Fast Courting (8 page)

“Were you ever a basketball fan?” he asked softly, nonbelligerently.

“No.” The first onion’s papery sheath slid off with a crackle into her hand.

“You disliked the game from the start?”

“No. I, uh, I never really got to know it.” The heavy knife cleanly cut one slice, then another.

“David didn’t talk to you about it?”

“I overheard him talking to other people, but he never discussed it all that much with me.” A third, fourth and fifth slice fell onto the cutting board. Crinkling her nose against the smell, Nia reached for another onion.

“How could that be? You were married for five years. If basketball was as much a part of him as I assume, what was there left to talk about?”

The parched skin crinkled loudly. “There
is
more to life than—”

“I know.” He apologized, instantly aware of her tension and intent on alleviating it. “That came out wrong. I’m just wondering how you avoided learning about something that was such a vital part of him.”

With several slices cut from the second onion, the smell had grown stronger. “David and I talked of other things. Our relationship was a novelty to us. In many ways, the attraction was as irresponsible as it was immature. I suppose I was as drawn to David’s age as he was to my lack of it. At first. Then…well…” Eyes tearing, she sniffled.

Daniel’s fingers circled her wrist in a gentle bid for attention. “I’m sorry, Nia. I didn’t mean to upset you. If thinking of him makes you cry, I won’t mention it again.”

“It’s the onions!” she protested, lifting her free hand to dab at the moisture in her eyes. “I may still feel the pain of my marriage, but I stopped shedding tears for it long ago.” When he released her wrist she reached for the last onion. “Why are you harping on this, anyway?”

“Just curious.”

“About David?” She hid her expression as she sliced away.

“No, Antonia,” he drawled in good-natured punishment. “About
you
. I’m trying to understand you.”

“Oh, God, this is horrible!” she cried with a loud sniffle. “I can’t see what I’m doing through these damned tears!”

“Here, let me finish.”

Half wondering if he could, Nia turned the knife over to him while she sought refuge at the distant end of the kitchen, as far as possible from the odorous storm center. Her eyes had barely dried when a tell-tale sizzle from the pan verified Daniel’s accomplishment.

“Thanks.” She ventured back into the fray, taking the wine glass he offered. “Say, you did that very well. I thought you said you didn’t cook.”

The spark of warm chocolate in his gaze tickled her deep inside. “I said that I’m not a very
good
cook. I can do the little chores, like slicing onions, but I need someone like you to direct the action.”

Emboldened by the gentle intimacy of sharing, Nia took the bull by the horns. It was about time she learned something about Daniel. Best to start with his avowed strengths, then slyly move on. “I understand that you’re fully in charge of your team. Ten straight is terrific!”

The swirl of red liquid in his glass caught his eye. “I hate to tally them up like that. It’s far safer to take it one game at a time.”

“Surely you have to be
encouraged
by a winning streak….”

“It could turn at any time.”

“Are you always a pessimist?”

“I’m always a realist.”

“But Chris tells me that the whole season has been great. How can you help but look ahead to the playoffs?”

“Who’s Chris?”

If that was jealousy, it was a boost to her feminine ego. “He’s a senior editor at
Eastern Edge
. He adores the Breakers. He thinks that
you’re
…brilliant was the exact word he used.”

“That’s nice.” Lifting the glass to his lips, he sipped its contents slowly.

“Aren’t you pleased?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Daniel,” she straightened, clearly confused, “I don’t quite understand you. Your team is on a hot streak, your own fans rave about you, and you don’t even crack a smile?”

He did crack a smile for her just then, but it held a trace of sadness. “It’s only a game, Nia. The winning, the fame, the glory—it’s all fleeting. The public is fickle. They’d as soon boo you off the court if you miss six running as cheer. It’s not all glamour, as most people think. There’s a negative side to it as well.”

Nia had only to glance at the fast sautéing onions for Daniel to take the long-handled wooden spoon and stir them. “Tell me about it,” she urged him softly. “That negative side.”

Long moments passed before he spoke, moments during which he organized his thoughts. “The traveling is tough; I’ve mentioned that to you before. The road trips consist of one flight after another, odd mealtimes, strange hotel rooms, unfamiliar locker rooms. Then there’s the precarious status of the players themselves. All it takes is one injury for the entire makeup of a team to change.”

