door after work for over twenty years. He’s the same man but a thought comes to me.

  What is it that makes me physically attracted to him? I’m talking about the superficial, exterior stuff, because I know why I love him for the deep heartfelt things. He’s always ready to help a friend. His kindness comes like it’s second nature. A hard worker and great provider. The man inside is more attractive and amazing than anyone I have ever met. What is it on the outside that everyone else sees that I stopped noticing?

  I try to look at my husband with the eyes of a woman, not his wife.

  Brad is about 5’10”. Daily workouts help to keep the dad bod at bay. He’s still solid and strong. I’ve watched as other women check out my husband. He’s oblivious to it but I see them.

  His skin is light caramel, revealing his mixed parentage. It’s hard to define his ethnic background. A little bit of Latin, Asian, Pacific Islander and Caucasian thrown into the mix. We’ve talked about doing a DNA test to find his true ancestry trail, but he says it doesn’t matter what it would reveal. “I’m just a man,” he says. “My ancestors are special for who they were and not where on the map they came from. I’m just me. And besides, you love me just as I am. That’s all that really matters.”

  Looking up. I take in his dark hair with the distinguished grey streaks that give him the silver fox appeal. It’s trimmed around the sides and collar. Very business-like but not stuffy. Add his crisp black business suit and he is the full package.

  While doing my full body inspection something seems different. Looking closer I realize I’ve missed some details.

  His posture exudes exhaustion. The lines on his face are a little deeper now. Those gorgeous eyes I love to stare into are tired, more sunken than they were before, framed with dark circles.

  His jaw is tight with the apparent stress he’s feeling. Broad shoulders which have always held the weight of our world have a slump instead of the strong confident ones I’m familiar with.

  I missed those clues until now. He has something weighing on his mind too.

  I don’t know what I would do if he broke. I need his strength. He’s my rock when things seem to be falling apart around me. I never thought for one minute he could be lost too.

  I can’t let my pillar of strength crumble. My plan has just become more than a bedroom mission. We need to reconnect on all levels. Communication needs to be added to my to do list.

  Maybe I can get him to open up a little bit at a time. A few extra words tonight could open the door to other areas where we need to reconnect.

  Continuing with my lustful appraisal of the man I still crave; my gaze settles on his five o’clock shadow. The kind that scratches on my neck when he nuzzles me. I can almost feel it now even though it’s been so long since he’s leaned in to kiss that special spot behind my ear and under my hair. The pokey, scratchy feeling is nice, but I also love it when he lets it grow out a bit. It’s like soft bristles. I haven’t felt his scruffy chin all over my body for a long time. I’ll add it to my journal tonight.

  Thud. His briefcase hits the hardwood floor. Our boring nightly routine has begun.

  I’ll play along tonight, but it’s the last time. You don’t know what’s in store for you, Brad. Tomorrow night I’m going to rock your world. You’ll never want this boring routine again. I’ll have you rushing to get home every night. Just you wait and see.

  Chapter Five

  “Hey, I’m home. Dinner smells good.”

  “It’s ready. I’ll put it on the table now.”

  “Okay.”

  With the same one-word response I get so often, he moves forward with his regular end of workday habits. He heads straight to his desk to check personal emails on his laptop, walking past me like I’m invisible.

  As he continues down the hall to our bedroom to change out of his suit. I
throw a silent prayer to the gods. Please don’t put those sweats on. I know I’m praying for a miracle but that is exactly what I need. Those sweats with USC Baseball running down the leg from his college days are the bane of my existence. The 1991 imprint on the left hip isn’t even visible any longer.

  I bought him a new pair for Father’s Day once. He never wore them and even handed them down to our oldest son in high school.

  I need to keep calm.

  Remember, today is my part of the transformation.

  I’m still hopeful his favorite sweats will be AWOL while I’m setting the salad dressing on the table. Lasagna and unburned garlic bread, delicious.

  If I must say so myself, it smells fantastic.

  My stomach makes an angry feed me now growl. I was so busy I didn’t eat anything today. I only drank coffee. Now I’m starving.

