The Next Best Thing (Gideon's Cove #2)(41)

“So what happened today, Lucy?” Tommy Malloy calls.

“Just having a bad day,” I answer. “Don’t worry. My mojo will be back when we play Nubey’s.” We’ve never lost to Nubey’s Hardware, after all.

Ah-ha! Ethan is coming my way. “Hey, Luce.”

“Hi. Sorry I’m late getting here,” I say.

“Oh, were you late?” he asks, glancing at the bar.

“I just had a little…trouble. That’s all.” I wait for him to inquire after my well-being. He doesn’t. “So. Taking steroids or something, Eth?” I continue. “Pretty aggressive there on second today. First time you tagged me out…ever, now that I think of it.” I offer a smile, and he grins back.

“It’s not steroids, Lucy. Just treating you like my buddy. Why? Should I let you get on base next time?” His merry eyebrows rise, and his smile is full-fledged now.

“You don’t let me do anything,” I object.

“Sure, Luce.”

“What are you saying?”

He laughs, not meanly but in genuine amusement. “Lucy, Lucy. Do you really think you’re that good?”

My mouth falls open. “Yes! I’m great at softball! I bat .513!”

He nods. “Yes, you do. Even higher than Tommy Malloy, who played for Arizona State. Amazing.” He winks.

My shoulders slump. “So what do you mean? I’m not that good? People have been just being nice?”

“Yup.”

“No, sir!” I’m not great? “Why would they do that?”

“Because you’re Jimmy’s widow, kid. Who’s gonna strike out poor Lucy Mirabelli?”

My eyes narrow. “Did you have something to do with this?”

He grins again. “Well, I may have said to go easy on my sister-in-law. Back when you first started playing, anyway. I guess it got to be a habit.” He pats my shoulder, and I catch a slight whiff of his cologne, such a comforting and familiar smell that I’m filled with longing. And jealousy, maybe, because he’s…ah, dang it. Snap out of it, I tell myself harshly.

I glance around the bar. Fred, surrounded by taller patrons, waits patiently, unaware of the “shove your way to the front” method of getting a drink at this fine establishment. I glance over to where Doral-Anne sits in a booth along the back wall. Where I usually sit. Often with Ethan, whenever he was around for a game, that is. Despite the fact that our more intimate relationship had always been a secret, Ethan was always quite protective of me. Quite solicitous, and everyone always gave him huge points for being such a good guy where his brother’s widow was concerned. He’d get me a beer, praise my skill on the field (gah!) and usually walk me home. And often shag me.

Dang it, dang it, dang it.

Doral-Anne eyes me with all the warmth of a great white shark. “You should probably get back to your date,” I say to Ethan, unable to completely hide the bitter note in my voice.

“Who? Doral-Anne? Oh, we’re not on a date. Just talking.” He glances over to Doral-Anne, who jerks her glare off of me and pretends she was studying the menu.

“And what are you talking about?” I ask.

He considers me carefully. “She’s interested in what International Foods does. Our new product line. Stuff like that.”

“Your product line?” I snort. “Ethan, my dear boy, Doral-Anne’s interested in you.”

“No, Lucy, she’s interested in my company. We’re both in the food service industry, in case you didn’t notice. There’s been talk about Starbucks closing the Mackerly store. She might send her résumé to International, that’s all.”

“She’s not good enough for you.” The statement falls out without my consent, but there it is. The truth.

Ethan’s mouth tightens. “So now you’re an expert on who I should date, Lucy? Maybe you shouldn’t go around judging people you barely know.”

I gulp. Great, he’s defending her. “Well, I just…whatever. Sorry I said anything. I’m sure she’s perfectly wonderful.”

Luckily the door opens and Parker breezes in, smelling of J’Adore and not of sweat, like my own sticky self.

“Hey, guys!” she says, giving us both a fond squeeze of the shoulder, and some of the tension leaves the moment.

“How’s our boy?” Ethan asks, his face taking on that dopey, adoring look he gets whenever he thinks of his son.

“Terrorizing the babysitter, like any good four-year-old.” She smiles at Ethan, he smiles back, and once again, I imagine them married. Though Nicky was definitely unplanned, the result of failed birth control, neither of them ever regretted having the lad. They could have more Nickys…after all, it’s not like they find each other repugnant, which is more than enough grounds for marriage in my eyes.

Parker snaps her fingers in front of my face, and I jump. “Lucy, I just asked how the date was going. I hardly got to talk to him…your sister was telling him about Emma’s poop and pee schedule, and I have to say, he took it like a man.”

“Did she show the cracked nipple?” I ask, grinning.

Ethan cocks his head. “You’re on a date?” he asks. “Who is he?”

“It’s not a date. Not really. We just…he’s Gertie Myers’s nephew. Fred Busey.”