by Tamara Adams
But she had.
He frowned, a feeling of discontent settling in his stomach.
She'd left without a word. Every fiber of his being was wanting to hold her right now. Make her breakfast. And make love to her again.
It hit him like a ton of bricks.
He was in trouble.
Deep, deep trouble.
He wanted her to be his. Not just for the night.
For the first time in his life, he wanted more.
Obviously, Veronica was going to need some convincing. But he hadn't got this far in life by just giving up. No, he had some plans to make. He'd be strategic. He'd be relentless.
He would win.
He made himself some coffee and called her newspaper to get her phone number. Sure it was Saturday but they'd give it to him. He scribbled the number down on a piece of paper and picked up his phone.
He wasn't going to call her though.
He was just going to get her those interviews.
If it meant so damn much to her, maybe she'd thank him properly this time.
**********
Veronica scowled at her lap top. One of her roommates was watching television in the other room. That's not why she was having so much trouble concentrating though.
It was Stockard.
She could still feel him on her skin. His lips on her lips.
Inside her.
She'd showered thorough, determined to wrap up the project and put him firmly out of her mind.
So far, that wasn't going so well.
First of all, she had very little to work with. Her editor was breathing down her neck for something, anything to publish. It wasn't going to be much of a story but she had to find some sort of twist to put on it.
Anyway, she wasn't going to stick around after this. She had plans. It was time to move on.
But most of all she was missing him.
How could he have gotten to her so quickly? He probably had already forgotten about her. He had women throwing themselves at him constantly she knew. She was the silly fool who wanted more.
No, no, no.
Wake up little girl. Big football players do not fall in love with unknown reporters. Maybe if she was a movie star. Or a model.
But she wasn't. She was just an ordinary person. And he was… not.
Her phone rang. She glanced at him, praying it wasn't her editor. It was an unknown number. She answered it.
"Is this Veronica Franklin?"
"Yes."
"This is Big Jay Robbins. You wanted to interview me?"
Her jaw dropped open. Was this really happening? He'd stone walled her along with the rest of the team. All except Stockard…
Did he have something to do with this?
"Yes! Is this on or off the record."
"On."
She grabbed her notes and began the interview. The moment she hung up her phone it rang again. Another unknown number.
"Hello?"
"Hi, this is Bill Jenkins. Is this the reporter?"
By the time five o'clock had rolled around she'd spoken to five members of Stockard's team, two baseball players and a basketball player.
The very last call had been from a female tennis star.
She stared at her phone. She knew in her heart that Stockard had done this for her.
He'd given her a story.
Heck, he'd given her a career.
It didn't mean anything really. It didn't mean he wanted to be with her. It just meant that he was a really, really nice guy.
She swallowed back sudden tears and got to work.
8.
Stockard stared up at the run down row house. Veronica lived there. He hadn't called. He didn't want to give her a chance to give him the brush off.
He was in Queens at 7 am on a Sunday morning. But not a very nice part of Queens. There was graffiti and a group of young men loitering in front of the corner bodega. He had parked his car slightly down the block, not wanting to tip her off.
One of the first rules of war was to take your enemy by surprise whenever possible.
He grinned and pressed the buzzer for apartment 3. The top floor. Of course she lived on the top floor of a walk up.
Why should anything about this be easy?
"Who is it?"
"It's Stockard Manning. I'm looking for Veronica."
Silence.
"Hold on."
About five minutes passed before Veronica's face appeared through the glass window beside the door. Her eyes were wide as she pulled open the door.
"Hey."
"What are you doing here Stockard?"
"I wanted to see you."
She rolled her eyes at him.
"What for?"
He grinned at her.
"I like seeing you."
"Stockard… this isn't going to work. So why pretend?"
"Who says?"
"Because you are who you are and I'm just… me."
"So?"
"So you can date any woman in New York City. What do you want with me?"
"I told you. I like you."
She sighed heavily. Her exasperation was palpable.
"You took off on me, remember?"
"The whole thing was a mistake."
"It didn't feel like a mistake to me."
She stepped outside onto the stoop, wrapping her cardigan around her.
"Look, I know what you did. I really appreciate it. You're a good guy. But I don't owe you anything."
"I know. How about breakfast?"
"I have to get changed."
He glanced down at her legs and smiled. Polka dot pajamas. How cute.
"I can wait."
*********
Veronica tried to ignore the crowd of people forming outside the diner. Stockard seemed blissfully unaware of the crowd as they stared in at their booth in the window of the diner.
"Should we switch seats?"
"What for?"
She shook her head at him while someone snapped a picture. They didn't get a lot of celebrities in this neighborhood. She was starting to get a little worried that they wouldn't be able to leave.
