Susan Phillips - It Had To Be You

He picked up her hand and trapped it between his. "Sharon, you're one of the nicest people I've ever known."

Her heart began to pound in dread. She'd been waiting for this moment for weeks, but now that it was here, she wasn't ready.

"As soon as I met you, I realized that you were everything I admired in a woman. You're sweet tempered and kind…"

He listed her virtues, but instead of being flattered, she wanted him to let her hand go. Everything about him was too big for her-his size, his reputation. He was too good looking, too strong, too rich. Why couldn't he be ordinary like her?

He rubbed her hand. "For a long time now, I've been playing around with the idea that the two of us might have a future together. I suspect you know that."

He was going to propose, and she would have to accept, because a woman would be insane to turn down a man like him. Life was getting ready to hand her the gold ring, so why did she feel as if she wanted to jump off the merry-go-round?

"… that's why it's so hard for me to tell you I've made a mistake." He looked down at her hand.

"A mistake?"

"I've been leading you toward something I thought was right, but I've only recently realized that it's not."

She sat up straighter in the tiny chair and permitted herself the first flicker of hope. "It isn't?"

"Sharon, I'm sorry. I've been doing a lot of thinking about the two of us in the past few days…"

"Yes?"

"This is all my fault. I'm old enough to know myself better and not make this kind of mistake."

She was afraid she'd expire from the suspense if he didn't get to the point soon.

"As special as you are, and you are special-As important as this relationship has been to me…" Once again, his voice trailed off.

"Dan, are you dumping me?"

He looked horrified. "God, no! It's nothing like that. We're friends. It's just-"

"You are! You're dumping me."

His face fell. "I feel like a heel for leading you on. I got caught up with you and the kids and everything. You'd think I would have figured out by now what I want out of life. I'm sorry I had to put you through my mid-life crisis."

"No, no, it's fine! Really. I understand." She could barely hold back her glee. "I guess I've known for a while that we weren't right for each other, but I didn't know how to talk to you about it. I'm glad you came to see me, and I appreciate you being honest with me. Most men wouldn't have put themselves through a confrontation. They would have just stopped calling."

"I couldn't do that."

"Of course you couldn't." She wasn't able to control the smile that was spreading over her face.

He began to look amused. "Don't you want to cry or hit me or something?"

She didn't always get his jokes, but she understood this one. "I guess you can tell that I'm a little bit relieved. I've been feeling sort of crazy these past few weeks. You're every woman's dream man, and I knew I should fall in love with you."

"But you didn't."

She shook her head.

"Sharon, I can't believe I'm going to do this, but I wasn't exactly expecting this conversation to turn out so well. Yesterday, a friend of mine asked me about you. At first I thought he was just curious because he knew you were my guest at the game on Sunday, but then I realized he wanted to ask you out himself."

"The one thing I've learned the past few months is that I'm not comfortable with athletes."

"Perfect."

She couldn't understand why he was smiling.

Still grinning, he rose from the small chair. "My friend's not much of an athlete. He plays basketball, but just between the two of us, he's pretty pathetic."

"I don't know."

"It's Ron McDermitt, our general manager."

"Ron?"

"Do you have a problem with me giving him your phone number?"

"Problem? Oh, no. No, I don't have a problem with that at all."

She must have sounded too eager because he started to chuckle. Leaning down, he gave her a peck on the cheek. "I have a feeling I'll be seeing you around."

He was still shaking his head with amusement as he walked out to his car. His life was starting all over again, and the future was no longer murky, but crystal clear. Now that he'd settled things with Sharon, he could tell Phoebe how much he loved her. The knowledge had been inside him for a long time, but he'd been too confused by the erotic smoke screen that surrounded her to realize it. His sweet, smart, gutsy little bimbo. He didn't think he'd ever forget the way she'd looked sitting on the side of his bed spilling out all her secrets. When she'd told him about her rape, he'd wanted to throw back his head and howl. She made him feel things that scared him to death.

He reached his car, and some of his euphoria faded. He'd survived childhood by learning not to love anyone too much, and the depth of emotion he felt for her terrified him a lot more than any defensive lineup he'd ever faced. He'd always held something back from women, but that wasn't going to be possible with her. Telling her how much he loved her would be the biggest risk he'd ever taken because there was always the chance that she'd throw those feelings right back in his face.

He reminded himself that beneath all of Phoebe's sassiness, she was the gentlest person he'd ever known. Surely there was no need for him to be afraid. Surely, his heart would be safe with her.

"Stop scowling, Darnell. You're scaring the photographers." Phoebe squeezed Darnell Pruitt's arm, a restraining action that was about as effective as trying to dent an iron bar. She nodded at one of the reporters. All week she'd been going through the motions of life, determined not to let anyone see her despair. Darnell had been good company tonight, and she was grateful he'd agreed to act as her escort on the tour of the corporate hospitality suites the night before the Dolphins game.

His eyes narrowed into vicious slits as he curled his lip at the Associated Press and spoke to her under his breath. "There's no way I'm letting anybody on the Dolphins' defense see a picture of me smilin'."

"Thank God there aren't any small children around."

"I don't know why you'd say that. I love kids." It was approaching his eleven o'clock curfew as they left the last party and made their way to the elevator. Darnell's courtship of Miss Charmaine Dodd wasn't progressing quickly enough to suit him, and he was hoping one of the Chicago papers would print a shot of him with Phoebe that would stir Miss Dodd to jealousy.