  Before my tummy yells at me again, I decide I’m not waiting for Brad. I begin dishing myself up a full plate when he appears.

  Oh, God! There they are. The nasty sweats. Clean, but gross. If I wasn’t so hungry, I might have lost my appetite. At least his T-shirt is a newer one. No holes. I mentally shake my head and sigh.

  Brad sits at the head of the table. I’m on his right as always.

  A thought comes to me during the silence of our meal. Sitting like this, we don’t look directly at one another. We are facing straight ahead while we eat. To look at each other while speaking we have to turn our heads or twist our bodies.

  I’d never thought of it before. It’s not a big deal, just an odd observation I made tonight but will keep in mind for tomorrow. I seem to be looking at everything with wide eyes now. Taking it all in so we can be better for the long haul.

  We continue to dig into our food without conversation. The clink and scrape of our forks are the only noises except for the yummy sounds Brad occasionally makes. He loves the lasagna with my homemade sauce and tons of cheese.

  I’m waiting for him to eat half the food on his plate. That’s usually the point he asks about my day. Being Thursday, he knows the routine.

  “What did you do today?”

  “Nothing special. Just the normal stuff with Tina.”

  I don’t expect a response. I wonder what he’s thinking while we quietly devour our meals. Instead of asking, I chicken out and keep my questions to myself.

  We’ve both finished everything on our plates. Brad pushes back his chair and walks to the kitchen to put his dish in the sink.

  The ritual of clearing the table begins. Brad puts some of the lasagna and salad into two separate plastic containers for his lunch tomorrow.

  Next, I hand wash each dish. He dries and puts them away. We only use the dishwasher when the kids are home. It’s totally unnecessary for just us.

  With my hands in the soapy water I try to make small talk. We’ve become so distant I can’t think of anything to say.

  I’m too afraid to ask what I really want to know, so I decide on a generic how was your day dear? question. This should be a quick conversation. Brad doesn’t like to talk about work when he gets home. He likes to leave it in the office and comes home to forget all about it.

  “Did you have a good day?”

  I’m prepared for the usual answers. It was fine, or good, busy, even uneventful. I don’t pry but wish we had something different to talk about.

  You can imagine my shock when he opens up about the details from his day.

  “Joel left early. I told him I’d cover his work for as long as he needs.”

  “What’s going on with him?” I ask curiously.

  “He’s having some family issues he needs to deal with.”

  “Oh, no! Nothing serious, I hope?”

  “It depends on how you classify serious. Sherry gave him an ultimatum. Spend more time at home, pay attention to her or she’s leaving. I feel bad for the guy. He said he was blindsided. They haven’t talked about anything that would lead him to believe anything is wrong.”

  I turn away from draining the sink. Brad seems to be in deep thought. His eyebrows are scrunched up, shoulders tensed and a glazed look in his eyes.

  He looks like a zombie while shuffling into the family room. He dropped that bomb and walked away from me. What can that mean?

  I can’t stop myself from staring in Brad’s direction. I can see his shoulders rise and fall with every breath he takes. Without looking back to me he grabs the remote to turn on the TV. The background noise is a welcome distraction.

  I’m stunned. Joel is Brad’s best friend. He was best man at our wedding and works just as hard as Brad does. Our families aren’t so very different from one another. We both started having babies around the same time. Their twins are in college now. It’s just the two of them in their huge house. Or maybe it’s just her in their empty nest. Maybe Sherry isn’t too far away from where I am right now. Only I have no plans of leaving.

  I need to know what is going on in Brad’s mind. This is too important to leave hanging between us. It’s ironic this is happening the same day I have my own epiphany. I understand Sherry needing attention. Our husbands’ jobs are demanding, and I suspect Sherry has the same feelings I do about how much time it takes away from family.

  In the early stages of Brad’s career, I often felt like a single mom. Attending games and school performances alone, while my husband was working to pay the bills. As the years went by, he was able to arrange his schedule and make it to the boys’ events. I hope Brad will see I need to take priority now. Could Sherry feel the same way? Maybe Joel forgot about her needs too.

