Intercepting Daisy (3 page)

A
N HOUR LATER
, Daisy wheeled her suitcase into the suburban townhouse she'd scrimped and saved to buy. The weather was even worse. The steady pounding of rain, lightning, thunder, and howling wind had made the ride home from Sea-Tac a less-than-fun adventure with slick roads and pooling water. She needed a change of clothes and a glass of wine, and at the moment, she wasn't sure which she wanted more. She'd left the blue skies and low seventies of San Francisco's airport for the torrential rains of Seattle. She loved the area, but she was looking forward to some sunny days.

Her roommate, Catherine, was working a flight home from London. She'd arrive home late tomorrow afternoon, but till then, Daisy had the house to herself. Maybe she should add a hot bath into her evening's plans. She pulled off the low-heeled pumps she wore to work, carefully draped her damp uniform over the bedroom chair, and grabbed her iPad as she sat down on the bed.

Most single women in the Seattle area spent their time off enjoying the thousand and one things to do in the area. She liked going out and meeting new people, but lately, she was consumed with one thing. Actually, a person. The only chance she had to talk to him was when they were surrounded by a hundred other people who needed her attention and who weren't going to sit patiently while she did her best not to make a fool of herself over him. She thought about him when he wasn't around. She dreamed about him. Even more, she fantasized about him. There were other guys in her life, but she couldn't seem to forget about him.

One night after a bit too much wine, she opened up her laptop and wrote down one of those fantasies. A few days later, she found herself writing again. Before she knew it, she had written something a Google search called a “novella”—her raunchiest, filthiest, most graphic and unrealistic fantasies about the churchgoing, chaste Grant Parker of the Sharks. He'd flip out if he knew the things she thought about, and she'd die before she'd tell anyone else (besides her roommate) about them. Nobody else in her life had any idea.

According to Amazon.com's best-seller rankings, however, she'd told thousands of strangers. She'd copyrighted the work under her initials for some attempt at privacy. She'd snapped a picture of Grant with her tablet one afternoon as he walked across the tarmac to board the team's jet for a game in Denver and used it for the cover image. She'd figured out how to edit, format, and upload her book after researching it online. A few clicks later, she was a published author. She still couldn't believe she'd done it. Even more, she couldn't believe the book was selling.

If Grant ever found out about this, she'd die.

Another several-thousand-dollar royalty payment had been direct deposited into her checking account this morning. It joined the one she'd gotten last month. She was going to have to talk to an accountant about paying taxes on the money. Maybe she should donate it to a charity or something.

She glanced at the sales rankings one more time: number five. In all of Amazon. Her smutty little book was trouncing authors who actually did this for a living. And the reviews were as explicit as her fantasies.

If anyone found out what she'd done, she'd be lucky if she could get a job as a waitress in a coffee shop. In Iceland.

T
HE ADRENALINE PUMPING
through Grant Parker's body after the rough flight had drained away during the drive home. The weather was shitty, but he could take it easy behind the wheel of his car. He didn't have the same control over the jet he'd been in an hour or so ago. Flying was part of his job, and for the most part, he enjoyed it. He wasn't sure he wanted to die in a plane crash, though.

He kept seeing his parents' faces as the Sharks' plane bounced around. Mostly, his mom's. He didn't want to think about them grieving for him. He had a tough time making friends due to the shyness he'd battled most of his life, but he had a couple. They'd miss him if the worst happened. Maybe they'd pour one out for him at the bar they all liked to go to while they were in college. But the last few hundred feet or so from the runway, he wasn't thinking about them. He was thinking about one of the flight attendants.

He'd noticed Daisy the first time she'd flown with them. She was pretty, but he was more attracted to her outgoing, funny personality. She seemed to be able to talk to anyone, and she'd made an extra effort to talk to him. Even if it was part of her job, he appreciated it.

He had gotten a glimpse of her sitting up front. If she was the last person he saw, his life had been pretty good. He'd decided that if the flight landed safely, he was asking her out.

He didn't have a date yet, but at least now he had her number.

Half an hour later, he dropped his garment bag in the living room of the Bellevue high-rise condo he'd moved into last year, after Sharks security suggested he might want to live somewhere a bit more inaccessible. A woman had broken into his previous house while he was on a road trip. She'd told the cops he was the father of her unborn twins. He'd never met her before. A DNA test proved he wasn't the father of her children, but his parents were horrified. He wondered what they might have to say if they had any idea how he spent his evenings off.

