Stripped Raw (16 page)

“The cheerleaders are getting ready to perform.”

I swat her hands away. “Come on! That’s the best part of the game! Dallas has the hottest cheerleaders in the NFL.”

“They make us normal women look bad.”

“I think you’d look pretty damn hot in that outfit.”

“Then you need your eyes checked.”

I kiss her on the lips. “Don’t talk like that.” My phone rings, and I look down at the screen. I need to take this in private. “I’ll be right back. I won’t be more than a few minutes.”

“Hurry,” she says. “Kickoff is coming up.”

*

KENZIE

Where is he?
He missed kickoff. I turn around to look inside the suite for Kane but only see Elise coming down the aisle. I quickly straighten my posture as she takes the seat Kane vacated. “What’s the score, Kenzie?”

“Just started. No score yet.”

“I never really pay attention at these things,” Elise says. “I’m going to try to catch a little today.”

“You can hang out here until Kane gets back.”

“I think I will,” Elise says. “By the way, Kane told me about your sister. How’s she doing? I lost a dear friend to breast cancer five years ago.”

“Tessa’s doing as well as can be expected.”

“I hope I get to meet her sometime—and little Zoe, too.”

“Well, Zoe has quite the crush on Kane, so I’m sure you’ll meet her.”

We watch a few plays, and there’s a silence between us. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, but I keep up my guard. After all, this is my boyfriend’s mother. Where is Kane? What’s taking him so long? He said he’d only be gone a few minutes.

“Kenzie, I admire women like you,” Elise says. “Starting the business, taking care of Tessa and Zoe.”

“That’s nice of you to say. I know you’ve done a lot yourself. Kane told me how you used to work three jobs to support your family.”

Elise tosses her hand in the air. “That was survival! But you’re forging your own path, creating, designing your life.”

“Sometimes I feel like I’m just trying to survive, too.”

“It’s more than that, honey. What you’re doing, you’re doing with style,” she says. “Look at what you’re wearing now! It’s a nice jersey. I know Kane got it for you.”

“Does he tell you
everything
?”

Elise laughs and shakes her head. “I actually wish I could wear a jersey here one time—get out of these Spanx and be comfortable! I think I might do it for the next game.”

“You can start today,” I say. “Kick off those Badgley Mischkas! I’m sure they’re killing you.”

“You know shoes?”

“I
love
shoes,” I say. “I’ve got my eye on the most beautiful pair of Tory Burch wedges.”

Elise slips off her shoes and wiggles her feet and toes. “We need to do some shoe shopping one day.”

“I’d love that,” I say, relaxing. Still, I can’t get too comfortable. I’ve got to stay on my game, so I tell myself not to laugh when the Cowboys commit a turnover then receive a fifteen yard penalty on consecutive plays. It’s glorious to watch, but I can’t afford to do or say anything stupid now. “I wonder what’s taking Kane so long. I can’t believe he’s missing the game.”

“Something about the house,” Elise says. “Hope the buyer’s not backing out.”

“Oh, Kane accepted an offer?”

“Yes, he managed to get Lily on board out in California, but she’s not happy about it.”

My head whips around so fast I’m sure I’ll need a neck brace. “Lily’s in California?”

“Yes,” Elise says. “I thought Kane would’ve told you. She’s in. . . .”

“Excuse me,” I say and leap out of my seat. What the hell? Why didn’t Kane tell me? I thought he was in California for work! Is he banging Lily again? This is so typical of guys in my life! I barrel through the suite and don’t see Kane. That’s fine. I don’t want to see him anyway. All I care about is getting the hell out of the suite, the entire stadium.

I head out the door and look down the corridor, to the left then the right. I can’t remember which way to go! Damn my sense of direction! Which way? Left? Yes, left seems good. Hopefully I come upon a stadium attendant who can guide me out of here. This place is a damn maze. I can’t believe this is happening with Kane. I thought he and I had something really good going. And his mom and I had something good going, too. Burned again!

I pick up my pace, needing to get outside. Maybe I should’ve gone to the right down the corridor. I make my way to an opening up ahead, hoping it will lead to an elevator, an escalator, an exit. But it doesn’t. It’s a lounge area with glass windows. I put on the brakes. Kane is in the lounge with his phone to his ear, smiling brightly. His eyes catch mine, but only for a second before I turn and head in the other direction.

“Kenzie?” he calls out, and I freeze. I know what you’re thinking—that I should talk to him and not jump to conclusions. I
did
warn you ahead of time that I’m a runner. My natural response is to leave before getting hurt—before getting left—and I really don’t want to see him right now. “Kenzie?” I’m not answering and not looking back. But I’m not running either—frozen to my spot. Kane catches me by my elbow. “Were you looking for me?”

“Where’s an exit?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Who were you talking to?”

He steps back. “Lily.”

“Figures,” I say. “Did you screw her when you were in California?”

“Of course not! I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“But you saw her! That’s why you went, isn’t it? It wasn’t for work at all, was it?”

Kane runs his hands through his hair. He looks nervous. I hope he is. I hope he feels like he could throw up. I know I could. “Where’s this coming from?”

“You traveled across the country to see your ex-wife and didn’t tell me about it!
That’s
where this is coming from!”

