The Player Gets Coached Read online

  Delilah sighed in resignation, wondering how old she would have to be before her sister stopped mollycoddling her. “Yes, I promise.”

  “And be sure to call me Sunday morning with all the details. Since I haven’t had a real date in so long I have to live vicariously through yours.”

  Delilah glared at her sister. “For the umpteenth time, it’s not a date. But I’ll give you a call and let you know how everything went. Now, stop worrying about me and focus on yourself, Desi.”

  Desiree smiled softly. “You do know that you’re the only person who calls me Desi, don’t you?”

  “Just like you’re the only person who calls me Della,” replied Delilah.

  Desiree’s smile faded rapidly. “Except, of course, for you know who.”

  Their father had been the one to bestow the nicknames on each of his daughters, while their mother had always insisted on using their full names.

  “Yeah.” Delilah nodded. “When was the last time you heard from dear old Daddy anyway?”

  “He was gracious enough to reply to the text I sent him on his birthday last month,” grumbled Desiree. “I’m shocked he could spare the time to do that much, frankly. Before that I suppose it was the Christmas card he sent with his annual check. Asshole can’t even take the time to jot down a personal message.”

  Delilah had received a similar card - a photo of Daniel and Mikayla with their two sons Oliver and Sebastian. Her half-brothers were now thirteen and ten years old respectively, and virtual strangers to her and Desiree. Their strained relationship with their father and his new family had only become more so when Daniel had moved them to Florida half a dozen years ago. He was semi-retired now, though still dealing with a select group of clients long distance, and he made several trips a year back to San Francisco to take meetings. Not once during any of those visits, however, did he make an attempt to connect with his daughters, thereby driving the giant wedge between them a little bit deeper each time.

  The two women paused on the sidewalk outside of the café just before heading out in opposite directions. Delilah had a pensive look on her face.

  “Do you think the time will ever come in our lives when it stops hurting so much, Desi?” she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

  Desiree gave her sister’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Only when you stop giving him the power to do so, Della. And that means hardening your heart against the bastard, and forgetting he even exists.”

  Chapter Nine

  Finn re-adjusted his tie one final time, hoping he’d be able to resist the urge to tug on the damned thing as the evening progressed. He had never really been a suit and tie sort of guy, and usually counted the minutes until his segment for the network broadcast finished up so he could yank off the tie and throw off the suit jacket.

  But Max had cautioned him that he’d be wise to take some extra pains with his appearance for tonight, and had even come over to Finn’s condo last night to help him coordinate a suitable outfit. Finn had made some snide comment about how he wasn’t a twelve-year-old boy getting ready to attend his first middle school dance and needed his father to tell him what to wear. In reply, Max had given a disparaging glance to Finn’s ripped jeans and ratty T-shirt until Finn had grudgingly agreed he was right.

  Max had looked around the untidiness of Finn’s living room, frowning at the newspapers and empty food and beverage containers strewn across the sectional sofa and coffee table, then deftly side-stepped around several articles of clothing that had been tossed helter-skelter on the floor.

  “I take it your cleaning lady couldn’t make it in this week?” he’d asked in his snooty British accent that had sounded extra snooty to Finn.

  “Actually, she was in this morning,” Finn had admitted reluctantly. “You should have seen the place before she arrived.”

  Max had visibly shuddered. “No, thank you. Let’s have a look at the wardrobe, shall we? I don’t suppose you have a supply of disposable gloves around, do you?”

  Finn hadn’t been able to tell if Max had been joking or not, but considering what a straight arrow he was nearly all of the time, he’d figured his friend had been serious. “No,” he’d grumbled. “Just because I’m a slob doesn’t mean you’re going to pick up any unwanted germs. Everything is clean, just a little, uh, untidy. Besides, this was your idea, not mine, remember?”

  “And as I recall, you were the one to beg Jordan, Aubrey, and me for help in winning this woman over,” Max had reminded calmly. “Now, let’s take a glance at what I’m assuming is your rather limited wardrobe.”

