Keeping Score

“As well as could be expected.” Warrick’s grip tightened on the gym bag’s strap. “Short of a media blackout, I don’t know what to do to help her.”

Troy offered a smile. “Just continue being the perfect husband you’d have us think you are.”

Warrick appreciated his friend’s attempt at levity. “I wish I was the perfect husband. Then I’d be able to shield her from the media.”

DeMarcus held his gaze. “There’s nothing you can do. The media will play itself out. Once the finals are over in June, baseball season starts. The reporters will be Jeter’s problem.”

Warrick gave a mock wince at DeMarcus’s reference to the New York Yankees’ shortstop. “What do you have against the guy?”

“Nothing, but he’s not one of my players.” DeMarcus grew serious again. “Don’t let the media distract you from your game. You’ve got to find a way to quiet the noise.”

Warrick saw the look in DeMarcus’s eyes. His coach knew what he was talking about. DeMarcus’s mother had died the summer before his last season as a player in the NBA. He’d still managed to quiet the noise and lead his team to a third title.

“You’re right.” But Warrick had more than the title on his mind.

Warrick caressed Marilyn’s back, from her shoulder to her waist. Her body was warm and soft as she lay on top of him. Tonight’s lovemaking was the memory he’d hold on to as he traveled to Miami tomorrow afternoon, not the image of her brittle with tension, locked inside a darkened house, hiding from reporters.

Every kink and ache, every knotted muscle of his body was relaxed. He stroked his hand back up to her shoulder. He turned his head into the curve of her neck and inhaled her scent, jasmine and sex.

Marilyn shifted above him. She pressed her mouth against his and coaxed his lips apart. Warrick didn’t need persuading. He stroked his tongue over hers.

Marilyn broke the kiss. She raised her head and met his gaze. “I still can’t believe you rented Grease.”

He brushed her hair back from her face. “Neither can I.”

Marilyn laughed and smacked his bare shoulder. She tucked her face into his neck. “Thank you, Rick. I wish we could stay in bed and watch movies forever.”

“Not always Grease, though.” Warrick felt her smile against his skin.

“Fair enough.” Marilyn rose to look at him. Her expression sobered. “I also wish movie nights were enough to save our marriage.”

17

Warrick froze. “What do you mean?”

Marilyn rolled off him to lie on her back to his right. “I know what you’re doing, Rick. The Grease soundtrack, the dancing, breakfast in bed, movie night.”

“I’m wooing my wife. I told you from the beginning that’s what I was doing.” It had seemed like a good idea. Was she telling him it wasn’t working? What should he do now?

“But we danced in the house because your fame would get us trampled at the club. You made me breakfast in bed—”

“It wasn’t breakfast in bed.” Warrick rolled his head on his pillow to look at her. “You’d sneaked downstairs before I could bring it up to you.”

“It was still incredibly sweet. But it was a reminder that, whenever we go out, people continually interrupt us to talk about the team or the game.”

Warrick frowned. “It wasn’t supposed to be a reminder. It was supposed to be romantic.”

“It was.” Marilyn gestured toward the television. “And we had movie night in bed because at the theater, people ask for your autograph.”

“What are you saying, Mary?” Warrick wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“You don’t have to win me over. I’m in love with you. It’s our lifestyle that I’m uncomfortable with.”

“I can’t change that.”

She hesitated. “Is this what you want? Don’t you feel like a prisoner in your own home unable to go out because of fans and the media?”

He’d dreamed of playing in the NBA for as long as he could remember. But in his fantasies, he hadn’t imagined what that achievement would do to his private life. “It’s not an ideal situation. But if it weren’t for the fans, the franchise wouldn’t exist.”