by Mel Curtis
“Get the hell out! Get out of my bank account, my business and my life!”
The words hung between them, swallowed only when the crowd applauded again, presumably when Oliver scored.
Vivien flew out of the box. She crashed into a group of hungry fans clogging the Forum’s bright corridors before flinging herself outside and into the parking lot, blinded by tears. Vivien hadn’t cried when she left Jack or when she filed for divorce.
But this was different.
He’d never outright rejected her before.
Her marriage was over.
“I suppose you got the same message I did.”
“Evan?” Amber nearly dropped her bowl of strawberry chocolate chunk ice cream. “How did you get my number?”
“From Jack,” Evan snapped. “Who else?”
She’d suspected Blue and was relieved to find she hadn’t been sold out by her brother.
Amber perched on the couch in the media room, muted the Katherine Hepburn movie marathon, currently playing Bringing Up Baby, and poked at her ice cream, waiting for Evan to divulge the reason for his late night call. She was annoyed to realize she was just like the strawberry chocolate chunk – poised to melt.
She’d thought watching Evan play would be cathartic, that following his physical mastery out on the court would squelch the tenuous residual connection they’d created that night at Tingle. Wrong-O. Amber’s mind may want to erase the memory of Evan’s touch, but her body recognized Evan’s voice, recalling the way he’d jump-started repressed chakras.
Amber rolled the cold bowl against her forehead, trying to cool off.
“You’re going to be there tomorrow morning, aren’t you?” he demanded finally.
“Jack’s office. Ten o’clock.” Amber tried to sound chipper. Jack had demanded she come alone, so she hadn’t told Blue about the meeting, which only added to her nervousness and made it imperative she have a bowl of ice cream to fortify her for tomorrow.
“Don’t try to make this more than it is.” His words were a low growl that hung between them.
“The coaching?”
Silence.
“Or the other thing?” The sexual chemistry between them.
Evan bellowed into the phone. “Any of it! All of it! I don’t answer to anyone!”
“You’re angry? At me?” Amber huffed. “Are you worried about your reputation? Do those pictures of us hurt your macho image?”
“Macho? Nobody says macho anymore.”
“I can use any word I want to.” Amber turned and stared at the words carved into the fireplace mantel: Choose, Voice, Trust, Welcome. “I have chosen to be a life coach and I’m telling you I’m going to make your game better. And you had better trust me when I say that I can feel success, superstud. I’m on my way. You had a great game tonight.” And she had no idea why that pissed Jack off. “But I can feel success easier than you can feel any of your silly aspirations to play in the Superbowl – ”
“There is no Superbowl in basketball! How can you not know that? Were you raised by wolves?”
Amber gnashed her teeth. “Why did you call?”
“What?”
“Why did you call?”
“You can’t give up on an argument. I said you were raised by wolves. Now you say – ”
Amber hung up. What was she supposed to do? There was very little wiggle room when it came to Evan Oliver.
Chapter 19
L.A. Happenings by Lyle Lincoln
…Was anyone at the Flash game last night? There was something for everyone with nearly naked cheerleaders, romance between hottie Evan Oliver and Amber Rule, and a win. Looks like this local team has more to offer than a reality show. See you courtside!
“Do you know why you’re here this morning, Oliver?” Jack Gordon rocked the black leather chair behind his desk with controlled precision. His hands were steepled on his chest, but Evan had the feeling he’d much rather have them wrapped around Evan’s throat…or Amber’s.
Still, Evan refused to bow to Jack Gordon’s will by attempting to answer a question that was obviously a trap. Nor did he acknowledge Amber, whose hair had all the life straightened out of it and whose foot bounced in a high heel like a pogo stick on crack. It was amazing she could move at all considering she was tied up in a tight gray knee-length skirt topped with a blue silk wraparound blouse knotted at her waist. Was this her idea of a chastity belt?
The Flash had won last night and immediately afterward Evan had been told his presence was requested in Jack’s office this morning. Surprise, surprise. Amber got the same message.
