Intercepting Daisy (4 page)

He was so shocked at her comments he wasn't sure how to respond. “As long as I'm doing my job, I don't think they care,” he said.

“Isn't it a bit risky to engage in so many one-night stands?” she said. “Do you often forget the women you've slept with before?”

“I don't forget them,” he said.

“If the Sharks' PR group's campaigns are any indicator, they seem to believe you're not having sex a lot. They also want other people to believe it as well.”

He pretended like he didn't feel the hair rising on the back of his neck and took another bite of delicious bread and whipped butter with a hint of sea salt and truffle oil. This was a bit more than a sticky situation. He eyed Harley across the table. She wasn't making small talk; she was asking questions for a reason. And he was missing something.

“What's your point?”

“Why not be honest? Why are you lying to people?”

He finished his slice of bread and hoped his entrée would arrive soon. He didn't want to spend five more minutes with the woman across the table from him, but right now, he wasn't interested in causing a scene in front of a hundred people who so far were ignoring him.

“Most people see what they want to see,” he said. The server arrived with their entrées and asked Grant if he'd like another beer. “Not right now,” he said. “Thanks.”

He waited until the server left and looked into Harley's eyes. “Are you honest about yourself with everyone you meet?”

She took a small bite of her salmon. “What about the people who'd like to get to know you as a person, not just as a football player?”

“They're really not interested. They want an autograph or a picture with me.” His baked macaroni and cheese with a crispy panko bread crumb crust was waiting for him. “I'm used to it.”

“Don't you think it's a little cynical?”

“You never answered my question. Are you honest about yourself with people you meet?”

“Of course. Most people are—at least the ones who don't have something to hide.”

Despite his best efforts to remain unruffled, anger swelled inside him. He didn't need to justify himself or his life to someone he didn't know, but he realized he had no graceful way out of this. At the very least, he could make it quick. He caught a server's eye and nodded. The woman quickly approached his table.

“Would you please box this to go?” he said, handing his still-steaming plate to the server. He grabbed the credit card out of his wallet. “This is for the check.”

Harley's mouth dropped open. “You're leaving?” she said.

“Yes,” he said. He gave her a nod. “Thanks for dinner.”

“I guess you don't recognize me,” she said. “I'm Harley McHugh, the new sports reporter at KIXI-TV.”

Shit. For a minute there, he thought he'd slept with her and forgotten about it. So she was pissed because he didn't recognize her from her job. Of course, she had looked familiar. He'd probably met her at practice before and didn't make the connection. He reached out his hand to shake hers again. “Good to see you,” he said. She didn't shake his hand. He rose from the table. “Have a nice evening,” he said.

It took him less than five minutes to sign the credit card slip, make his way across the still-crowded lobby, and get into an empty elevator car with his to-go bag. A minute and a half after he walked back into his apartment, the power went out. Luckily, the building had generators and his cell phone still worked. He sat down on his couch with a bottle of beer and stared out at the view of Lake Washington as he dialed his agent. He could see the whitecaps buffeting the 520 Bridge from here.

Blake answered on the third ring. “Hey, Parker. My flight got delayed, so I'm still at Sea-Tac. Is everything okay?”

“No,” Grant said. “It's not.” He kicked his shoes off and swung his feet up onto his coffee table. “I think I need your help.”

G
RANT COULD THINK
of a lot of things he'd rather be doing right now. None of them involved unburdening himself to someone he had a professional relationship with. He had a tough time sharing his thoughts and feelings with a friend. Thinking about doing so with someone paid to represent his interests wasn't fun. He'd gotten a little attention from the media over the years, but something about his conversation with Harley had every nerve ending tingling. It wasn't from desire.
Sheer terror
might be a better description of what he felt.

She knew something. Or, she wanted him to think she knew something so she could trick him into revealing something stupid she could report on. Whatever. Maybe Blake had an idea of how to fix this.

“What's up? Want to talk about today's game? You looked sharp.”

“Thanks,” Grant said. “Maybe we could talk about the game later. There's something I need to tell you about.” He let out a nervous-sounding laugh. “I don't know how to say this.”

“You're not pregnant, are you? I thought we had that talk,” Blake said.

“Nope, not pregnant.” Grant took a deep breath. “It's my social life.”

“I heard you've had a few dates.”

“Just a few.” Grant took a swallow of his beer. “Actually, more than a few. And they weren't quite what the team thinks they are.”