  “Hey, I’ve got some nice stuff,” Finn had replied defensively. “Mostly because the wardrobe guy on the NFL Network took me shopping when I first started there. And not all of us wear suits and ties 24/7 like you do, Maxwell. Do you even own any other sort of clothes?”

  “Of course. Not, er, like anything in your wardrobe, I’m sure.” Max had given Finn’s admittedly well-worn attire a look of contempt. “But I certainly own more casual clothing, and wear it at the appropriate times. So, this is the sum total of all of your suits?”

  “I have six,” Finn had mumbled defensively. “That’s twice as many as I owned before I started the network job. Why? How many do you own?”

  “Thirty five, not counting my four tuxedos,” Max had replied promptly.

  At the look of disbelief Finn had given him, Max had actually looked a bit sheepish.

  “I will admit that number is somewhat excessive,” he’d admitted. “And perhaps bordering on the obsessive. I suppose that stems from having such a humble background, where I rarely had anything new, and definitely nothing nice. But this is about your wardrobe, Finn, not mine. Hmm, let’s take a look here, shall we?”

  Max had quickly selected a charcoal gray suit, white shirt, and burgundy patterned tie, though he hadn’t been entirely satisfied with the latter.

  “I’ll have to take you to the Hermes store one of these days,” he’d told Finn decisively. “Their ties are expensive but worth every penny.”

  Finn had waved a hand dismissively. “I already have at least a dozen ties, Max. Why do I need to buy any more?”

  Max had grimaced. “Because several of the ones you own either have stains on them or rips and need to be thrown out, while others have - let’s call them interesting patterns or designs. And while wearing a blue tie with gold football helmets might work for your TV appearances, it is not going to impress a fashion conscious woman like Ms. Ferris. Give me a call next week, would you? I’ve got a feeling you’re going to need to make some more additions to your wardrobe. Provided, that is, there’s a second date with her in your future.”

  Finn actually hadn’t allowed himself to think beyond this evening - this first date that Delilah had refused to call an actual date - probably because he’d been put through the ringer simply to get this far. It would be some sort of miracle to wheedle a second date out of her, but Finn was nothing if not optimistic - not to mention having an ego the size of a football field. But optimism wasn’t quite the same thing as confidence, and the feisty Ms. Ferris had managed to rattle the latter good and hard. Tonight he would have his work cut out for him, not only charming her and showing her a good time, but to somehow convince her that she should say yes to a second date.

  And if that wasn’t totally out of character for Finn - the quintessential Mr. One-Night Stand, the guy who was constantly dreaming up ways to avoid having a second date with a woman - then he didn’t know what was. But this whole obsession/fascination with Delilah was unlike anything he’d ever known before. Then again, she was unlike any woman he’d ever met before, and he was willing to use every trick in the book to snare her.

  His goal to charm her with witty conversation and lavish compliments, however, hit a major roadblock when she opened the door at his knock. Finn would have been hard-pressed to recall a single occasion in his life when he was actually tongue-tied, unable to think of anything to say. Typically it
was just the opposite for him - frequently monopolizing the conversation, or the words pouring out of his mouth faster than they could form in his brain.

  But the sight of Delilah Ferris poised in the doorway of her condo not only left Finn speechless but breathless as well. He’d known the first time he had caught a glimpse of her that she was the most strikingly beautiful woman he had ever met, and tonight she had certainly strengthened that opinion tenfold.

  The little dress she wore - he assumed it was another of her own designs - was a regal shade of midnight blue. The tight fitting sleeves ended before her wrists, and the deep V-neckline offered a mouthwatering display of her full, round breasts. From there the silky fabric nipped in at the waist, while the close fitting skirt ended a couple of inches above the knee.

  Tearing his enraptured gaze from her cleavage - and really, really hoping that wasn’t a spot of drool he felt on his chin - Finn quickly took in the rest of Delilah’s va-va-voom appearance - black patent stiletto heels, sapphire and diamond pendant earrings and a matching bracelet, her silky dark brown hair falling in loose waves to frame that sensuously perfect, heart-shaped face. And, unsurprisingly, that full-lipped mouth of hers, the one that had featured so prominently in most of his erotic daydreams lately, was glossed over in vivid, vibrant, she-devil scarlet.