“Are they common?”

“Injuries? Very. Take the Breakers. We’ve played our last six games without benefit of our starting center and a forward. Walker took an elbow in the face that required plastic surgery; Barnes hit the floor the wrong way and wrenched his knee. They were two of our key players, lost with the hottest part of the season just beginning. Philadelphia is only five games out; we can’t afford to lose many.”

Nia got a glimpse of worry lines on Daniel’s brow. She’d never seen them before. If talking out the problem would help ease them, she’d talk readily. “What did you do—about Walker and Barnes?”

“There’s not much I can do. They’ll be out for several more games apiece. What I have done is reorganize the offense. It’s working out well.” He looked up more hopefully. “I’ve brought Rockowski in as back-up center. He’s a bruiser, can hold his own and pass it around. Flagg is also on the court longer, with Barnes out. He’s young, but his game matures with each outing.” Pausing, he chuckled softly, then shook his head.

Nia smiled. “What is it?”

“They call him ‘Sandman’—Johnny Flagg. He’s super laid-back and relaxed. Sleeps just about anywhere.
Everywhere.”

Her gaze grew suspicious. “And what do they call ‘the bruiser’?”

Daniel’s smile was a broad one. “Rocky…”

“That’s what I thought.” She turned to unwrap the steak and flip on the broiler before unveiling the surf side of the impromptu feast.

“Lobster?”
Daniel’s eyes lit up. “Boy, you literary types sure know how to feed a guy.”

“This was
my
lobster, I’ll have you know. I shopped for it in the rain, no less, as a special treat.”

“Hard day at work?”

With a grimace, she recalled a major source of her frustration. He stood right beside her now. “Fair.”

“What are you working on?”

“Oh, no, Daniel Strahan. You haven’t finished what
you
were saying.”

“What
was
I saying?” He reached to help Nia remove the broiler pan from the upper oven. As she lined it with foil, he glanced around. “Would you like me to make a salad?”

“A salad? Think you’re up to it?”

“I make a
good
salad,” he scolded playfully.

She grinned. “Then, go to it.” She presented him with a large bowl. “Everything you’ll need is in there,” she informed him, pointing to the refrigerator before turning to slice the thick lobster tails.

“Have you lived here long?” he asked, his voice muffled behind the refrigerator door. She could just imagine his wise grin and it made her that much more determined not to be sidetracked.

“What else bothers you?” she asked firmly.

“Bothers me?”

“About…your job.”

“Oh.” He paused. “I thought it made you uncomfortable to talk about basketball.”

“It does, in a way. But that all had to do with David. Now I’m curious about you. I’ve told you all about my marriage; the least you can do is to tell me about your work.”

Nia was unprepared for his darkening. “Is this for the record?”

“You mean, for the piece I’ve got to write?”

He dipped his head in the affirmative. Before her very eyes, she saw the mask begin to descend.

“No, this is
not
for the record. In the first place, you haven’t agreed to my interview. In the second place, I don’t want to do the damn thing, anyway!”

The mask receded. “Whew. That’s that, I guess,” he mocked her vehemence. “Well, then, what do you want to know?”

“Those other frustrations. What are they?”

Daniel spoke as he emptied her refrigerator of every possible salad fixing. “I’ve already mentioned the traveling and the injuries. Then there are the fans. Not only can they be fickle, but they can be downright demoralizing.”

“How so?” she asked, puzzled. “I would think they’d just roll off your backs.”

“Let me tell you, ma’am—when a twelve-year-old kid looks you in the eye from his seat overlooking the tunnel and tells you what a so-and-so you were for not beating the such-and-such out of your opponent, it’s demoralizing. Or when you’re in the middle of the fourth quarter and the back-up you put in blows one shot after the next—and the fan in the tenth row announces that you were an absolute imbecile for putting the guy in in the first place. Little things like that.”

“I’m sure you must get used to some of it.”