Phoebe had minimized her contact with Dan by waiting until that afternoon to fly into Miami, and she'd barely had time to change into her gown, an old one she'd bought for a Christmas party several years ago. It was a high-necked, tight-fitting sheath of shimmering gold lace worn over a flesh-colored body stocking. Darnell was wearing his tuxedo with a black silk shirt and gold bow tie that matched his diamond embellished tooth.

The elevator was empty when they reached it, allowing Darnell to return to the discussion he'd been more or less carrying on by himself ever since he'd come to her room three hours earlier. "I don't see why everybody thinks Captain Ahab is evil. Damn, if it wasn't for his leg, I'd have that man on my team any day. He doesn't let anything stand in his way, dig? Those are the kind of men win football games."

Moby Dick was just one of the books she'd recommended that Darnell had devoured in the past few months on his quest for self-improvement. It hadn't taken her long to realize that football might have made Darnell rich in material things, but the game had robbed him of the opportunity to use his intellect. Because Darnell was big, black, and strong, no one had bothered to discover that he also had a fine brain.

Darnell continued his praise of Captain Ahab all the way to the door of her hotel suite. She dreaded being alone with her thoughts and wished he didn't have a curfew so she could invite him inside. Instead, she wished him good luck with a peck on the cheek, "Crunch some bones for me tomorrow, Darnell."

He grinned and took off down the hallway in his size fifteen dress shoes. She sighed as she shut the door. Charmaine Dodd was a fool if she didn't snatch him up.

The telephone rang. She undipped one of her crystal earrings and sat down on the room's chintz couch to answer. "Hello."

"Where the hell have you been all week?"

The sharp crystal edges of her earring dug into her palm. She squeezed her eyes shut against the fresh wave of pain. "Hello to you, too, Coach."

"I stopped by the house on Tuesday night so we could see each other before I left, but Molly said you'd already gone to bed. You were giving interviews when I called the office on Thursday and Friday, and there was no answer at your house last night. I'm coming up to your room."

"No!" She bit her lip. "I'm tired. It's been a hard week."

"I need to see you."

It didn't take a crystal ball to figure out why. He wanted sex, a quick romp with the bimbo while his prospective bride remained untouched. "Not tonight."

He was clearly exasperated. "Look, give me your room number. We have to talk."

"Another time, Dan. I'm exhausted." She took a shaky breath. "Good luck tomorrow. I'll see you on the sidelines."

Her eyes glistened with tears as she set the receiver back on its cradle. She hung the "Do Not Disturb" sign on her door and walked over to the window where she stared out at the lights twinkling over Biscayne Bay.

She'd learned a lot from the players in the past few months. She'd learned that if you wanted to play the game, you had to be able to take the hits. That's what she was doing now. She was taking the hits. Dan had given her a killing blow, but she wasn't going to let him see the damage. Tomorrow, when she heard the music to "Ain't She Sweet?", she would hold her head high, wave to the crowd, and cheer on her team. No one would know that she was playing hurt.

The afternoon the Stars beat the Dolphins in the AFC semifinals, Ray Hardesty sat in the den with his.38 in his lap and wished he had enough whiskey left in the house to get drunk. In one week the Stars would be meeting the Portland Sabers in the AFC Championship. He tilted the bottle to his mouth and drained the last half inch, but even the fire in his throat didn't burn as hot as his rage. The Stars had never made it this far when Ray Junior was on the squad, and now they were going without him.

With a garbled, barely human sound, he flung the bottle across the room. It crashed into a trophy shelf and shattered, but he didn't worry about the noise because there was no one around to hear it. After a marriage that had lasted for three decades, Ellen had left him. She'd told him he'd been acting crazy and he needed to go to a psychiatrist or something. Fuck that. He didn't need to go to any psychiatrist. He just needed to get even with Dan Calebow.

After the Chargers game, he'd thought about killing Calebow. He'd eventually rejected the idea, not out of scruples, but because Calebow's death wouldn't necessarily guarantee a Stars' loss. He needed something foolproof. He wasn't rich enough to bribe anyone. Besides, the players made too much money these days to be susceptible, and most of the refs were honest. He wanted guarantees.

Phoebe Somerville appeared on the television screen. Last week he'd been hiding in the woods next to Calebow's house when the coach had brought her home. The bedroom lights had gone on less than half an hour later. He'd been spying on them for months now, borrowing cars so Calebow wouldn't spot him, and he knew their relationship was no longer casual. Although he'd filed the information away, until now he hadn't known what to do with it.

The idea that had been slowly taking shape in his mind was both complex and amazingly easy. He'd probably be caught, but by then it would be too late, and he didn't care what happened to him anyway. Only one thing mattered. Keeping the Stars from winning the AFC Championship.

On television, Phoebe Somerville's interview had ended and the cameras returned to the Stars' coach. Ray lifted his.38 and blew out the screen.

Dan had been through the media blitz that surrounds championship games as a player, but never as a coach, and he decided it was a good thing he'd learned to survive without sleep. Even so, by the time he freed up a few hours late Tuesday afternoon following the Stars' victory over the Dolphins, he was definitely punchy. He was also mad as hell at Phoebe.

As he pulled into her driveway and got out of his car, he decided the first thing he was going to do when he finally got hold of her was to kiss her. Then he was going to give her a piece of his mind. He knew exactly how busy she was, but so was he, and she could have squeezed in ten minutes sometime during the last two days to talk to him. Both of them had been under a lot of pressure, but that didn't mean they should shut each other out. She hadn't even flown home with the team Sunday night, something he'd been looking forward to. The last time he'd seen her was in the locker room after the game when Ron had brought her down to congratulate the team.