His agent went silent for almost a minute. Grant could hear flight announcements in the background. “Okay. One question,” he said.

“Go ahead.”

“They are all of age, right? You're not dating anyone who's not legal.”

“No. Everyone I've been with is a consenting adult,” Grant said.

“Great. We can deal with this,” the agent said. “And no judgments on sexual orientation, either.”

“I'm straight,” Grant said.

“So, what's the problem?”

“They're not the good Christian girls the team says I'm out with.”

“Please tell me money is not changing hands.”

“No. No money. Well, no money until I broke this woman's e-reader last month. I left a hundred bucks for a new one before I took an Uber home from her place.”

“At least you're responsible.”

“Yeah. Uh, Blake?”

“Yup?”

“I've slept with a lot of women who I don't see again.”

His agent let out an exaggerated gasp. “Oh, no! That's never happened in the history of the league. Are you some kind of manwhore? I'm shocked.”

“Come on—”

“I'm giving you shit, Parker. Truthfully, I'd be more shocked to learn you weren't sleeping with every woman who made herself available. What do you think the rest of the team is doing?”

“Most of them are married now.”

“Yeah, okay. If you think the single guys are going without, you're nuts. So what's the issue?”

“One of the local sportscasters seems to have found out about it. Harley McHugh—are you familiar with her?”

“Sportscaster Barbie? Who isn't familiar with her? What did she say to you?”

“I saw her downstairs earlier. She started asking some nosy questions about my social activities.”

“How many women you've slept with?”

“That's the idea.”

“You're using protection, you've been tested for STDs, and you haven't fathered any children, right?”

“Yes. And no on the kids part.”

Blake let out another long sigh. “Okay. I'm aware the Sharks' front office fell in love with you because they thought you'd never have the kind of issues your predecessor had in Seattle. You've let them think you were playing along while you were doing something else. It's not great, but you are an adult, and your social life is really not their business to begin with. Here's the deal: we're going to have to figure out how to minimize the damage if Sportscaster Barbie—oops, Ms. McHugh—actually stumbles onto something. Are you dating anyone right now?”

“Not really.” Grant took another swallow of beer. “I asked one of the flight attendants on our charter for her number, but I haven't called her yet.”

“It would be better if she had nothing to do with the team, but this is a good start. Is she a one-night stand, or would you be interested in dating her?”

“I'd like to go out with her.”

“Which flight attendant?” Blake had been on the team's charter flights before.

“Daisy. She's cute, blonde, and kind of funny. I think she might be into me.”

“I remember her,” Blake said. “Call her tonight. Ask her out for this week. If you have anything in common, keep dating her. In public. I'll work on what to do next.” He snorted a bit. “If she doodles your name on her Trapper Keeper, you're in, buddy,”

Grant closed his eyes with relief.

“They're calling my flight, Parker. How about I talk to you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. There's one more thing.”

“What's that?”

“Someone wrote a book about me.”

L
ATE
W
EDNESDAY NIGHT
, Daisy hip-checked the hotel room door open as she dragged her wheeled suitcase across the threshold. It had been a long day capped off by mechanical trouble with the flight home to Seattle she was supposed to work. She'd be staying overnight in Los Angeles tonight with the rest of the crew and heading home in the morning. She was looking forward to a quiet evening of room service and relaxation.

Staying in and getting some rest was definitely counter to the old-fashioned stereotypes about flight attendants. Daisy was supposed to be out on the town, dancing at a club or tearing things up. She enjoyed having fun as much as the next woman, but right now, her feet hurt, and she wanted to spend an evening that didn't involve dealing with someone's screaming infant or unbelievably drunk people.

She stared at her rollaway bag. Of course, she'd forgotten to bring her yoga mat. She'd started yoga a couple of years ago, after her doctor had encouraged her to try some gentle stretching each day. Yoga also helped when her schedule allowed her to play with the amateur soccer team she'd belonged to for four years now. She was an alternate goalkeeper, which meant she had something in common with Grant Parker: she woke up the day after a game aching all over. She was going to play as long as she could hobble out onto the pitch.

She dropped her tote bag onto the bed and sank down next to it. She'd need to be at the airport by six
AM
, so the best thing she could do was change into her pajamas, order some room service, and get eight hours of sleep. As she reached into the tote and pulled out her tablet, the small wireless keyboard she'd been traveling with for the past month or so brushed against her fingertips.