“You turn it off, yes. But it does have a way of sneaking through every once in a while. When the team’s winning you can thumb your nose at just about any fan. When you lose, even if it’s only by a point, then it’s not as easy. That’s why I try to take it
all
with a grain of salt. I do my best as a coach; beyond that, nothing is certain.”

“Even your job?”

“Especially my job.”

“But…don’t you have a contract?”

There was a cynical edge to his laugh, punctuated by the steady slicing of carrots. “Con-tracts can be crumpled and burned at any time.”

“That’s awful,” she exclaimed, shaken by the instability of the picture he’d painted. “Doesn’t that bother you? Doesn’t it affect your coaching ability?”

He deftly lifted the cutting board and scraped carrots, green peppers and radishes into the salad bowl. “As I told you before, I’m realistic. I keep things in perspective. Despite what
you
may believe, there
is
more to life than basketball.”

“Oh,
I
believe it,” she countered quickly, cocking a skeptical eye his way. “I’m just surprised to hear that
you
do.”

“Don’t ever judge a book by its cover, Nia,” he drawled, seizing the head of iceberg lettuce and tossing it high into the air before slamming it flat onto the counter. With a confident twist he turned it over and wrenched off the heel that the blow had dislodged. Then, calmly, nonchalantly, he put the entire head beneath the cold water faucet.

Nia had followed the maneuver wide-eyed. “
That
was quite a show,” she laughed. “Now, if you had dribbled it around, I might have worried….”

“No cause. Didn’t I tell you I made a good salad?”

“Hmmm,” was the only response she could muster. This was
not
the Daniel Strahan she had expected to find. With the little he was slowly divulging, she found herself more and more curious. Unfortunately, between setting the table in the dining room and broiling the sirloin to the proper rareness, serious conversation was left hanging until they sat, at last, across from one another at the bleached elm table. Looking down at her plate, Nia couldn’t restrain herself. “This is what you’d call a mixed bag.”

“Some bag! I’ll take half-steak, half-lobster any day!”

“You’re willing to foot that kind of bill?”

“If…” he lowered his voice, “I had someone to share it with. This is lovely, Antonia.” Their eyes met and held, then parted.

“It
is
nice,” she mused softly, reflecting on the pleasantness of companionship once in a while.
Once in a while
—that’s all she’d get with a man like this. He would be off and running before long. “So, what’s on tap for the team? Are you off to God-knows-where next week?”

“We are. It’s a short trip, though. New York, New Jersey and finally Pennsylvania.”

“Pennsylvania!” she exclaimed. “
I’ll
be there next week, too.”

“You will?”

“Yes. I’m doing a feature story on the Amish. I’ll be spending two days driving around the countryside between Reading and Lancaster.”

“Are you driving down from here?”

“Uh-uh. That would take too long. I’d planned to fly into Philadelphia and rent a car from there. It’s just a matter of making the final reservations.”

He nodded. “I see. …You’re going alone?”

“Looks that way. The man with the money is generous when it comes to travel allowances, but he’s not about to throw it away on an unnecessary entourage.” She lifted her fork. “Actually, I prefer it that way.”

“Traveling alone?”

“Yes. I can really
work;
then, as soon as I’ve got what I need, I come home.” That was the advantage of traveling alone, but there were disadvantages, too, such as the lack of a familiar face in a strange place, or, more simply stated, loneliness.

“Do you travel often?”

“On and off. This is an ‘on’ period. I’m even hoping to get out to the West Coast on an assignment.”

“The West Coast? For
Eastern Edge?”

With a patient smile she told him of the sister publication for which she was hoping to write a contributing article. “My family lives in San Francisco.”

“Really! Is that where you grew up?”

“Uh-huh. My parents and brothers still live there. I also have a married sister in Seattle. I’m the one who really broke from the mold.” Her features tensed in recollection of the sharp differences of opinion she’d had with her parents.

“When you married?”

“Before that. Long before that.” She grinned guiltily, then explained. “I was rebellious as a teenager—never could seem to learn when not to argue. In spite of myself, I did well in school and on my college boards, though. I was accepted at Stanford and Radcliffe. When I decided to come east, my parents were not thrilled.” She gave added emphasis to the last two words. “Then, David and I eloped…against their wishes. They temporarily disowned me.”