Fast Courting

by Barbara Delinsky

  “Either that,” his brown eyes warmed, “or you’re as hungry as I am.”

  “That doesn’t deserve an answer,” she scolded softly, recalling all too vividly the problem they’d run into with double meanings earlier. Now she simply stared, awaiting Daniel’s next move. If he wouldn’t talk personally and she wouldn’t talk shop, what was left?

  The silence didn’t bother him in the least. He studied her face for agonizingly long seconds before turning to gesture toward the waitress for two of something. It had been an hour of surprises for Nia; why not another? Dutifully, she refrained from asking what he’d ordered, pandering instead to more professional curiosity.

  “Why didn’t you return any of my calls?”

  He glanced toward the ceiling. “Do you have any idea how many similar ones I get each week?”

  “Do you ignore all of them?”

  “No,” he answered patiently, then lowered his head in an attitude of near mischief. “It just takes time to get around to returning them. I’ve found that the less interested ones lose interest after a week or two. They stop calling. That saves some of the dirty work.”

  “The dirty work being calling them back and refusing their requests?” she asked, feeling strangely defensive, almost guilty.

  “Often.”

  Nia thought back to what he’d said earlier. “What about all that free time you mentioned? I would think you’d welcome the diversion, as a time-filler, if nothing else. It must be ego-boosting to grant a bevy of interviews.”

  “Ah,” he breathed facetiously, “the professional athlete as an insufferable prima donna.”

  “Am I that far off-base?” She smiled in a challenge that Daniel Strahan met one-on-one.

  “About me…yes. About some in the league…no. The game has changed dramatically over the last few years.”

  “Oh?” It was shaky ground for Nia, but she was hesitant to cut him off. There was always the possibility that, if she proved herself to be an innocuous, even pleasant companion, he might actually agree to her interview.

  Daniel’s explanation took the form of a pair of terse words. “Big money.” His expression held a shadow of disdain.

  “It’s really changed things all that much?”

  “Oh, yes,” he drawled.

  “How?”

  As his gaze grew pensive, his fingers flexed, then intertwined. Nia looked down at them, noting both their length and latent strength. They were beautifully formed, begging to be explored and admired, one by one. Catching her breath at the thought, she forced her eyes up just in time to note Daniel’s glimmer of awareness before it disappeared behind a mask of detachment.

  He spoke quietly. “In the old days—”

  “—when you played?” she teased him gently.

  As though in punishment—or was it reward?—he grinned that honest to goodness grin of his, a grin that melted her own sense of detachment and left her struggling to recall the time and place. “Up until my last few playing years the pay was low and the benefits poor. Then the green came, mostly as a result of television.” He leaned back when the waitress delivered a carafe of white wine and two crisp salads, then waited until she left to fill their glasses, one of which he raised in toast.

  “To your stubborn streak.”

  Nia mimed his action with a grin. “To yours.”

  Both sipped before she prodded him on. “You were talking about television….”

  He nodded. “Do you know that, under league regulations, there must be at least two time-outs called in each period?” When she raised her eyebrows in question, he explained. “Commercials. The name of the game. And a source of millions. The team gets paid a hefty sum for the rights to televise its games. In turn, the players are treated as entertainers. Money. First-class accommodations. Numerous fringe benefits. Not to mention endorsements.”

  “Has the game itself suffered?” she asked, idly poking at her salad with a fork.

  Daniel took a bite before answering. “I can’t quite say that it has ‘suffered.’ ‘Changed’ is more accurate. Before the team functioned as a team; now the coaches find themselves with a group of individuals who have to be taught— and constantly reminded—to work together. There are many more rivalries and grudges, based solely on the fact that one player may be getting more money for doing a job another thinks is inferior to his own.”

  “Sounds touchy.”

  A deep laugh burst from the back of his throat. “It is. The modern coach is as much a diplomat as anything else.”

  “Do you enjoy it—coaching?”