Jack’s stare was searing. “You’re here because you’re an asshole. An arrogant, ego centric asshole who can win with monkeys on the court.”
Name calling was something Evan was used to. It was a part of sports and prior to that it had been a part of his home life.
Amber wasn’t used to it. Her foot stopped moving.
“You’re here because I pay you an obscene amount of money to play basketball.”
Jack was just stating facts now. Nothing to get upset about.
“If Zee Johnson hadn’t gotten injured last month I never would have picked up your contract.”
Take the verbal abuse like a man. Evan’s fist clenched so tight his knuckles cracked. “I’m the best player you’ve got.”
“I don’t need one good player. I need five. Or at least one player who doesn’t hog the ball and make the rest of the team look like girls. I need somebody who – ”
“Trade me, damn it.” Evan didn’t owe allegiance to anyone but himself. He’d spent two years in limbo because the Supersonics wouldn’t release him from his contract to play in the NBA in the United States. So he’d played in the European league and then tried out for the AND1 Streetball team. Only then, when they thought Evan wasn’t worth anything, did the Supersonics (now the Oklahoma Thunder) put his NBA rights on the market. The Flash was just a backdoor into the NBA system. Now that Evan’s game was coming around he was just a trade away from legitimacy.
Jack’s eyes narrowed as he came to his feet. “I’m NOT trading you.”
Amber stood with a mumbled, “I’ll just wait outside.”
“Sit.” Jack towered above his desk, breathing hard.
She sat, prim as a school girl with her legs clamped at the knees and her hands clasped.
“Obviously, a pissing match between us will only result in excess piss.” Jack pushed his chair out of the way so he could pace behind the desk. “Do either of you know how much money it takes to run a successful NBA franchise?”
Evan shrugged, carefully avoiding looking at Amber. What had he expected when he came to the Flash? A chance. That’s all. Worst case? His Flash contract would be bought out early when Jack cut him or if it wasn’t renewed and he didn’t get traded, he’d pick himself up and find a spot somewhere. Playing in the NBA was just a dream. Lots of people didn’t live up to their dreams.
“How much?” Amber asked. “How much does it take to run a franchise?”
“Too damn much when your wife is divorcing you.” Jack cocked his fist as if about to slug somebody. “But I wasn’t going to let that stop me. NBA franchises, expansion or otherwise, don’t come up for sale everyday. So I put together a team, like the friggin’ Bad News Bears, because I could barely scrape up enough money to pay the big salaries.” Jack honed in on Evan. “But I had an idea. Years ago I saw a brilliant college student play at UCLA.”
“This guy made the rest of his team shine,” Jack continued, as if talking about someone honorable and deserving, not someone who deserted his team. “He dished the ball when he didn’t have the shot, he rebounded, he led the players on the court and off. I went looking for a guy like that and found Zee Johnson. And we did okay last year and would have done okay this year until Zee blew out his knee.”
Evan drew his feet beneath him reflexively, as if doing so protected his knees.
“Without Zee, I needed that guy, the team leader. So I we
nt looking again and found the guard I’d seen play at UCLA. That player took a team with sub par talent, gave them heart and led them to the Final Four.” Jack stared at Evan, whose stomach roiled.
“We didn’t win,” Evan said. Heart didn’t always trump talent and the disappointment was crushing. He’d injured his knee getting to the Final Four and hadn’t played in the championship game. After all these years you’d think people would have forgotten.
“But you came damn close. I’m just steps away from bankruptcy and I need that guy from UCLA.” Jack sighed in defeat. “I need that UCLA player.”
That isn’t me. Not anymore.. He’s going to fire me. Take it like a man.
“And he’s here. In this room.” Jack nodded toward Evan, who shook his head. “Maybe if you see it for yourself, you’ll believe.” Jack punched a few buttons on a remote. The TV in the corner hummed into life and the Flash game against the Warriors replayed.
