by Mel Curtis
Like he had on Saturday. Understanding, Amber nodded.
Evan dribbled past without a glance Amber’s way.
Which was fine with Amber. When it came to team building, Amber didn’t have a clue. If Evan was open to her coaching him today, she’d have nothing to say about his game other than paraphrasing Zee’s comment. About other things she had plenty to say. But what guy wanted to hear a woman he’d had sexual relations with say he needed sex therapy?
Amber tossed her hair over her shoulder and then gave Zee her best smile. “Can you show me how to dribble?”
A girl had to be ready for anything, including another pick up game of streetball.
“I thought Zee was married.” Evan took a breather on the sidelines with Ren. He couldn’t look Amber in the eye, not after his below average execution the other day.
The Korean followed the direction of Evan’s gaze. “A man can be married yet not be dead. Amber Rule is a fine woman and if you do not want her, I will take her off your arms.”
“Hands,” Evan corrected, before chugging half a bottle of water.
Ren shrugged. “Any of my humble body parts will take her.”
“Better build up your stamina, buddy.” Amber had man-eater tendencies. Evan watched her out of the corner of his eye.
“I am already a Tantric Master. A disciple of Senge Tenzing.”
That got Evan’s full attention. “Like Sting? Able to have sex twenty-four hours straight?” The concept seemed unreachable given Evan’s recent performance. “Wait a minute. Who did you say?” Wasn’t Senge that the guy from Wicked Tantric? The one Amber saw last week?
Ren nodded, looking down on Evan from his seven foot perspective as he planted his mitt on Evan’s shoulder. “I can see you are interested, but from what I know of you, Oliver, you still see joining with a woman as only a physical attainment, not a spiritual union.”
Evan brushed Ren’s hand away. “Coming from a guy who chases after his Evening Star, that’s bullshit.”
“And that is why you Americans have twenty-minute sex once a week.” Ren loped out onto the court, leaving Evan standing on the sidelines with his recent two-in-five minute record haunting him.
“Zee better not make a move on her,” Evan mumbled as he bent to tie his shoe, glancing Amber’s way again. She was bouncing the ball chest high. Third grade girls dribbled better than Amber.
“Oliver!” Spinks yelled. “Get over here.”
Evan looked up and nearly fell back on his ass. Jack Gordon stood a few feet away eyeballing him. Worse, Amber was staring at Evan, too.
“I assume,” Jack said icily when Evan ambled over. “That because Amber Rule is across the gym with Zee that you two have solved all your problems.”
Evan nodded.
“Why don’t you go out on the court and show me.”
Spinks blew on his whistle until Evan thought his eardrum might shatter. “Vickers, off. Oliver, on.”
Evan went out, sunk three baskets and stole the ball twice. Spinks blew his whistle. No one looked happy. Not the players, not Gordon or Spinks. Hell, not even Amber.
“You.” Jack pointed to Evan. And then at Amber. “And you. Outside.”
“Come on, ladies, back to work.” Spinks blew his whistle again.
Evan leaned against the lobby wall. Amber stood with her fingers tucked in the back pockets of her jeans. Her auburn hair was a cascade of loose curls begging for his touch.
Jack paced. “What part of team do the two of you not understand?”
“My shots went in,” Evan said sullenly.
“You have crappy shot selection. First Ren Du was all over your back, yet you turned and sent up a shot without looking at the basket.”
“It went in.” Evan always knew where he was in relation to the basket. And the day Ren blocked Evan’s shot was the day he’d take the seven-footer’s sex advice.
“And then Jablone was in your face. He could have stuffed you.”
But Evan had drawn Jablone sideways with a pump fake and then straightened into a jump shot. “It went in.” His father had drilled him to take the first shot if there was even a tiny opening in the defense.
“But Antoine was just about to get wide open. It was the safer shot.”
“It went – ”
“I know. I know. It went in. But what happens when you get cold? What happens when nothing you make goes in?”
“I’m not going to let you down again,” Evan lied. No one could control slumps or bad games.
