Dream a Little Dream (Chicago Stars, #4)(150)

“I’ll meet you at the playground,” he said from the doorway. Then he disappeared.

She stomped over to the sink, where she scrubbed her hands and lower arms, splashing water on the paint-splattered skirt of her dress at the same time. Then she made her way to the playground.

He sat with his back propped against one of the jungle-gym bars and a can of Dr Pepper in his hand. One leg was stretched out, the other bent. He wore a Chicago Stars cap, along with a navy T-shirt tucked into jeans that had a small hole near the knee, but were still a thousand times better than the ones she’d had to throw out.

She found a place a few yards away next to the concrete turtle. He gave her the lunch sack. She noticed that his hands were scrubbed. Even the Band-Aid around his thumb was fresh. How did a man who worked so hard manage to keep himself so clean?

She placed the sack in the nest of her skirt, and pulled out a French fry. The smell was so delicious she had to resist cramming an entire fistful into her mouth. Instead, she took a nibble off the end and licked the salt from her lips.

He popped the top of his Dr Pepper, looked down at the can, and then over at her. “You deserve an apology for what I did the other day.”


She was so surprised that she dropped one of the precious French fries in the grass. So that’s what this cozy little lunch was about. His guilty conscience had finally caught up with him. It was nice to know he had a conscience.

He looked wary, and she suspected he was waiting for her to get all hysterical and go after him with both barrels. Well, she wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Bonner, but you were so pathetic that day I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing.”

“Is that so?”

She expected his scowl to deepen, but instead, he relaxed slightly against the bar of the jungle gym. “It was inexcusable. Nothing like that’ll ever happen again.” He paused, not quite meeting her eyes. “I’d been drinking.”

She remembered the way his breath had fallen on her—clean, with no hint of alcohol. She still had the feeling his attack had more to do with his own demons than hers. “Yeah, well, maybe you should give it up. You acted like an ass.”

“I know.”

“The king of asses.”

His gaze flicked back to her, and she actually thought she detected a spark of amusement in those hard silver eyes. Was that possible?

“You’re going to make me grovel, aren’t you?”

“Like a worm.”

“Does anything put a cork in that mouth of yours?” His lips curved in something that almost resembled a smile, and she was so stunned it took her a moment to muster a response.

“Disrespect is part of my charm.”

“Whoever told you that lied.”

“Are you calling Billy Graham a liar?”

For a moment, the curl of his mouth grew more pronounced, but then the familiar scowl returned. Apparently his time for groveling was over. He gestured toward her with his Dr Pepper can. “Don’t you have any jeans? Tell me, what kind of idiot does manual labor in a dress?”

Somebody who doesn’t have anything else to wear, she thought. She wouldn’t spend a penny on clothes for herself, not when Edward was growing out of his. “I love dresses, Bonner. They make me feel all cute and feminine.”

“With those shoes?” He regarded her big black oxfords with distaste.

“What can I say? I’m a slave to fashion.”

“Bull. Those old jeans of yours gave out, didn’t they? Well, buy yourself some new ones. I’ll buy you some new ones. Consider it a uniform.”

He’d seen her swallow her pride again and again, but that had been for Edward. This was not. She made no effort to hide her scorn. “If you buy ’em, you wear ’em.”

Several seconds ticked by while he seemed to take her measure. “You’re tough, aren’t you?”

“The toughest.”

“So tough you don’t even need food.” His gaze moved to the food sack in her lap. “Are you going to eat those fries or just play with them?”

“I told you I wasn’t hungry.”

“That must explain why you look like a skeleton. You’re anorexic, aren’t you?”

“Poor people don’t get anorexia.” She pushed a second French fry in her mouth. It was so good she wanted to stuff the entire package in. At the same time, she felt guilty for robbing Edward of even part of a treat he’d enjoy so much.

“Kristy says you hardly eat anything.”

It bothered her to discover that Kristy was reporting to Gabe behind her back. “She should mind her own business.”

“So why don’t you eat?”

“You’re right. I’m anorexic. Now let’s drop the subject, okay?”

“Poor people don’t get anorexia.”

She ignored him and savored another French fry.

“Try some of that hamburger.”

“I’m vegetarian.”

“You’ve been eating meat at Kristy’s.”

“What are you, the food police?”

“I don’t get it. Unless . . .” He studied her with shrewd eyes. “That first day when you fainted, I gave you a cup-cake, and you tried to pass it off to your kid.”