Wait until they heard about
Overtime Parking
, he thought. Even worse than his parents finding out he was the subject of someone's most explicit fantasies, the possibility that the book might become public knowledge made him groan aloud. He'd gotten enough crap from his teammates and the local sports radio hosts over the woman with the twins. Of course, the guys thought giving him shit showed that they cared.

His teammates didn't seem to care when he threw himself into a window seat on the flights to away games, pulled out his tablet and his headphones, and sealed himself off. He socialized with the guys at times, but he preferred to keep his private life private.

Of course, the Sharks' PR group capitalized on his visits to the local children's hospital, his interactions with the Make-A-Wish kids visiting practice once a week, and his speeches at local churches. He was fine with the media talking about that. The public ate it up. They wouldn't believe how he spent the vast majority of his time off.

He'd discovered early on in his dating life that many women who claimed they loved long walks on the beach, picnics, and bike rides on sunny days on online dating sites also wanted the nastiest, crudest, no-strings-attached sexual encounters he could offer. He wasn't complaining. He knew he wasn't the only guy in the world who was interested in getting what he wanted and then getting out, but it would be nice to meet a woman who had her way with him and then threw him out.

He didn't want feelings. He didn't want tenderness. He wasn't interested in the melding of souls, at least not right now. He wanted to bury himself balls-deep inside a beautiful woman, roll out of her bed, pull on his pants, and go home alone. He was pretty sure there was a reason for this that he didn't understand, but he wasn't willing to plumb his psyche right now for the motive behind why he'd avoided attachment to others (especially romantic partners) so much. If the author of
Overtime Parking
was a woman, he'd happily reenact every scene in her book. No matter how potentially compromising or how shocking.

D
AISY NEVER MADE
it to the hot bath she'd been dreaming about. She woke out of a sound sleep a few hours later to the sound of a crash and someone saying in a British accent, “Dammit. Damn suitcase wheels.” It didn't take the brains of a duck to figure out who it was. She threw the blankets back, jumped out of bed, and hurried down the stairs.

“You're home early,” she called out.

“Bloody hell,” her tall, slender, red-haired roommate said. “My flight home got cancelled, so I deadheaded back to Seattle through NYC. And the wheels on my bag decided to go tits up too. I love dragging a suitcase through JFK.” Catherine heaved a sigh. “It's not all bad. It seems I might have an extra day or two off as a result.” She reached out to lock the townhouse's front door. “Sorry I woke you up.”

“No, you're not,” Daisy said. The two women grinned at each other.

“Nice to see you,” Catherine said.

“I'm relieved to see you too. There were a few minutes earlier I was pretty sure I wouldn't get to.”

Daisy pulled breath into her lungs. The first time she'd had a near-miss on a flight, she'd laughed it off. This time, she'd kept thinking about all the things she still wanted to do in life, like fall in love. It still hadn't happened. What if it never did? She knew all the safety statistics on flying, but they didn't account for the fact that she still had a lot of living to do.

“But here you are. Fancy that.” Catherine reached out to pat Daisy on the back while she shoved her suitcase away from the front door. “How about a piece of fruit?”

“I'd rather have a pint of Ben & Jerry's, but that'll work.”

Catherine had been with Pacifica Airlines for eight years. She didn't mind working international flights. As a result, she worked a few days a week and spent the remaining days dealing with the jet lag. She'd moved into the spare bedroom in Daisy's place when Daisy had told a few of her coworkers she was looking for a roommate. It was always a good thing to split expenses, and Daisy genuinely enjoyed Catherine's company. It was also nice to have someone to complain to when her love life wasn't going as well as she might like.

Catherine had had the same problems until she'd met her boyfriend, Declan. Spending one's time flying back and forth from Seattle to London sounded like fun, but it was hard to find someone to date as a result. A few coffee dates turned into dinner dates. The dinner dates turned into a relationship. Catherine met Declan's parents. She joked that they were in no hurry, but Catherine had already told Daisy that Declan was
the one
.

Daisy was thrilled for Catherine. She'd like to meet
the one
, but so far, it hadn't happened.

Daisy met lots of single guys on flights. She met married ones as well but did her best to avoid them. Many of her fledgling relationships didn't last long due to her schedule. Daisy wasn't so worried about finding a guy to have a family with; she'd have plenty of time to have a baby later on. Right now, she just wanted to meet a guy who could handle her independent lifestyle. Men claimed they liked a woman who wasn't underfoot all the time but were irritated when Daisy couldn't drop whatever she was doing (or reschedule work) to be with them.