“Everybody lets me down.” Jack scowled at Amber. “Do you even understand what’s going on here?”
Amber was clueless when it came to basketball. Gordon was going to chew her up and spit her out. Evan stopped himself from taking a step closer to her. She’d get what she deserved.
Amber swallowed before answering. “Yes, sir. I do.”
Evan flinched. Here it comes.
Jack’s thunderous frown was just a precursor to the storm. “And…”
“He plays streetball. With his speed he gets ahead of the offense so he tries to score because he can do it alone,” Amber said, surprising both men. “That can work to your advantage when he’s hot.”
There was an uncomfortable silence where Jack clenched his jaw and looked like he wanted to punch someone. But he only nodded tightly at Amber and said, “Fix it. Spend more time with Oliver. Give him extra sessions. Whatever you need, he’ll do.”
Evan’s arms hung stiffly at his sides as if waiting for one of them to pull his strings and make him dance. The sweat drying on his skin gave him a chill.
Amber chewed on her lip. “But – ”
“Do it.” Jack stalked down the hall toward his office.
“I thought you didn’t know anything about basketball.” Evan’s voice sounded cold and oddly like his father’s. The scar on his right leg throbbed and Evan wanted to throw up. Instead he clenched his fists with knuckle popping intensity.
“I’m learning.” Amber stepped closer, searching his face. “Are you all ri– ”
“Learning from Zee?”
She drew back. “Mostly from you.”
“Just because I let you play with me?” It was the wrong thing to say because she’d played with him all right and neither one of them had won, but Evan was relieved she hadn’t credited Zee specifically. He wiped the sweat from his forehead.
“Play with you? It’s more like you wanted a fan in the middle of the court.” Amber skipped down the hallway and back pretending to dribble, looking ridiculous in her tight jeans and heels.
Yeah. Ridiculously sexy.
“Hey, watch me fly past you. I’m the great Evan Oliver. Whoop-de-frickin’-do.”
“I take it you aren’t happy with me.” Which was unfair. Evan was the one being prodded like a science experiment.
She stopped a few feet away, gazing up at Evan steadily as she considered his words.
It was one of the things that intrigued him about her. Amber didn’t look at Evan as if he was a disappointment or like he was a pompous ass she needed something from. Amber looked at Evan as if he was just another guy. So why was that so sexy?
“You didn’t give me a chance,” she chastised gently.
“We’re not talking about the game now are we?” He’d never live his lack of control down.
Amber tossed her hands in the air and Evan realized the reason she’d kept her hands behind her, the reason she sucked at dribbling, was because the heels of her palms were streaked with angry red scabs from her fall in their streetball game. And yet she’d been trying to dribble anyway. “You have no separation between what goes on in your head and what happens in your pants.”
“Yeah, well, if you were a good life coach you’d have a program for that.”
The door to the practice facility burst open. “Oliver, quit making time with your girlfriend and get your ass back in here.” Spinks let the door slam behind him.
Everyone wanted him to do something their way.
> “Evan, wait. You’re upset.” Amber gently tugged his practice jersey once before pulling back as if burned. A wise move considering what usually happened when they touched each other.
“Yeah, so?”
“The world isn’t against you. I know it sometimes seems it’s against me.” Amber tried to laugh. Failed. Cleared her throat. “I didn’t…I didn’t like you much when we played that game the other day. And if I didn’t, then your team…they, ah – ”
“They hate me.” He’d known this. But he’d never said it out loud. Who would he have to say it to?
“Just while you’re playing.” Amber’s smile was weak. They both knew she was lying.
“Or maybe all the time.” He shouldn’t care. He didn’t care.
But when Evan returned to the court Coach Spinks didn’t seem to yell at him as much.
Evan didn’t want to think about why.
Chapter 25
“Oliver, this is your lucky day.” Spinks slapped Evan on his bare shoulder in the locker room. “Brock Hamilton wants to interview you. Finish up here and get your ass to the media room.”