Eyes glazed, Evan missed a pass and the crowd sounded like they wanted to rip him to shreds. Shit. He looked doped up. Then Amber ran into view behind the team bench, auburn hair sailing in her wake. It took a few moments for the crash-and-slide action to occur. Evan stiffened as he relived their kiss onscreen, which only reminded him how hot and wet he could make her, how hard she could make him.
Hand over her mouth, Amber’s face grew beet red. Was she remembering how he’d taken her with one finger? How good his hands felt on her body? Or had he put Amber so firmly in her place she only relived it the way he wanted her to see it? As a demeaning event?
“That’s enough,” Evan said.
Jack raised one dark eyebrow. “There’s more.”
On court, a wide-awake Evan took an inbounded pass and directed the team to run the offense. Amazingly, the team obeyed. Moments later, Evan dodged free of his defender, received a beautiful pass and sent a textbook shot up for a clean three-pointer. On-screen Evan grinned, searched the crowd and then barreled down the court, his face deadened once more. The TV blinked off.
Jack leaned on the corner of his desk. “There’s something to this.”
“She’s not the reason for – ”
“Your great game last night?” Jack cut him off. “I think she is. But something happened at half time.”
“She pissed me off.”
“Uhm, excuse me.” Amber raised her hand as if she were in school. “If you’re on the brink of bankruptcy, how were you planning to pay the Dooley Foundation?”
Jack drew himself up, fire and brimstone sparking from every pore. “Because if you did your job, I wouldn’t be in financial trouble. If Evan plays better and the team plays better we’ll win games and sell more tickets and merchandise.”
Evan could see Amber was going to say something that would really send Jack over the edge. Jack could see it, too. He lowered his chin to his chest as if bracing for a blow.
Evan wasn’t going to defend Amber. Let her see first hand how the big boys did business.
Amber took a deep breath.
“You don’t honestly believe she’s going to coach me to a superior level of play,” Evan blurted, not because Amber needed saving but because he needed to clear the air.
“Yes, I do. Remember you have an exploding offer with a three week, six win timer. That’s how long you have to turn your game around, Oliver.” Jack pinned him with a glare before turning it back on Amber. “And if we get to the playoffs the broadcast rights will make us solvent and I’ll sign a long term deal with the Dooley Foundation. Otherwise no contract will be signed with either of you.”
“She’ll never influence my game.” The only thing Amber had influence over was his libido. Hello? The Amber Alert was still on.
“Maybe not. But you’ll try her program regardless.”
“I think we should start with a goal setting session in my office,” Amber said with a brightness she didn’t feel, closing Jack’s office door behind them.
Greeting Evan with a bland smile as if he hadn’t touched Amber intimately and attempted to belittle her with an orgasmic gift was like walking across a sandy beach in August barefoot – she had to do it quickly to avoid the burn and stay on her feet. Only now Amber and Evan were stranded on that blistering beach together.
Much as it pained Amber to admit, the meeting could have gone much worse. Jack had to have seen both the Tingle picture and Lyle’s column. If Jack wasn’t desperate to win – and make some money – he’d probably already have washed his hands of Amber and Evan.
Amber had three weeks to accomplish the impossible and she hadn’t a clue how go about it. All she knew was she wasn’t going to give up. Twenty-one days. Twenty-one days was nothing compared to a year. Amber could do anything for three weeks, including convincing a Neanderthal athlete how to play better. Apparently, he was good in college. All she had to do was figure out what had changed since then and keep a good distance between his hot body and her meltable prone one.
Evan stared down at Amber in silence for a few seconds (during which time she resisted licking her lips), then he grunted and headed for the exit. Evan’s long legs cleared four or five feet of ground with each step. Amber’s pencil skirt wouldn’t allow her stride to cover more than eighteen inches. Why couldn’t she have worn this skirt to dinner with Evan the other night? There was barely room in it for her legs, much less a man’s hand.
With a short stride, Amber trotted unsteadily after Evan. Her four inch heeled black sandals hadn’t been made to go faster than a slow, sexy runway sashay. She didn’t feel so sexy now. “Where are you going?”