“I traveled for work,” he says. “I told you that. I consulted on a jury selection in a pharmaceutical case in state court. I can give you the docket number of the case, and you can look it up if you want. During a break in my case, I got a call from our realtor about an offer on the house. So, while I was close by, I decided to check in with Lily about it. I thought it would be good to meet with her face-to-face, since I needed to convince her to sign off on selling the house and. . . .”

“And you just didn’t bother to tell me that part?”

“It wasn’t planned. You have to trust me when I tell you nothing happened.”

“You make it harder when you hide it from me.”

“I didn’t hide it,” he says and reaches for my hand. “I actually told Lily about you.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I told her I needed to sell the house, to be free from the past, so I could focus on my future—with you.”

I melt just a bit. “And she didn’t kill you?”

“Lily and I aren’t bitter divorced people. I’m sure it was strange for her to hear about you, but she needed to know. And she needed to hear it from me.”

“Is she seeing anyone new?”

“No,” Kane says.

“Well, I don’t like you seeing her, visiting her, whatever it is, planned or unplanned. Maybe that makes me immature or jealous or paranoid, but I don’t like it.” I drop his hand and look away, down the empty corridor. “You didn’t call me the whole time you were gone, but you had time to visit her!”

“It does sound fucked up when you think about it like that,” he says. “Jesus, baby, I’m sorry. I worked twenty-four/seven while I was out there. I guess a quick call would’ve been better than no call. I just never want to feel like I’m rushing with you or distracted. And having to see Lily was a huge hassle, nothing else.”

“You didn’t even tell me she lived there. That’s what’s bothering me the most about all this.”

“She doesn’t really live there.”

“What?”

“I mean, she’s. . . .” Kane stops, a deafening crowd roar filling the corridor. “Kenzie, this is private stuff. If you really have to know, I can tell you later when we aren’t around a hundred thousand people.”

*

We sit in
traffic for much of the ride home, during which Kane listens to the post-game radio show, commiserating with the host and callers about how the game ended, blaming the loss on a series of bad calls, all agreeing the Cowboys surely would’ve won if not for the officials conspiring against them.

Any other day, I’d be reveling in the silly grousing and maybe even calling into the show myself, just to throw a little salt on the wound. But I have other things on my mind now and, for the most part, sit in silence until we reach my shop. Kane walks me to the door. “Goodnight,” I say without turning around, slipping the key in the lock.

“Wait a minute,” he says. “Can we talk?”

“We just sat in the car for like two hours. We could’ve been talking then.”

He rests his head on the back of my shoulder. “You could’ve asked me a question or two, instead of giving me some test I didn’t even know I was taking.”

I quickly turn around. “Fine. You want to talk? Let’s talk.” I push open my door, and we walk through my shop to my apartment, taking a seat on my bed. I toss my tennis shoes to the side—should’ve been in stilettos, ready to kick some serious butt. I look up at him, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn’t say a word. He’s just looking back at me. He seems nervous again. “I thought you wanted to talk,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him.

He looks away from me and fidgets with my bedsheets. What is going on? What is he hiding—a guilty conscience? Why do guys suck so bad at communicating? Truth be told, I’m not in the mood right now to talk. I’m tired from the game, the social scene, the drama, the drive. “Kane, if you’re not going to say anything, maybe it’s just best you leave for the night.”

“I don’t want to leave,” he says.

“Then say something!” I say. “Maybe start by explaining why you’re on the phone with your ex-wife during the football game, smiling away like you don’t have a care in the world.” He looks up at me. I clearly hit a nerve. Good!

“I was smiling because Lily hit her goal weight,” he says.

“You’re happy because your ex lost some weight?”

“No, she
gained
weight.”

“Why do you care?”

Kane lowers his head and says, his voice barely a whisper, “Lily’s in California because she’s in a treatment facility for eating disorders.”

My stomach drops. “I had no idea. That’s terrible.”

“She has bulimia,” he says. Something about the way he says “bulimia” makes me wonder if he’s ever said it aloud before. “She went into treatment about nine months ago.”

“Did she become bulimic after the divorce?”

“No.”

“Did you get divorced because of her bulimia?”

“It didn’t help. She wouldn’t admit she had a problem. She was very, very sick.”

“So you divorced her?”

His eyes shoot up. “It’s not what you think—that things got tough and I bolted. I didn’t leave Lily. She asked for the divorce.”

“So how’d she end up in treatment?”

“I insisted she go as part of the divorce agreement.”

“Sneaky lawyer trick?”

“Not really. I think it gave her the excuse she needed to go. She was pretty mad for a month or so, but once she got there and started some therapy, she understood why I did it.”

“Because you love her?”

“I did—even when we were going through the divorce. But I don’t anymore. She’s just a friend now.”

“So now she’s gaining weight, getting better?”

“Yeah, finally. I worry about her backsliding, though. I wanted to tell her about us while she was still in treatment, just in case it caused any problems. It’s not something I wanted to tell her over the phone.”

That makes perfect sense. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. Sadly, I’m an expert at expecting the worst from men. I can see now that Kane’s got a complicated past and present—so do I.

“One other thing,” he says, “I’m paying for her treatment.”

“I figured.”

“You’re alright with that?”

“You can spend your money however you want,” I say. “I feel bad for Lily. I hate it when women abuse themselves over a few extra pounds. It drives me nuts.”

“That’s why I hate it so much when you complain about your size, shape, whatever.”

I cup his face. “I’ll try to remember that. I had no idea you were dealing with something like this. How long has Lily been this way?”