  He shrugged. “It puts bread on the table.”

  “Oh, come on,” Nia charged lightly. “You have to feel more for it than that. In order to be good at what you do, you have to love it.”

  As if on cue, a basket of sliced Italian bread appeared. Daniel offered it to Nia, who shook her head in refusal, then helped himself to a slice and proceeded to butter it. She watched and waited, expecting some word on the extent of his emotional commitment. But he remained silent and all she saw was a self-confident man wise to her crafty conversational tactics. Acting on years of practice, he tossed the ball downcourt, straight toward the opposite basket.

  “Do you love your work?” he asked, eyeing her over the rim of his wineglass.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Tell me about this feature.”

  “Yours?” Her eyes held pure innocence.

  “No, Antonia,” he chided with a smile. “The one you had hoped to snag me for.”

  Nia suddenly realized that she had no wish to tell him about the feature. She had too many doubts about it herself. Not to mention embarrassment. “Oh,” she crinkled her nose, “you don’t really want to hear about it. After all, if you’re not interested in being part of it—”

  “Tell me.”

  Her hesitation was awkward, made more so by the sheepish look she wore. Daniel saw it all. She finally opted for a vague elaboration. “It’s a piece spotlighting several prominent easterners…”

  “Prominent?” he asked, sensing more.

  Nia wet her lips, then looked down. “Prominent and …and…”

  “Well, what is it? Wealthy? Handsome? Dark-haired? Charming?”

  “How about arrogant?” she shot back, pouting.

  Daniel peered at her strangely. “You really are having trouble with this assignment, aren’t you?” Her words, spoken in anger earlier, had come back to haunt her. There seemed no point in denial.

  She threw her hands up as she spoke. “I think it’s absurd! The ten most eligible easterners—it annoys me every time I think of it!”

  “The ten most eligible easterners?” he echoed in disbelief. “In Eastern Edge?”

  “That’s what I said.” She grimaced. “But Bill was adamant. Have you ever heard anything so foolish?”

  Daniel never got a chance to respond for, at that moment, their lunch was set quietly before them. It was an attractive dish—thin-sliced veal in a light cream sauce, with a vegetable potpourri that included eggplant, zucchini, peppers and several other goodies. “Thanks, Sue.” He smiled up at the waitress, who blushed and left without a word.

  “Do you eat here often?” Nia asked, wondering at the familiarity. He hadn’t even bothered to look at a menu, yet a magnificent presentation had been made. Its smell was divine.

  “Oh, several times a week—when we’re home. I don’t live far from here…and I’m not a terribly good cook. This is the special of the day. Is it all right for you?”

  “It’s fine. It’s lovely! I’m just amazed. I mean, where’s all the backslapping and handshaking and basketball talk from the owners and other patrons?”

  His gaze narrowed. “If I found that here I’d never come back. The owner knows that. It’s bad enough when you walk through airports or into elegant restaurants and someone recognizes you. It doesn’t matter how hungry or tired or rushed you may be—the public expects. That’s why I eat here. These people don’t. And,” he paused, lowering his
voice, “that’s another reason I won’t let you write about me. I need my privacy.”

  The force of his declaration led to a short span of quiet, during which they began to eat. Nia reflected on his feelings, wondering in particular about that privacy he prized so highly.

  “Why are you ‘eligible’…Daniel?” Her question in part related to her use of his name, which felt pleasantly comfortable on her tongue.

  His smile proved the rightness of it. “Yes, Daniel. And why am I ‘eligible’? I suppose because I’m not married.”

  “I did manage to guess that,” she quipped facetiously. “But why not?”

  He shrugged off the importance of the question. “It doesn’t suit my lifestyle.”

  “Have you ever been married?”

  He ignored her, proceeding to eat in silence for a minute. “This is beginning to sound suspiciously like an interview.”

  “It isn’t,” she rebounded quickly. “I’m curious.”

  “Naturally.”