She'd been writing off and on since childhood. She kept a journal, which she'd switched from paper to digital a couple of years ago. She wrote short stories, letters to the editor, anything that might help her express herself. The crazy “book” she'd written about Grant Parker was the longest manuscript she'd attempted. She dropped the tablet on the bed next to her and let out a groan.

She shouldn't have pushed Publish. She should have kept it all to herself, because it was inevitable that he would find out who wrote all this crap about him. Why couldn't she have chosen something safer and less ridiculous, like writing erotica about some woman who had a fling with a dinosaur? She wouldn't have to worry about facing a pissed-off dinosaur. It's not like they still walked the earth or anything.

If Grant Parker discovered who she was (and that she'd written an appallingly explicit description of everything she'd like to do to him and with him), she'd—well, her life would be over. The worst thing about all the crap she'd written, besides the fact she'd bared her soul, was the knowledge that she wished she had the guts to start a manuscript she could admit to.

Daisy wasn't sure she wanted to write anything literary, but she could certainly write about the crazy things she'd seen while doing her job over the past ten years. She couldn't use her real name, and she'd have to change names, locations, and other identifying information, but it might be fun to write a memoir of sorts.

The idea had taken root and blossomed over the past several years. She could write on her off-hours and keep her stories to herself or publish if she wanted to. The choice was up to her. Mostly, she wanted a little more from life than she had right now.

She'd have to start to make any attempt at all, though. She pulled the keyboard out of her tote bag, reached out for the bedside telephone with her other hand, and brought the receiver to her ear.

“Room service, please.”

T
HE SUN WASN
'
T
yet over the horizon Thursday morning when Daisy scrambled into the shuttle that would take her to LAX, but she felt warmth in the air. The only good thing about being on the road at four
AM
was the fact that Los Angeles's infamous traffic was somewhat lighter. LA was a paradise of palm trees, cloudless blue skies, and eighty-degree weather. Surprisingly enough, though, she longed for the overcast skies and cool, clean, pine-scented air of Seattle.

Her phone vibrated as the shuttle pulled up to the curb. She grabbed it out of her pocket as she moved through the electronic doors and found a seat in a waiting area. It was her roommate, who'd arrived home from London yesterday.

“Aren't you supposed to be sleeping or something?” Daisy joked.

“There's a woman on the
Today Show
claiming that she wrote
Overtime Parking
.”

“Seriously? What? Who is she?”

“She's from California. She says she got the idea after she slept with Grant Parker a few times.” Daisy got up from the seat in the waiting area and headed to the gate area.

What the hell? Daisy wasn't sure how to react—should she be mad because someone else claimed her book or relieved that nobody would know she'd written it? Letting someone else claim it as her own work was the easy way out. But the relief was short-lived. She also felt a hot stab of jealousy over the fact the book-stealing woman claimed to have slept with Grant.

It was ridiculous to feel jealous over some guy who'd asked for her number and still hadn't called her. What was up with that? She realized her phone was in her hand, and Catherine was still talking.

“Why would she say she wrote the book?” Daisy interrupted.

“Maybe she has a thing for him and thinks she'll get his attention.”

“She'll get attention, all right.” Daisy let out a long sigh.

“I'll keep watching this for you. Have a good flight.”

“Thanks. I'll see you in a few hours.”

Daisy hit End and stared at the clock on her phone. She'd better get a move on; being late was out of the question. The flight would be full of business travelers who were hungry and impatient to get to their destination and a few who'd want a drink to take the edge off. If she made sure she was stocked up and ready, things always went better. She picked up the pace as she moved through crowds of people who seemed to have nothing better to do at four thirty
AM
than stand in front of a television, staring slack-jawed at the weather report.

There were three passengers sitting in the waiting area when she skidded to the gate. The gate agent was unlocking the Jetway door for Rachel.

“Nice to see you,” Rachel joked.

“What happened to you this morning?” Rachel hadn't been on the crew shuttle.

“I overslept.”

Daisy and Rachel boarded the plane to start their workday.

“That's never happened before,” Daisy joked.

“Oh, hell no. Some idiot in the next room was on his phone and yelling about something half the night. Imagine how late I would have been if you had had to bail me out of the LA jail.”

They stowed their luggage and got to work. It was important to make sure the first-class breakfast supplies were there, but Daisy knew she'd better double-check the alcohol and the makings for drinks like Bloody Marys and mimosas. She was elbows-deep in the alcohol drawer when she heard a familiar male voice behind her.