If Daisy had a rough time meeting guys the rest of the year, August through February was tougher. She sacrificed one or more of her days off every other week to work the Sharks' road game flights. She told everyone else that it was extra money, but she was more interested in the opportunity to be anywhere near Grant Parker for a few hours. She didn't want to dwell on the fact that she was attempting to get the attention of someone unattainable, as opposed to a guy who might want to date her.

Catherine reached out to grab the teakettle they kept on the stove to fill it with water. “How about a cup of tea?”

“That would be great,” Daisy said. She grabbed a pear out of the bowl and reached out for a napkin to blot up the juice. “How was London?”

“I didn't see much of it this time. I went to Harrods Food Hall, though.” Catherine turned to face Daisy, waving a plastic-wrapped box of tea bags in the air. “How's the best-seller list?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Of course you don't.” Catherine's voice dripped with playful sarcasm. “I checked it on my phone. Number five. And you're beating Nicholas Sparks.”

“At least the people in my book don't die at the end.”

“You could say that.” The teakettle on the stove whistled. “Did you talk to him on the flight home today?”

She didn't have to spell out who “him” was. They both knew.

“Just a little convo,” Daisy said.

“Ask him out for a cup of coffee.” Her roommate put a mug of tea on the table in front of Daisy. “Tell him you'd like to rip his clothes off and do unspeakable things to him.”

“He's probably heard that one before.”

“Not from you, he hasn't,” she said. “You'll rock his goody-two-shoes world.”

“He'd probably tell me he was praying for me.”

“He'll need some prayer by the time you're done with him.”

T
HE STORM RAGED
on outside but Grant really didn't want to spend the rest of the evening cooped up in his condo. He'd actually played two quarters in today's game after Tom Reed had been injured. He was torn between happiness he'd gotten to play for two quarters and concern for a teammate he liked and respected.

Maybe he should go downstairs to one of the restaurants at the base of his high-rise building, have a late dinner at the bar, and see what developed. He wrenched off the tie he still wore from his flight earlier, unbuttoned his collar, and grabbed his jacket as he slipped his cell phone and keys into his pocket.

The winds were so strong outside he felt the elevator car swaying in its shaft as he descended. It occurred to him that staying in his condo might have been a better idea. If the power went out, he'd be climbing fourteen stories worth of stairs on already-tired legs.

He could handle it. The elevator opened onto a lobby packed with those who'd sought shelter from sideways rain and winds. The milling, talking crowd didn't seem to take much notice as he wound through them and headed toward one of the restaurants claiming to offer gourmet comfort food.

The hostess standing next to the front door (and the bustling lobby) gave him an apologetic smile. “Hey, Grant. How are you doing tonight?”

“I needed to get out of my place for a while. Is there an available table inside?”

“We're slammed,” she said. “The power is out at several other restaurants, and everyone came here instead.” She bit her lower lip. “There might be a seat at the bar. Will that work for you?”

The bar was fine. He wasn't going to attempt to try to find food anywhere else.

“I'll take it,” he said.

“Follow me, then,” she said.

She reached out to grab the door and motioned him inside the dimly lit restaurant. He'd noticed before that she didn't wear a ring. He'd never made a move on her, despite the fact that he ate here at least twice a week. She was attractive, but there was something about her he couldn't quite put his finger on that warned him away. She was friendly but not flirtatious. In other words, she wasn't into him.

He didn't bother with women who didn't show interest. If there was one thing he had in common with his teammates, it was that he really didn't chase. Why put himself out there when there were so many others who were happy to let him know they wanted him?

He elbowed his way into the bar area and slid onto an empty barstool. He'd have something to eat, enjoy a couple of drinks, and go back to his place to sleep it all off.

After a game, most of his teammates went out to dinner with their agents or their families. He knew he would be invited if he expressed interest. The other guys on the team had formed a tight connection, but he hadn't made much of an effort to join in. Most of the time, this suited him just fine. He really didn't need a bunch of people in his face all the time. Not hanging out with his teammates also ensured he wasn't questioned about his personal life. Things were great until he woke up at three
AM
alone and wondering why he didn't seem to make the easy friendships with others that most people valued in life.