Just what Evan needed. “I don’t – ”
“Yes, you do. He’s got the boss’ approval. Be there.”
The other players laughed. Taped interviews usually involved answering bogus questions like how did you get your nickname or what do you like about the closest holiday. They’d replay the interviews on the JumboTron during the game and the audio on the radio broadcasts, making you look like a fool. Of course, that was probably Brock’s goal.
“Hey! Where are you going?” Amber trailed after Evan a few minutes later in the hallway. Her voice rose cheerfully. “We have work to do. Journaling. Meditation. And a whole bunch of other fun stuff.”
“Don’t be so chipper.”
“Why not?”
Evan turned to face Amber, pausing to enjoy the way her body swayed provocatively as she walked, despite her arms crossed protectively over her chest. “First off, you sound like a kindergarten teacher and I’m not in kindergarten. Second, I’m not sure you know what the hell you’re doing, so there’s no way I’m turning myself over to you. And third, I have an interview with the Flash Network so I can’t come out and play.”
“Nervous about the interview, are you?” Her lips were a pale pink, nearly bare of lipstick, just the way he liked them. “Brock is a nice guy.”
“In an alternative universe.” As punishment for supporting the enemy, Evan tugged Amber against him and kissed her silent. Maybe he’d get lucky and Jack would walk down the hall and find them.
Amber had an interesting way of fighting. She speared her fingers through his hair and kissed him back. Game on.
Or maybe Evan could find a broom closet and they could work on his control.
“Hey, guys.” Brock’s voice.
Amber leapt back and glared at Evan. “That’s what you get for trying to manipulate me. Don’t do that again.”
Evan needed to readjust his package, but he’d be damned if he’d stoop to that in front of Brock. He captured an auburn curl and lowered his voice suggestively. “Don’t act like you enjoyed it so much and maybe I won’t.”
She stuck her perky nose in the air and sashayed into the media room with that hypnotic hip sway. He’d meant to torture Amber and instead Evan was the one in pain.
Shaking his head, Brock returned to the media room, his shiner the faded shade of envy.
Evan followed at a snail’s pace, trying to down shift. Inside, Brock, Pablo and some other guy fiddled with wires, microphones and equipment.
“Don’t think she’ll protect you,” Brock said as he adjusted a microphone in front of Evan.
“Who said I need protection?”
“You should be afraid,” Brock deadpanned. “Very afraid.”
Evan scoffed. He was starting to regret helping Brock at Starbucks.
“We’re here today with Evan Oliver, number thirty-five, the newest member of the Flash, at small forward,” Pablo began in a lightly accented voice. He was a little guy with a big smile. “Welcome, Evan.”
“Thanks for having me.”
“I thought we’d give our fans a glimpse into how you got here.” Pablo glanced at his notes. “Why don’t you start with your college experience?”
“I played at UCLA.”
Brock leaned forward, eyes sharply on Evan. “Tell us about that team you were on your junior year.”
Why don’t you spill your guts, Hamilton? You were on the team too, you jackass.
Amber stepped into Evan’s line of vision, a calming smile gracing her features.
Evan took a breath. He’d survived difficult interviews before. “I was on the team with you, Brock. You were our superstar center and quite the ladies man.”
Brock’s eyes narrowed. “But you were among the top players in Division One that year. Most of the media claimed you carried that UCLA team. Looking back, what was your feeling about your teammates’ skill?”
“They were a good group of guys with a lot of heart.” More than Evan had.
“So was it the Chaos Offense you created that got you wins? Or was your teammates’ talent equal to yours?” Brock was intent on digging a deep dirty hole and tossing Evan to the bottom.
Evan wasn’t going to give Brock the pleasure. “Whatever it was, we were good enough to get into the Final Four. As I recall, you scored twenty points in the Championship game.”
“When you didn’t show up for your senior year UCLA didn’t make the playoffs. And none of the other players were drafted into the NBA,” Brock pointed out.