“Hey, Daisy, is that you?”

She almost hit her head on the warming oven as she straightened up to look at him. Grant Parker grinned back at her. “Good morning,” he said.

“What are you doing here?” she said. She wanted to bite her tongue. What a ridiculous thing to say. Plus, it was five
AM
, and Grant looked like he'd stepped out of the pages of
GQ
or something. He wore a pressed, button-down sports shirt in a subtle light-and-dark blue check, jeans, and a pair of black Chuck Taylor high-tops. He'd rolled the sleeves up to his forearms. His hair was pulled into a loose bun at the base of his neck. A few sun-streaked strands of hair had escaped and caught in the stubble on his cheeks. His smile was warm. And his eyes sparkled as always.

There weren't many times in Daisy's life she didn't know what to say, but this was one of them. He was gorgeous. And he was the last person she thought she'd see this morning.

“I had to make a last-minute trip to LA last night.” He got a little closer. “I kind of hoped you'd be here.”

He reached out to take a piece of celery out of her hand she'd almost stabbed him with. She could figure out why he'd been pre-boarded so early. He'd probably been recognized, and the gate agent was afraid of a riot. Daisy wanted to talk to him, but for some reason, she couldn't think of a thing to say. She took a breath before she passed out. He smelled good too, like freshly showered guy. She wanted to lean forward. She could bury her nose in his shirt front and take a long sniff, but that would be even weirder than her standing here like a statue.

The pilots had finished their pre-flight check and were in the cockpit already.

“Hey, Parker. Nice to see you,” one of them told him.

“Good to see you too, guys. How's it going?” Grant said.

“So far, so good. We need to get you back for practice this morning, don't we?”

“I'd appreciate that. I need to be at the facility by one
PM
for meetings.” Grant laid the piece of celery onto the galley counter as he reached around her to bump fists with the pilots. He nodded at the guys and took Daisy's elbow in his fingertips. “Got a minute?” he said to her.

“Of course she does,” one of the pilots called out.

“Go talk to him, Daisy. We'll handle things up here,” the other one said.

Handle things? They'd get into the snacks and make a mess. She'd end up getting quizzed by those two later about what Grant wanted, but she followed him out of the galley.

“Lucky me that you're here today,” he said. He smiled. Her knees knocked in response.

“Usually, I'd see you tomorrow for the team flight,” she said. “It's nice you're here too.”

She still couldn't think of anything remotely interesting to say. He'd taken her hand in his. She told herself to breathe. His hand felt warm and dry, and he stroked his thumb over the back of her hand as he spoke.

“I'd better hurry up. The other passengers will be mad if I keep you all to myself.”

Grant gave her another nod. It wasn't like she'd never been asked out before, but she was suddenly nervous.
Suddenly?
Hell. She'd been nervous and excited since she heard his voice. And if he wanted to stand here and hold her hand all day, the other passengers were going to have to get over it. She looked up into his sparkling eyes.

“Are you busy later on?”

“Not especially,” she said. She didn't want to look desperate, but she'd cancel almost anything if he was asking her out right now.

“Would you like to have a glass of wine or a coffee with me? Maybe around seven?”

“Sure,” she said. “That would be fun.”

“How about I text you later, and we can set up a place?”

“I'd like that,” she said. Rachel caught her eye from a few rows behind where they stood and winked at Daisy. She was pretty understanding, but there was a limit. “I have to get back to work.”

“I'll text you later,” he said. “Let's hope it's a good flight home.”

“Absolutely,” she said.

Grant sat down in the front-row window seat. She gave him a little wave as she hurried away. She wanted to break out in a wild dance of joy in the center aisle, but she managed to control herself. She now had a date with Grant Parker? Maybe she was dreaming.

Daisy was so busy that she didn't have a chance to talk with Grant again during the flight. Less than an hour after the flight landed, her phone chimed with Grant Parker's contact information and the fact that he'd like to get together with her at Purple, a wine bar and restaurant at the base of a high-rise in Bellevue.

And now, as she stood in front of her closet, she was having major buyer's remorse. She wasn't sure what to wear.

She was so excited and nervous she could hardly breathe. A squadron of butterflies had invaded her stomach. She'd fantasized about this guy, dreamed about him, and wished she could spend even an hour chatting with him. The chatting part might be a challenge if she didn't calm down a little. She might open her mouth and blurt out something really cringe worthy or ridiculous. Who was she kidding? Of course she would. She had wondered so many times what it would be like to be alone with him.