  “It is odd to find someone like you without a steady companion. If for no other purpose than to cook you private dinners…”

  Daniel put down his fork. “The kind of woman who would interest me would have to be both intelligent and independent. Do you honestly think that that kind of woman would be content to sit around my house waiting for me to return at odd hours and odd days?”

  “If she loved you, she might.”

  “I’d never ask a woman to do that. It’s a cruel life for a married couple. You, of all people, should know that!”

  Nia flinched. “A low blow,” she murmured, twisting her locket self-consciously. “But the blame was David’s and mine.”

  “Is that why you despise the entire game of basketball?”

  “I don’t. It’s just…just that…anything to do with basketball brings back painful memories.” She frowned, lifted her wineglass and sipped from it absently, then replaced it on the table and took a deep breath. “I should be over it by now,” she whispered, wishing she was, fearing that this man’s company complicated the issue in more ways than one. Not only was he a vital part of the world she’d religiously avoided over the years, but she had to admit that, quite involuntarily, she found him very attractive.

  “How long has it been?” His gentle voice was soothing, another facet of that lure. Had he been boorish and uncouth, she might easily have lumped him together with her other reasons for disliking the sport. But he appeared to be intelligent, a true thinking man. For some reason, she felt that he could affect her emotions.

  “Just about five years.” She faced him with a mustering of her poise. “We were married for nearly another five, most of which were difficult.”

  “You were much younger than David, weren’t you?”

  “Uh-huh. Fifteen years, to be exact.” It seemed perfectly normal to be talking with Daniel this way. There was a strength about him that inspired confession; he was like an old friend, content to listen. “But…the age difference was only secondary in our troubles.”

  “Oh?”

  The layers of her dark hair shimmied with her headshake. “We couldn’t coordinate our lives. We went in different directions, physically and emotionally.”

  “Then it wasn’t just…the women …?”

  Nia smiled sadly. “You don’t mince words, do you?” At Daniel’s silent shrug, she was bidden to answer his question. “No,” she sighed. “Much as I’d like to believe differently, the infidelity was only part of it. I needed a husband, someone to be there, to share life with. All David needed was his column…and basketball.”

  They ate in silence for several moments. Daniel reflected on what she’d told him, wondering about the parallels to his own life and needs. Nia considered her own thoughts and her astonishment at having shared them so freely. But here was a man who prized his confidentialities; surely he would respect hers. She felt sure that her confessions would go no further than this booth.

  “Do you ever see him?” Daniel asked at last, sitting back to digest his lunch.

  Nia grunted. “I should ask you that. He must cover the games you play against the Spurs.”

  “Yes, I do see him when we’re in San Antonio. Our relationship is strictly a business one.” He paused, his brown-eyed gaze softening even before he posed his question. “Do you miss him?”

  “No.”

  “You’re very sure.”

  “I am.”

  “Do you live alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lonely?”

  Her gaze was shuttered as she caught her breath, then she peered through her lashes at him. A blend of hesitance and humor lowered her voice to a vague imitation of his. “This is beginning to sound suspiciously like an interview.”

  “It isn’t.” He smiled, recalling and echoing her earlier riposte. “I’m just curious.”

  “About me?” It was worth a try to divert him; he was far too comfortable a companion. She needed a sharp reminder of who he was and why she was with him. “I’ve got nothing to offer. You’re the one with the secret life. You’re the one the public wants to hear about. Come on, Daniel. I’d really like to do that interview.”

  His state of gentle relaxation became a thing of the past. As he stiffened, he raised two fingers to the waitress who instantly brought hot coffee. Nia watched him closely, bemused by his abrupt mood change and strangely sad to bid his friendly side good-bye. It was as though her reminder of who he was had triggered his remembrance of her affiliation. It was a necessary progression of events; after all, he’d be headed back to the arena, while she’d be aimed for Boston and the offices of Eastern Edge.