He was probably still shaken by his experience earlier—the idea that he could be gone and he should have made more of an effort in life to expand his circle a bit. He didn't want to think about people crying over his death, but he'd like to think that a few people might miss him.

Maybe it was a function of getting older, or maybe he was tired of the superficial relationships he seemed to have with everyone else in life besides his parents. It felt weird to admit that he was sometimes lonely.

He wasn't going to start putting notes in his teammates' lockers (“Do you like me? Check yes or no,”), but he could start by inviting a few of the guys out for a beer or some type of get-together more often. It would be nice to know he had a few friends in the area. If he'd made an overture or two before tonight, he might be enjoying some time and dinner with a friend. Or friends.

It also wouldn't hurt to date a woman more than once. He'd already checked his phone three times to make sure he still had Daisy's number. He should have called her the minute he got home from the flight. He wanted to talk to her. Talking to her, however, wasn't the problem. He was having trouble with the asking-her-out part. What if she said no?

She probably thought he didn't notice that she blushed when she talked with him or that her eyes strayed in his direction while she was interacting with some of his teammates.

He pulled his hand out of his pocket so he wouldn't check to see if her number was still in his phone again. If Daisy turned him down for a date, it was actually going to hurt.

He caught the bartender's eye.

“I'd like a dinner menu, please.”

“Got it,” the bartender said. He moved off down the bar.

Grant knew the guy recognized him as living in the condos upstairs. Right now, though, he saw several people waving twenties in the bartender's face so they could get a drink. It might be a while before he got that menu.

He glanced around and spotted an attractive woman. She sat alone at a table several feet away. She was tall, blonde, and alluringly dressed. She wore a bit too much makeup. She caught his eye, raised one eyebrow, and nodded at the empty seat across from her. She looked familiar, but he couldn't figure out where he'd met her before. He got up from his barstool and made his way to her table. If he talked with her a little, he might be able to remember why he knew he'd seen her before.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi. Want to have dinner with me?”

“I think I will.” He pulled the chair out and sat down. She shoved a menu across the table to him. “I'm Grant,” he said.

“I'm Harley,” she said. She cocked her head to the side, and her eyes narrowed as she stared at him. She managed to recover from whatever seemed to startle her, however, and held out her hand. He reached across the table to shake her hand briefly. “My friend was supposed to be here. She probably decided not to leave the house when she found out how bad the weather is.” He heard the faint chime of a text received on the smartphone she'd left face-up on the table. She hit it with one finger and squinted at it. “Yeah. She just cancelled.”

“I didn't want to leave either. You must have driven here before it got so bad.”

“I live upstairs,” she said.

He glanced up from the menu and looked into her eyes. He couldn't shake the feeling he'd met her before. Maybe she'd moved in recently. He spent so much time at the facility during football season that he didn't keep close tabs on the people in his building.

“You didn't have to go outside, then.”

“Nope,” she said.

He wasn't exactly a dazzling conversationalist right now, so he was surprised to watch her slip her cell phone inside what he knew was an expensive handbag. She must have wanted to chat.

The server arrived to take their order.

After handing his menu to the server, he sipped the ice water another server put in front of him. The woman across the table from him caught his eye.

“I think you know my friend,” she said. “The one who didn't show up tonight.”

“Is that so?” he asked.

“Pretty much,” she said. “You spent the night together a few months ago.”

He reclaimed his glass and took another swallow while he tried to figure out what to say in response.

“I'm not going to make a big deal out of this,” she said.

“Okay,” he said. He wondered if the restaurant would be willing to box up the macaroni and Gruyère cheese he'd ordered in case he needed to make a quick retreat. If she wasn't going to “make a big deal out of this,” why had she brought it up in the first place? Something was wrong.

“I have a question, though,” she said. Another server dropped off a basket of warm bread and butter. The scent made his stomach growl. It wasn't like he hadn't eaten already today, but he'd happily down the whole thing.

Harley pushed the bread away from her like it was contagious.

“Shoot,” he said.

“She told me that you made quite a speech before you had sex with her. Something to the effect that this was one night only, she shouldn't expect to hear from you again, and you weren't changing your mind.” She watched him pull a piece of bread out of the basket she'd pushed to his side of the table, smear some butter on it, and put half of it in his mouth. “Do the Sharks know you're this sexually active?”

He managed to swallow before he choked on the bread.

“Excuse me?”

“I've heard you're busy.”