More people were pulling out their camera phones.
Great.
She could tell her friends and family it was just an interview. Unfortunately Stockard was staring at her like he was on a date. A very, very good date.
He looked besotted to be honest.
The warm looks he was giving her were making her feel hot and cold all over.
If she was honest with herself, he was making her as nervous as heck. And judging from the cat calls they were getting, everyone else was noticing too.
"What's wrong?"
"I, uh, this is very- you do realize we are going to be in the tabloids tomorrow right?"
He shrugged.
"You'll get used to it."
She narrowed her eyes at him.
"Oh I will, will I?"
"Uh huh."
"So you've decided we are going to be a thing."
"Uh huh."
"Do I have any say in the matter?"
His eyes dropped to her mouth. His lips parted slightly. His hooded eyes were so intense, she felt like he was kissing her.
"What are you- oh!"
His eyes dipped lower, skimming over her body. She could feel his gaze on her as it brushed over her breasts. Then he was staring through the table at her- between her- oh my goodness!
The man licked his lips. He actually licked them like a cartoon wolf getting ready to eat a chicken!
"Stockard…"
His eyes snapped back to her face. He looked completely innocent. Never mind that she felt like a limp rag. He'd completely distracted her from what she had been going to say.
What had she been saying anyway?
"Can I take your order?"
"Veronica?"
"Oh- I'll have the omelette. Greek."
The waitress nodded and turned to Stockard.
"The same. And a coffee. I
assume you have good strong coffee?"
"We do."
"Great, thanks."
He leaned his cheek on his fist and let his eyes slide over her again. For the rest of the meal he did this periodically, until she was quivering with desire. He knew what he was doing to her too. They'd talked a little, but she couldn't be sure what exactly they'd said. It literally could have been anything.
The man had put a spell on her.
He dispersed the crowd outside the diner with a friendly wave and a 'see you later' as they left. She would have wondered how he did that exactly
She walked him in a daze, with Stockard talking to her in a low voice about all the things he'd like to do to her. Her pulse was racing by the time they got to her place.
There was no use fighting it now.
She wanted him.
Badly.
She stood on her front stoop staring at his gorgeous, arrogant face. He brushed her hair back and ran a thumb over her cheek. Then he grinned at her.
"See you on Tuesday."
"What?"
"I said, I will see you on Tuesday. For dinner."
He kissed her lips softly. She leaned into the kiss, whimpering with frustrated desire. Then he put his hand on her shoulders and lifted his lips from hers. He stared down at her for a second and then stepped away, pulling back too soon.
Leaving her wanting more.
Much, much more.
And then he left.
9.
Stockard hummed to himself while he chopped vegetables. In a little while he would be cooking for Veronica. They would eat, and then he would take her to bed. This time, he wasn't going to fall asleep after the first time. Maybe after the third…
He grinned and chopped some fresh parsley.
The doorbell rang.
He turned to stare at the front door. He was half dressed and freshly showered. He'd sent a car to pick her up but he wasn't expecting her for a half an hour. Was Veronica here early?
He debated about putting a shirt on and decided against it. He might as well give the woman what she wanted.
Him.
He opened the door and froze.
It was the blond woman who'd renovated his apartment for him a couple of years ago. Barbara something. She was wearing a trench coat and what looked like 5 inch stilettos.
"Hello Stockard."
"This isn't really a good time Barbara."
"Oh so you do remember my name after all."
She brushed past him and took a look around the apartment. He sighed heavily and left the door open. He wanted to get rid of her as quickly as possible.
"What do you want?"
She tossed some tabloids onto the kitchen counter. The covers all had pictures of Veronica and him at the diner. One had a picture of him kissing her on her front stoop. He sighed.
"So?"
"I see you are dating. During the season. So, was all that just a line to get rid of me?"
He shrugged.
"Things have changed."
"Great. So what are we having for dinner?"
"Nothing."
She smiled at him and unfastened her trench coat.
"Okay, we can go straight for dessert."
She pulled it open. She was wearing the most vulgar display of lingerie he'd seen in his life. Her body was slammin. But she left him absolutely cold.
"Barbara, you have to leave. Now."
He grabbed her arm and started to propel her toward the front door. As he tried to thrust her through it he saw her.
Veronica was watching the whole thing.
Her eyes were wide with surprise and- hurt.
He'd hurt her.
Damn it!
"Veronica- wait!"
She turned and ran down the hallway. She was in the elevator with the door closing before he could stop her. Her eyes were full of tears.
"God damn it!"
He could hear Barbara saying something behind him. He ignored her and headed for the stairs. Thirty flights. There was no way he could catch her- but he had to try. He'd get off on 15 and get the elevator the rest of the way down. It was his only chance.