She knew he was shy after observing him on so many team flights. She was a dork. What if both of them were too afraid to talk and spent the time struggling to make conversation?

“It's just a first date,” she muttered to herself. “You've been on a million of them before.” Maybe not quite a million, but a hundred would not be much of an exaggeration. They tended to go one of two ways—they were either promising or unmitigated disasters. She wasn't sure why. Dating was different now than it had been when her parents met or when her friends who'd been married ten years or more first met. Lots of guys weren't interested in anything beyond a hookup. She wasn't necessarily opposed to sleeping with a man she was attracted to, but liking him went a long way toward helping her decide she wanted to get physically involved. Guys didn't seem to care, especially when they found out what she did for a living and obsessed over whether or not she was a member of the mile-high club.

She wasn't a germophobe, but she wasn't having sex in an airplane bathroom unless she used a few cans of disinfectant on it first, and probably not then either.

She had to be dressed and at the restaurant in an hour, and she still hadn't decided what to wear. Her heart was pounding already. She made herself take deep breaths before she started hyperventilating.

“Relax,” she said. “This isn't the rest of your life. If he asks you out again, then you can fall apart.”

G
RANT GLANCED AT
his Apple Watch. It was two minutes later than the last time he'd checked and ten minutes before Daisy was due to walk into the restaurant. He pretended to check his e-mail as he tried to look casual. This was the first date he'd had in a year that he'd actually had to plan, and he hardly knew what to do with himself.

His hands shook. He wanted to fidget. He was nervous, and he couldn't figure out why. It was a date. He'd been on a lot of them before. This was no different.

Actually, it was. He'd wanted to spend time with Daisy since the first time she handed him a miniature bag of pretzels and smiled at him. He could tell himself he was doing this in order to stave off whatever was coming from the media about his private life, but he could have found someone else if he needed to see and be seen. He wanted to get to know her.

She was as warm, friendly, and extroverted as he was shy and introverted. She wouldn't have trouble talking to him, so he'd better step up his own game. He'd once compiled a list of date-friendly topics of conversation on his phone, but there usually wasn't a lot of talking before he ended up in bed with someone. Grant knew his parents had dated for four years before they got married and slept together for the first time, which he couldn't imagine doing. He'd asked them once what they talked about while they were dating. He was hoping for some ideas on what to talk to a date about—well, when he had one that actually required conversation. They'd told him about how they met and fell in love several times, when he was still living at home and beginning to date. In those days, he'd invite girls from church out for ice cream or a movie. His parents had been overjoyed by this.

“We talked about the sermon we'd heard at church. Sometimes we did a Bible study together,” his mother said. “I got to know your dad spiritually before we were physically involved.”

He still remembered the blush that spread over his mom's cheeks as he watched his parents smile at each other. He knew they'd had other dates—roller skating, going to baseball games, or seeing G-rated movies—and he wasn't about to tell them the details of his dating life. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to be untruthful with them about his private life, but he knew that concrete proof he wasn't living the life they would have liked would cause more friction between them. He saw his parents so seldom now. He'd like the time he spent with them to be enjoyable.

He felt a rush of cool air as the lobby door opened and Daisy entered the restaurant. She had on a red knit dress with a matching fabric band around the waist and a swirling skirt that ended well above her knees and moved when she walked. Her blonde hair was down and loose around her shoulders. She wore some strappy, spike-heeled shoes. He typically saw her in the conservative skirt, white blouse, protective apron, and low-heeled shoes of her airline uniform. The difference was pronounced. And he was immediately thankful he'd put on dress clothes. He wanted her to know he'd made that effort too. His heart beat double time as he saw her smile at him. She looked gorgeous. Even better, she didn't bother glancing around the lobby to see who else was there. He was the center of her attention. He couldn't wait to talk with her.

She grinned at him. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey, yourself.” He leaned forward to kiss her cheek and took a deep breath. She was wearing perfume, but he couldn't figure out what it smelled like, besides something nice. He gestured toward the hostess, who stood ready with a couple of menus and an inscrutable smile.

“You look beautiful,” he said. “Ready?”

“Yes. I'm starving,” Daisy said.

He also hadn't met many women over the past couple of years who actually admitted to eating or being hungry. This date was already spectacular.