  “Hot damn,” mumbled Finn, as his brain gradually resumed activity and he could begin to form actual words. “You look - hot, for lack of a better word. But give me a couple of minutes and I’m sure I can think of something better.”

  Delilah, who’d been observing his slack-jawed reaction to her appearance with an amused expression, laughed softly. “Hot will do nicely for now,” she assured him.

  She reached up and brushed a speck of lint from his lapel. “You clean up pretty well yourself,” she commented, then straightened his tie slightly. “I like the suit. Prada, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Yeah. So you know stuff about men’s clothes, too?”

  She nodded. “Not like I do women’s, of course, but it was part of the course of study at design school. You have good taste, Finn. The color of the tie goes perfectly with the gray of the suit.”

  He grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, well, I’ll admit to having a friend of mine help me select an outfit for tonight. And one of the wardrobe guys from the NFL Network was with me when I bought the suit and tie last year. I for sure know football, and I’ve gotten pretty good with the broadcasting stuff, but I’d be the first to admit I’m pretty clueless when it comes to fashion.”

  “Hmm.” Delilah tapped a crimson-tipped nail against her chin. “Well, perhaps a certain fashion designer you know might be willing to give you some advice one of these days. If you want it, that is.”

  “Uh, yeah! Yes, for sure. That is, if you’ve got the time,” he stammered. “I mean, I know you told me how busy work was for you. You know, when I asked for decorating advice for my condo. I, uh, don’t want to bother you. My buddy Max said he’d go clothes shopping with me one of these days. Someplace in particular he was going on and on about for ties - Herman something or other?”

  She smirked. “I think you mean Hermes. And yes, your friend has very good taste. Expensive taste, too. But you probably don’t need to be shelling out close to two hundred dollars for a single tie. Not when you can find some equally as nice for about half the price. Now, if the subject of fashion is really that fascinating to you, we can talk more about it over dinner. Since I plan on savoring my meal at Jardinière, we should probably get going.”

  Delilah startled him by placing her hand in the crook of his elbow, prompting him to place his much larger hand over hers. He tried real hard not to read too much into her seemingly innocent action, telling himself that she was a lady and used to men acting gallantly around her. Placing her hand on his arm had likely just been a subtle hint that he should have offered his arm to her first.

  ‘And it’s not like she put her hand on your ass or anything,’ he chastised himself. ‘I mean, an arm is pretty damned impersonal. Putting your hand on a guy’s arm is something you’d do to your father or a great-uncle. Jeez, better hope she doesn’t think of you that way, McManus.’

  He held open the elevator door for her, then punched the button for the garage level.

  “Do you, uh, own a car?” he asked on the way down, still feeling somewhat tongue tied.

  She nodded. “A Lexus LS. I don’t drive all that often, though, mostly because the studio is within walking distance, but also because traffic in the city can be awful at times. Mostly I walk or take taxis or Uber. And since we’re headed down to the garage I’m just going to assume you own a car?”

  “Three of ‘em, to be exact,” he confirmed as the elevator reached the garage level. “Not exactly sure why that many, especially since I tend to do the same as you just described - walk or take a taxi or ride share most places. So this is my so-called fleet right here.”

  He swept his arm in an arc to indicate the three vehicles parked side by side. Each of the condos in the building came with two assigned parking spaces, so he had to pay extra each month for the third.

  Delilah contemplated the three cars - the first a black Cadillac Escalade, the second a bright yellow Corvette, and the third a gunmetal gray Mercedes sedan.

  “In case you were wondering, we’re taking the Mercedes tonight,” Finn offered up. “I, um, figured the Caddy might be a little tough for you to get into, considering that - well, you know.”

  She arched a well groomed brow at him. “Because I’m so short?” she challenged. “Because I’d need a stepstool to be able to get myself inside that monster?”