He took the stairs two at a time, barefoot. He was mentally timing how long the elevator would take to reach the lobby. He ran through the fire exit on whatever floor he happened to be on and pushed the button.
"Come on come on come on!"
He rode down, cursing the whole way. Once he was in the lobby he started running again.
"Which way did she go?"
The doorman pointed to the left.
"Mr. Manning, you aren't wearing any shoes!"
He ran past the doorman, shouting.
"Call the police. There's a naked blond on the thirtieth floor. She's harassing me."
Stockard ran down the street toward the subway station. He assumed that's where she went. The limo he'd sent had already departed.
Running shirtless through the streets of lower Manhattan he was attracting a lot of stares. But he didn't care.
He just wished she hadn't run off like that.
He wished he had a phone.
He ran down the stairs to the subway platform, jumping over the turnstile. He ran through the filthy station in his bare feet calling her name.
But she was gone.
**********
Veronica stared at her phone. She knew she didn't have long to pack.
He was coming.
Why he was bothering she had no idea. She'd caught him as the dog he was. It was too bad really. But at the same time she was relieved.
Maybe he just didn't like to lose.
He'd been texting her all day. Ever since she'd caught him with a half naked blond. Of course that was his type. Cheap, overly sexualized, easy.
The woman had looked like a stripper. Or worse.
Veronica tossed her clothes into a bag along with her lap top. She had gotten some great news just last night. The AP was giving her a shot as an international liaison. She'd already handed in her assignment and a letter of resignation.
Her mind was made up. She was just going to leave a little ahead of schedule.
She called the airport and asked if they could switch her flight. They could. Tonight at midnight she'd be on a plane to Paris.
It was a great assignment. A guaranteed work visa in a beautiful city. And with all the labor disputes happening there, there was a lot to write about.
It was a fresh start.
Lord knows, she needed one.
Her phone buzzed again. It was Stockard blathering on about how if she would only listen to him, he could explain.
She snorted and looked around. She'd packed as much as she could. In a rare show of helpfulness, her roommate had agreed to box and ship the rest of her things to her. The books and family photos she kept on her dresser. Other than her clothes, that's all she had in this world.
Her faith, her education and her two good feet.
It was going to have to be enough.
She zipped up her bag and walked out without a backward glance.
10.
Stockard stared around her crummy little bedroom in her crummy little apartment. She'd left. For Europe apparently.
He could chase her to the airport. In fact, he'd been on the verge of it. But he didn't want to freak her out.
He'd already done a good enough job of that.
A picture of Veronica caught his eye. He picked it up. She was in her cap and gown at Graduation with an older woman standing proudly by her side. He wondered who it was.
He wanted to know all about her he realized.
He wanted her.
For keeps.
The wheels in his mind were spinning rapidly.
His game was on Thursday. Then he had a few days off before the next game, that's IF they were still in the running for the Superbowl.
At the moment, he almost didn't care.
That gave him only one day to put his plans into motion. The first thing he needed was to figure ou
t where the hell she was. After that he needed a ticket, a hotel room and a lot of luck.
Veronica had told him she didn't believe in luck. She believed in hard work and the grace of God.
He decided he would do it her way this time.
He took the photograph of her as he climbed back into the limo waiting outside.
And then he did something so out of character it would have shocked his own Grannie.
Stockard prayed.
**********
Veronica carried the bag of groceries up the stairs to her flat. It was tiny but it was hers. The human resource department had helped her score a furnished sublet in the center of Paris. And with her new pay grade, she could actually afford it.
It was a studio but that didn't matter. It was just her after all. For the first time in her life, that didn't seem like a good thing.
Paris was the city of lights after all.
She sighed and put her groceries away. Cheese, bread, a container of olives, a few fresh veggies. It was easy to feed oneself well in Paris. She was learning to enjoy the simple things.
She put the flowers she'd gotten impulsively into an empty jar on the small table by the window. She ate there every night. Alone.
The last thing in the bag was an inexpensive bottle of red table wine. She rarely drank but having a glass of wine at night reminded her of him.
Stockard.
Thinking of him filled her with a sweet regret. And she couldn't not think of him. He was in her blood.
She'd listened to all his messages. She believed him, not that it mattered. She was here, and he was in New York.
She'd watched his game, her heart in her throat every time he took a hit.
It was her fault for running out on him. She knew that now. He'd finally stopped calling and texting. She wondered if he would even care if she tried to contact him now. She should.
If only to apologize. To explain.
It was hard for her to trust people. But she trusted him.
Fat lot of good it did her.
She lit a candle and took out a plate and a knife. Cheese, bread and wine. The dinner of poor Parisians for centuries. She had to hand it to them, it really filled you up.