Playing for Love

by Mel Curtis

  Good. Cora had a lot to be nervous about.

  The disparaging look Evan gave Cora was similar to the one he’d aimed at Blue at Panache a few weeks ago.

  There was nothing more to say, but, “Good luck, Evan. I know you can win.”

  Evan caught Amber’s arm as she walked past and leaned close enough for her to smell his aftershave, sending waves of longing through her system that weakened her resolve. “Giving up?”

  Shutting her eyes briefly, Amber told herself giving Evan up was all for the best. “I know my limits.” One more day with Evan and she’d either capitulate to being his love slave or have him run over by a bus.

  “Pity. Your sister doesn’t look like she has any. Limits, that is.”

  “She was fired.” Cora laughed over the click of her heels as she approached them.

  “Is that true?” Evan practically lifted Amber off her feet as he dragged her back toward the parking lot. “You don’t need Jack Gordon.”

  A bit breathless, Amber she fought for her footing. “Unfortunately, I do. I have a sales quota?”

  Evan planted his feet and held onto Amber’s arms tighter. “Fuck your sales quota. I’ll support you.” Evan blinked and froze as if his offer surprised him as much as her.

  Anger T-boned Amber’s hopes and strengthened her backbone. “What a generous offer. I’m sure you want to put a time limit on it so I won’t be just another stone around your neck.”

  His jaw ticked. “Hey, it’s not as if you like your job.”

  “Actually, I do,” Amber admitted, surprising herself. “Everybody needs somebody to watch their back. That’s where I come in.” It’s what she’d been doing for Trina for years. It was what she did when she invested with people like Yerik and his family to launch Panache.

  Evan’s grip was viselike. “I don’t need anybody. I made it here on my own.” But his gray eyes lacked that steely determination she’d grown used to seeing, swiping the rug out from under Amber’s anger.

  Evan needed to be the outcast, the heartbroken, jaded man who didn’t trust anyone if he was going to be the biggest badass in the NBA tonight. Evan didn’t need a lover to share the details of his day with. She’d only drag him down. Evan needed to get on that plane and focus on the game he had to play. And Amber’s heart needed time away from him to heal.

  “Good luck, Evan,” Amber repeated in a voice that almost didn’t shake. “I know you can win two more games.” If Evan let go of all the crap he was carrying around in that heavy suitcase of his.

  Evan’s grip on Amber’s arms didn’t waiver as she began to pull away.

  Not wanting to start a tug of war in front of Cora, Amber placed her hand on Evan’s chest. “Remember what I said about feeling success. Right here. Go out and show them you really are a superstud.”

  Staring into her eyes, Evan didn’t say anything for a moment and Amber fully expected him to give her one of those hot kisses that left her weak in the knees. Instead, Evan let Amber go. “Yeah, find my happy place. Thank you, Jiminy Cricket.”

  Unable to watch Cora walk in with Evan, Amber ran to her car.

  Chapter 38

  They were down eight points at the half against the Warriors. True to form, as soon as the Flash hit the locker room Coach Spinks started trying to rip each team member a new asshole, starting with Evan.

  “They’re bitch slapping you, Oliver,” Spinks sputtered. “Are you gonna let those college sissy boys push you around all night?”

  Wiping his face with a towel, Evan shook his head instead of reminding Spinks he’d once been a college sissy boy, too. In reality, he was trying to shake off the guilt he felt over Amber losing her contract with the Flash. She’d been riding his shoulder all night, right above the tightness in his chest. You’d think Evan would have learned, would have walked right past Amber when he saw her waiting at the airport entrance. But no, he’d had to taunt her and then surprise, surprise. He’d fallen for her little sob story about how she’d been replaced with willowy, don’t muss my hair because I care more about appearances than I do about you, Cora. Amber’s sister sat behind the Flash’s bench, dead weight as far as Evan was concerned.

  And now instead of channeling a deadly force on the court, Evan was having trouble keeping his head in the game. The Flash was on the brink of losing, leaving Evan only three games in which to win two.

  Spinks turned on the other guards. Beside Evan, Ren sat with his head bowed, his lips moving as if he was mumbling a prayer. And then Ren put one hand to his chest and smiled.

  Evan elbowed Ren. “Don’t tell me you’re visiting your friggin’ happy place.”

  Without opening his eyes, Ren smiled and nodded, patting his chest. “I have chosen to believe I will score twenty-five points tonight. It is as Amber Rule says. I must trust myself and welcome the results in my heart as if my baskets had already happened.”

  Ren had fifteen points and Antoine had eight to Evan’s six. Evan knew he should be glad Ren’s game was finally coming together, but it would have been easier to find that feeling if Evan’s game hadn’t deserted him.

  “You and our Amber had a fight,” Ren went on, his head still bowed.

  “She didn’t understand why I slugged Jack Gordon.”

  “Then tell her,” Ren said, adding when Evan would have protested, “You do not realize yet that she is your Midnight Star, the one whose light guides you. A real man needs a strong woman for balance.”

  Evan clenched his fists. “I don’t need – ”

  “We all need,” Ren cut him off serenely, angling his head to look at Evan. “The water has to reach the shore for the boat to come home. One without the other is...” Ren searched for the word.