  He grinned. “Well, that was a consideration. Though of course I would have very, very happily assisted you, especially if it involved me picking you up and lifting you down. But actually I thought it might be a little tough for you to step up into such a high car given that you, uh, well, usually wear dresses that are a little, um - let’s call them close fitting. And with those high heels - well, I just thought it would be easier for you if we used the Benz tonight.”

  Fortunately she seemed amused and not annoyed by his explanation. “Okay. I suppose that makes sense. And thank you, Finn, for your consideration. Though you haven’t explained why you eliminated the Corvette.”

  “Oh. Well.” He shuffled his feet awkwardly. “I figured it wouldn’t help my cause much this evening if I drove us to dinner in a flashy sports car. You know, because it would only add fuel to the flame as far as my image goes. And I guess I wanted you to see that there was a different side to me from the smooth talking player you must think I am.”

  Delilah gave his elbow a squeeze on the spot her hand still rested. “That was sweet of you, Finn,” she replied gently, her mouth curving up in a soft smile. “And while you were right about the SUV being something of a challenge for me, I think it would have been fun to drive through the city in the Corvette. Maybe another time, hmm?”

  He was dumbfounded at her reply, hardly able to believe that she was actually leaving open the possibility of another date. Unable to think of a halfway intelligent reply, he instead hurried over to unlock the passenger door of the sedan for her, then carefully helped her inside the luxury vehicle.

  The restaurant, located a scant block from the symphony hall, was nearly bursting at the seams with patrons, and Finn half-wished he’d chosen someplace a little quieter and less crowded. But this had been Delilah’s choice, after all, and this evening was all about making a good impression on her. At least his contact at the network who’d managed to snag this last minute reservation for him had also finagled one of the better tables in the place, affording them a measure of privacy.

  Since they both ordered a seafood entrée - Delilah’s a pasta tossed with oysters and scallops and Finn’s the poached salmon - their waiter suggested a crisp Sauvignon Blanc to accompany their meal.

  “Is that okay with you?” asked Finn a bit anxiously as the waiter left to procure the bott
le. “I mean, I know you prefer red wine, so we can get that instead.”

  “It’s fine,” she assured him. “I like a variety of wines, actually, and a white does traditionally go better with seafood.” She reached across the table and gave his hand a squeeze. “Hey, relax, okay? You’ve been on edge ever since I opened the door tonight. And I know why - you’re anxious about making a good impression on me, aren’t you?”

  He nodded, grinning at her impishly. “Yeah. And worried like hell that it isn’t working. I’ve never had to work so hard at getting a woman to go out with me, Delilah, and now that you finally agreed I don’t want to screw it up.”

  She squeezed his hand a little tighter. “You aren’t going to screw it up,” she assured him softly. “But you do need to relax and just be yourself, okay? Don’t pretend to be someone you aren’t, Finn, just because you think I’ll be impressed. And don’t think that you have to act like one of the guys I usually date - how did you refer to them? Ah, yes, the clones. Just be yourself, okay?”

  His grin deepened mischievously. “Careful what you ask for there, babe. After all, you’ve already told me that I’m not your type.”

  Delilah gave a careless little shrug. “Maybe I’m getting bored with the army of clones. Maybe I’m ready to change things up a little bit. And I recall that you told me that blonds are definitely more fun.”

  Finn guffawed. “Oh, they sure as hell are, darling Delilah! And when the time is right I can show you just how much fun we can be. But maybe not tonight, okay? Tonight - well, I think you’ve got the right idea. Tonight should be about two neighbors enjoying a nice evening together and getting to know each other better. That sound okay to you?”

  She nodded, her brown eyes twinkling. “Sounds perfect.”

  He reached over and teased one of her sapphire and diamond drop earrings. “I know even less about jewelry than I do about fashion or interior decorating, but I’m going to guess these little baubles are the real thing. And that they cost a pretty penny. A gift from one of the clones? Or maybe a gift to yourself?”