  “That’s terrible. Joel must be beside himself. Sherry must have a good reason to issue such an ultimatum. It’s easy to forget the person in front of you every day needs extra attention sometimes. Maybe she’s lonely now that the twins are out of the house and this is her way of telling him.”

  “Yeah, he’s pretty messed up. I told him to take as much time as he needs. Family’s supposed to come first. Otherwise, why do we bother with any of this stuff?”

  I see something in his eyes, but I can’t place it. What is he thinking about? I swear I see the cogs turning in Brad’s mind as he speaks.

  He pulls me out of my own thoughts with his unexpected and random revelation.

  “Hey, I just noticed your hair. Did Cristina do it?”

  I guess changing the subject is his way of telling me he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore.

  “Yeah, I needed a little pick me up. Do you like it?”

  I really want him to like it. I touch my hair and fluff it with my fingers. It feels soft and bouncy. “I love what Cristina does to my hair. You don’t think it’s too red?” I plant the seed; I may have to let Cristina do something crazy next time.

  “I like it. It’s pretty.”

  Pretty. Such a simple word but it means everything to me. The lack of compliments I’ve received makes the word more important than it ever has been in my life.

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  “She did an amazing job but she has a beautiful woman to work with so it can’t be all that hard.”

  Two compliments in one conversation. We’re on a roll tonight.

  He’s still a smooth talker. I’ve missed how he flirts with me. It gives me the boost I need to move forward with this plan.

  I’ve never been good at taking compliments but, I won’t allow myself to disregard him tonight. We need to keep things moving forward in our marriage and that includes learning how to recognize and take a compliment.

  “Well, aren’t you full of surprises. Are you trying to sweet talk me Mr. Thompson?”

  Brad comes back to the kitchen island, which separates the kitchen from the family room. I’m back to wiping down the counter when I feel him behind me.

  He leans into my back reaching past me to put both hands on the granite surface, caging me in. I’m his prisoner.

  The spicy scent from his cologne is subtle but I breathe it in like I need it to live. Maybe I won’t have to wait until tom
orrow night for some of the attention I’ve been craving?

  I close my eyes hoping this was just the beginning of a passionate night. I tilt my head back. It rests on his shoulder, a silent invitation, but one, nonetheless.

  I allow my thoughts to drift, imagining how tonight’s simple flirting can lead to so much more if either of us made the next move.

  With a whisper, Brad tells me to turn around.

  I obey, turning slowly, seeing his eyes are dark with desire.

  He moves his hand to my waist, lifting me onto the granite countertop.

  A small step forward spreads my knees enabling him to fit between my thighs.

  Brad growls out his next command, “Lean back on your hands and keep them there.”

  In this position, my chest is thrust out in a pin up girl style pose. “You’re the boss!”

  “Stay just like that.”

  He slowly unbuttons my top, leaving kisses on the bare skin he reveals inch by inch.

  My body is electrified. I close my eyes. The anticipation of his next move is killing me.

  “Open your eyes and look at me. I want you to see everything I’m going to do to you.”

  Brad is so demanding and in control. I don’t dare look away.

  With soft kisses and nips he works his way up my body until my shirt is open, falling off my shoulders.

  My hands are still behind me, braced on the counter. He told me I couldn’t move so my shirt is now pooled behind my back, hanging on my wrists.

  The lacy demi cup bra pushes the girls up, inviting Brad to play. Thank God he accepts the invite.

  He palms my breast with both hands giving a playful squeeze.

  My nipples are painfully hard. Each time his palm scrapes one, I groan.

  Brad knows what I want. He uses those talented fingers to reach back and unhook my bra, giving him full access to my breast.

  My need is causing my heart to pound. I can hardly breathe.

  Finally, his warm mouth is so close to my nipple. He pauses without touching me–I feel angry wanting and needing him to carry on, but don’t dare say anything to spoil the mood. He might stop and I’m almost there.