  “Oh, no,” she exclaimed, suddenly mindful of the fact that she’d been expected back in the office much earlier. “I’ve got to make a phone call. Is there a pay phone here?”

  He stretched, dug his hand into the pocket of his slacks, and presented her with a quarter. “Out back.”

  Nia stared at the quarter. “What’s that for?” she asked, her own wallet in her hand as she slid out of the booth.

  “Your call.”

  “I have change.”

  “Use it,” he ordered in a voice that resembled the one he’d used to command his players at the practice earlier. His expression was taut; Nia had no wish to goad him further.

  Taking the quarter, she escaped to the back of the restaurant. Her mind was suddenly a jumble in anticipation of Bill Austen’s anger at their missed meeting, his skepticism when she’d have to tell him that Daniel Strahan had refused her request, Daniel’s own tightness on the entire subject. With so many legitimate sources of worry, why was she fixated on such a petty matter as the intimate warmth of the small coin that Daniel had taken from his thigh pocket?

  Scowling in self-reproach, she put through her call, apologizing as best she could to Bill, putting as much of the blame for her delay as she could on Daniel.

  “He’s giving me a really hard time, Bill.” She spoke softly to avoid being overheard. “I don’t think he’ll agree to it.” Might as well warn the boss ahead of time.

  But the voice on the other end of the line was far from sympathetic. “Convince him, Nia. You can do it if anyone can. Be wily. Be feminine. Get to him.”

  “Do you have any idea what you’re asking?” she bit back in dismay.

  Bill’s return was sharp. “I’m not asking you to do anything but be persuasive. I know that you’re not eager to do this assignment. But I do want you to give it your best before you give up on that one.”

  “That one is a very stubborn man,” she argued. Why did she feel like a traitor saying such a thing?

  “Well, you be stubborn, too!” he snapped, jolting her into recollecting the toast she and Daniel had so recently exchanged. “And get yourself back here before the day is a total waste, Nia. If we don’t go over this collegiate piece we’ll never get it to the printer for next month’s issue! We’ve got to do it today!”

  “I know,” she breathed. “I know. I’ll be there within th
e hour.” After replacing the receiver, she rested her forehead on the wall mount. Some days, nothing came easily….

  “Is everything all right?”

  Nia jerked her head up in surprise to find Daniel standing beneath the archway that led to the small alcove that housed the phone. He had thrust his hands into the pockets of his pants, of necessity forcing aside the front of his blazer to reveal a broad expanse of shirt-sheathed chest. Oh, he was attractive….

  “Uh…yes…” she began, then changed her tune as indignation set in. “No!” she gritted quietly. “Everything’s not all right! My boss is furious that I’m late—we were supposed to go over some things together this afternoon. By the time I get back into town there’ll be barely enough time to do anything. He doesn’t care that you shanghaied me into having lunch with you. An intimate little lunch,” she scoffed, tossing her head back. “The only one who’s been at all intimate is me.” Her eyes flashed with violet fury. “If we had more time I might well have been duped into telling you my whole life’s story! What I can’t understand is how you managed to get me to talk—when I can’t even get you to consider returning the favor.”

  The unevenness of her breathing was a direct result of her tightly bridled anger. She was acutely aware of where they were; had it been a more private location, she would have lashed out more loudly. Now, she simply stood and glared.

  Throughout the softly seething barrage, Daniel hadn’t budged. Now he didn’t say a word until she had remained silent for a full minute.

  “Are you done?” he asked calmly, his thoughts on her outburst well hidden behind a civil veneer.

  “Yes!”

  “Then let’s get out of here.” Straightening, he turned and led the way.

  Three

  The short return trip was made in silence. She stared out the side window, a fist jammed against her chin. His eyes never left the road. When the arena loomed before them, Daniel pulled up beside her car.

  Nia’s eyes dropped to her lap and she bolstered herself with a deep breath. “Look, Daniel, I’m sorry I went on that way. It was wrong of me.”