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
“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
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