“That doesn’t mean anything. If they wanted to, they could have worked their way in without the draft.”
Smile wavering, Amber watched the pair intently.
Brock changed tactics. “You were injured getting your team to that championship game. What was the injury?”
“I scrambled for a loose ball in the last minutes of the first game of the Final Four and bruised my ACL.” Evan resisted rubbing his knee.
“Looking back, was it the right choice to sit out the championship game?”
That was the question that had plagued Evan for years.
“You’ve made your point,” his father shouted. “What good will playing this game do? You could ruin your knee forever. You may as well apply for water boy in the NBA.”
“Could you have played?” Brock pressed.
“I wanted to play,” Evan said evasively, unable to look at Amber.
Brock seemed to realize he’d come to another dead end and switched topics again. “You never got on the court in Seattle, the team that drafted you in the first round. You were put on the injured reserve list. There were rumors that you were involved in a gang fight and got shot.”
“You’re not taking me to Seattle? Your own father? I made you who you are – ”
“I need a business manager and a lawyer. This is the NBA.” What would it look like if Evan showed up with his alcoholic dad as part of his posse?
“So now you’re too good for me.” Drunker than usual, Evan’s father climbed unsteadily into his truck outside a bar in Bakersfield.
“I didn’t say that.” Evan watched a car drive past, nearly missing the glint of a gun barrel in the moonlight.
“I brought you into this world and I can – ”
“That allegation was never proven,” Evan said hollowly, as sweat popped out on his brow and the round scar in his right thigh prickled.
“I’m not sure this is appropriate pre-game material,” Amber said in her perky voice. Evan wanted to kiss her and then slug Brock. “Why don’t you talk about some of Evan’s successes? He played overseas and on some streetball team.”
Some streetball team? Evan revised the kissing part to spanking.
“Dude, this is pretty heavy. I think she’s right,” Pablo seconded the motion. “I’ve got some questions for Evan that seems more what the boss wants. Why don’t we start with your nickname? Why do they call you
the Candy Man?”
When Brock slid him a sideways glance, Evan bared his teeth in what few would call a smile.
Chapter 26
“Don’t touch the car,” Evan grumbled. What kind of fool sat on the ground in a parking lot, back against a Ferrari?
With her cell phone held to her ear, Amber pushed up from Evan’s fender, her free arm wrapped around her waist protectively. Her red hair glinted in the midday sunlight. Just the sight of her made Evan want to touch her. He hated how Amber made him want to lose control.
Still shaken from Brock’s interrogation, Evan wasn’t feeling up to sparring with Amber or trusting himself to a one-and-done kiss off, since that had failed earlier.
But then Evan realized he had a fail-safe kiss disruptor in his arsenal. A member of the paparazzi was waiting, too. Fifty feet away on the opposite side of the parking lot fence a man with a red baseball cap on backwards hid his face behind a long black camera lens. This was perfect. All Evan had to do was kiss Amber now, in full view of the camera. She’d freak and disappear, because undoubtedly she knew the guy was there. Why else would she be hiding behind his car?
Evan took a step toward her. This was where he got rid of Amber with a very public display of lust. But as Evan brought Amber into his sights, her composure dropped. Her eyes darted to the photographer and back. She swallowed thickly before hand cranking that worry-free smile of hers back up.
And then Amber gave Evan a very non-adversarial perusal, from his black Nike’s and basketball shorts to his black AND1 T-shirt. It was the kind of stroking glance one lover gave to another.
Evan froze.
“Not to worry.” Amber smiled into her phone, tossing one long auburn tress over her shoulder with her free hand. “We’re going to lunch.”
“I hope that’s a girlfriend you’re talking to because we aren’t going to lunch.” Evan scowled, pissed at being cornered earlier by Brock, pissed by Amber’s perky rescue and pissed again because he was such a pussy that he couldn’t ruin Amber’s reputation. Yep, that was his dick tap dancing in his pants at Amber’s presence. Real men used the top brain, not the one in the trunk.