Keeping Score
Faye gaped at her. “You really believe that shit?”
Marilyn ignored their rolled eyes and snickers. “Yes, I do believe my husband. Don’t you believe yours?” She met the other women’s eyes with an expression meant to shame them. If it weren’t for her love for Warrick, she would have taken her purse and left already.
Susan’s cheeks flushed. “I want to.”
Peggy’s gaze slipped from Marilyn’s. “So do I.”
Faye snorted. “Shit. I couldn’t care less as long as he’s coming home to me and paying my bills.”
Marilyn ignored the younger woman and focused on Susan and Peggy. “Then why don’t you?”
If they didn’t trust their men, why did they remain in the relationship?
Susan lifted her chin. “Because only a fool would believe her husband wouldn’t be tempted by all those young skanks throwing themselves at him. But until I have proof that he’s cheated, why should my kids and I leave? We’ll just stay put, thank you very much.”
Marilyn cut into one of the remaining two raviolis. They were the size of half dollars. She chewed pensively. “You don’t have proof that he’s cheating on you. You’ve been to all of his away games and he’s never cheated on you. Still, you don’t trust him.”
Susan’s silent stare didn’t intimidate Marilyn. “What about you? It’s all over the news that you’re getting a divorce.”
She really hated these meetings. But Warrick attended her hospital functions and made generous contributions to its fund-raisers. For that, Marilyn would at least assist the Monarchs Wi
ves Club with their fund-raisers. The events were for a good cause, after all.
She returned Susan’s steady stare. “Rick and I aren’t getting a divorce.”
Susan cocked her head to the side. “Are you sure?”
Marilyn arched a brow. “Very sure.”
“Because I know a great lawyer.” Susan leaned closer to her. “I’ve been doing my research—just in case.”
Marilyn blinked. “Why are you still with Darius if you have one foot out the door?”
Susan shrugged, sitting back in her chair. “Isn’t that what you’re doing?”
The accusation slapped Marilyn across the face. It stung more because she couldn’t deny it. Susan was right. She was doing the same thing. And she didn’t have the excuse—the reason?—of children to explain her indecision. It was time to choose.
What had awakened her? Marilyn lay on her back in her king-sized bed. Memorial Day was three days away and already the heat index was unusually high. The temperature hadn’t wakened her, though. Maybe it was the noise coming from her kitchen or the smell of turkey bacon climbing the stairs.
Marilyn kicked free of the sheet that wrapped around her legs. She climbed from her bed and padded to the head of the staircase. A deep breath drew in the scent of breakfast. Her mouth watered. Hopefully, Warrick was cooking enough for two.
Beneath the sound of her growling stomach, she heard his voice. Her lips eased into a smile. She loved his singing.
She crept down the staircase on her toes, taking careful, quiet steps. If he heard her, he might stop singing. She’d hate for that to happen. Marilyn paused in the hallway. She stood as still as the warm cream walls, listening to his impromptu concert. She sighed as the words to Luther Vandross’s “Stop to Love” carried to her in Warrick’s strong baritone. His voice was summer warm and silky smooth. It made the muscles in her abdomen dance.
Marilyn closed her eyes and leaned against the wall for support. Warrick sang a little longer about the importance of stopping to appreciate the love you have. She frowned as the sound of pans, plates, cupboards, and drawers competed for attention with his singing.
His footsteps tapped across the kitchen, drawing closer to the hallway. What was he doing? Where was he going? Marilyn grew cold in the bronze silk camisole and matching shorts she’d worn to bed. He couldn’t catch her spying on him. How embarrassing! Without stopping to think, she spun into the sitting room behind her.
She listened as Warrick’s bare feet carried him down the hall. She held her breath as he drew closer to the staircase just feet from their sitting room. She stiffened as he paused.
There was a hint of laughter in his voice. “I’d intended to serve you this breakfast in bed but it would taste just as good in the sitting room.”
Marilyn’s face burned. She stepped into view. “How did you know I was here?”
Chuckles rumbled up from his naked chest. “I heard you come downstairs, but I didn’t hear you go back up.” Warrick walked toward her, wearing gray gym shorts and nothing else.
Her attention dropped to the tray in his hands. It balanced two plates of bacon and scrambled eggs, and two glasses of orange juice. Then his words registered. “Why were you going to bring me breakfast in bed?”