Evan walked faster.
Click-click. Click-click. She sounded like Mr. Jiggles coming down the hall.
Amber paused at the end of the corridor, panting. Running a business was tough on a body. How had her father done it all those years?
“You’ll never catch him in those heels.” Jack Gordon passed her.
He was right. Her father hadn’t made all that money wearing high heels. He’d made it in tennis shoes, baggy cargo pants and a wrinkled T-shirt.
Amber bent and slipped out of her heels. She hitched up her skirt and ran past Jack, bare feet slapping the floor. “Thanks for the tip.”
Ahead of her, Evan left the building.
“Please don’t let there be any photographers out there,” Amber muttered to herself before she burst out of the Flash’s practice facility into the bright California sunshine with Jack’s laughter echoing behind her, eerily similar to her father’s guffaws. Evan stood at the end of the walkway, waiting for a car to go by before he crossed into the parking lot.
“Evan, wait!”
His shoulders tensed, but he didn’t pause or look back. Instead, he headed for a gleaming red Ferrari.
She’d never reach him before he drove off. Still clutching her skirt, Amber ran down the sidewalk toward her Mercedes. Moments later the warm asphalt tore at the bottom of her feet. Miss Lila at the Golden Paradise Day Spa was going to be furious when she saw the condition of Amber’s soles. But Amber didn’t slow down until she was nearly upon her car and needed the key. Then she dropped her skirt and tripped, stubbing her toe.
“Ow-ow-ow. Stupid man. Big stupid man.” There would be blood. And Amber didn’t mean on her injured toe.
Her fingers closed around the key fob. She opened the car and threw herself and her shoes inside.
Evan peeled out of the parking lot going kill-me-fast. Amber wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of offing himself. That was her job. She sped after him, going I’m-not-going-to-kill-myself-but-I-am-speeding speed. Not two blocks down the road Amber caught a break. A motorcycle cop pulled Evan over.
Grinning, Amber parked at the curb behind the shiny black and white bike.
The policeman swiveled around to get a good look at her through his shades. One hand on his gun, he came back to her car. “May I help you, ma’am?”
Oops. Think fast. “Nope. I’m Evan Oliver’s therapist.” Everybody had a therapist in L.A. “I saw him leave and wa
nted to make sure he was okay. Was he doing something wrong?” She tried molding her face into a caring expression, but her cheeks stayed scrunched in a victorious grin because Evan hadn’t escaped.
“Mr. Oliver was going ninety in a forty-five.”
“It’s a good thing I’m keeping my eye on him then.”
Evan got out of his car, long legs carrying him efficiently to the sidewalk.
The cop eyed him suspiciously. “Is he on any medication?”
“No, but I do need to ensure we make our therapy session on time. You know these athletes – issues out the wazoo. There’s hardly a one of them who’s able to deal with the pressure of being a superstud without some kind of crutch. So a little leniency for his state of mind would be great.” Amber smiled reassuringly, like any legitimate therapist might.
The cop stared at Amber longer than she thought was necessary. “Stay in your car, ma’am.” The patrolman returned to Evan’s car, took Evan’s license and registration, and then contacted someone on his radio without another glance Amber’s way.
With a feeling of satisfaction, Amber applied a coat of lipstick. Finally someone was putting Evan Oliver in his place. All she needed to make the moment complete was for someone to report him to TMZ.
Duh.
Amber held her iPhone out the window and took a candid shot of the motorcycle cop writing a ticket while standing next to Evan. She emailed the photo and a brief description of the event to TMZ and posted a Facebook update. Then she reached for her fuzzy Tinkerbell driving slippers, and settled in to wait, still grinning.
Chapter 20
It took the cop forever to write Evan’s ticket, so he had plenty of time to watch Miss Good Luck Charm. She was primping and lining her lips for the kill. Well, he wasn’t falling for that Medusa again. Amber had to be some kind of villainess because he’d crushed her at Tingle the other night and here she was, back again.