  “Bullshit,” Antoine leaned around Ren, scowling at Evan. “That Amber chick is full of it. Whatever happened to Chaos, ass clown? That’s what we need, not any of these bull-fuckin’ feelings.”

  Antoine was right. Emotions gunked up everything. Chaos, with its slash to the basket offensive attack was just what Evan needed to purge these feelings of doubt. Besides, the only one who could really capitalize on Chaos was Evan. He’d direct the offense, make Gordon and Spinks happy and score a shitload of points.

  Evan flexed his fingers and asked Antoine, “You remember Chaos?”

  “Damn straight.” Antoine flashed a gold tooth in a mirthless smile.

  “Me, also,” Ren said.

  “Spread the word, then. It starts here.”

  “I don’t know what to say, Pablo.” Brock spoke into the mic at the LA Flash post-game show. “Evan Oliver took control of this game in the second half and put Oakland away almost single-handedly. Forty-five points, twelve steals and eleven rebounds.”

  “He was truly amazing,” Pablo jumped in. “But you have to hand it to the rest of the team. Their level of play rose along with Oliver’s. Do you think Oliver’s streetball style can carry this team to the playoffs?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far, Pablo,” Brock paused uncharacteristically, as if choosing his words carefully. “Oliver is unbeatable one-on-one, but in the end, it’s a team sport. Stop Oliver and you stop the rest of the Flash.”

  The locker room lacked the jubilance Evan would have expected after a win.

  “Oliver!” Coach Spinks yelled.

  “Did we lose?” Evan grinned as he put on his street shoes.

  No one answered him. They were undoubtedly envious because Evan knew how to take advantage of the Chaos system to score. And score. And score some more. They didn’t meet Evan’s gaze as he walked into the coach’s lair. Spinks didn’t say a word, simply gestured for Evan to take a seat, then stood and held the door open for Jack Gordon before leaving. Jack’s colorful jaw rivaled Evan’s eye for its kaleidoscope effect.

  Evan fought the urge to stand. He wouldn’t give the Flash’s owner the satisfaction of thinking he made him nervous.

  “I don’t know what to do with you, Oliver.” Gone was the fire and brimstone Jack Gordon. In his place was a deadly
calm Jack Gordon. “You’re one selfish son-of-a-bitch.”

  Evan laughed past the feeling of unease in his gut. “Come on. We just won. I broke a personal record. The Flash is going to headline ESPN.” This time for winning, not for off the court fights.

  “Spinks has a set offense. You broke off every offensive play in the second half with ten seconds on the play clock. You ran Chaos, making the rest of the team look like monkeys.”

  “Hey, they scored, too.”

  “Not as much as you.” Jack jabbed his finger at the door. “Spinks threatened to walk if I don’t do something about you.”

  “You’d choose him over me?” Evan did stand then, disregarding the fact that he’d basically high jacked Spinks’ team. “I don’t see anybody waving signs for Coach Spinks.” Despite this being Oakland, the fans had made signs about the Candy Man, which meant they weren’t paying to see the Flash’s coach.

  Jack looked thunderous. “If this team flounders in the post season it’ll be your fault.”

  “If this team makes it to the post season it’ll be because of me. But expecting the Flash to win a series in the post season is ludicrous. I’m not a miracle worker.”

  Jack hesitated and when he spoke it was in that controlled voice that promised retribution. “I was wrong to bring you on board. These guys, this coach…they deserve better than you. They deserve someone who’ll respect their efforts and their game experience, not someone who takes all the credit and won’t take any of the blame.”

  For once, Jack’s words hit uncomfortably close to home. Evan had deliberately used the team to make him look good and keep them in the game. But home was where Evan had been hurt the most, so he turned toward the door.

  Jack wasn’t finished. “Those guys made you look good out there tonight. Show me you’re not a complete loser and give them some credit in the press room. Otherwise I’ll make sure everyone in the NBA knows that adding you to the team spells one thing – disaster.”

  The locker room was empty. Evan paused to retrieve his valuables from his locked drawer, trying not to re-examine what Jack said too closely. People had to make their own mark on history. Evan wasn’t going to do it for them. Evan was responsible for one man and one man only – the high scorer, the hero of the game.

  Evan’s footsteps echoed loudly in the tunnel leading to the exit and the bus that was taking the Flash to the airport and a red eye flight to Houston. But first Evan had to get past the press room.

  Damn it. This should have been his day. Highlights of Evan’s play and his post-game interview should have made national news, blogger spots and YouTube. Now all Evan wanted to do was to slink past the press room, hop on the plane and go home.

  Evan paused in the press room doorway.

  Coach Spinks was seated at the podium. “Here he is.” Spinks hauled his ass out of the chair, clapping as he walked out of the spotlight without a smile, leaving Evan no choice but to take his seat. Evan’s butt was barely in the chair before reporters started shouting questions.

  “How does it feel to have the greatest game of your NBA career?”

  “Your team attacked the defensive seams aggressively in the second half. Did that have any bearing on your stats?”

  “You came out with a statement making dunk after half time. What was it that set you on fire?”

  “What is it about The Rules that turned your game around?”

  “Where was Amber tonight?”

  “Are you and Amber Rule recording a pop record?”

  “Whoa, slow down.” Evan’s brain felt like it would explode. His mouth was parched. “I…”

  Jack Gordon crossed his arms and leaned against the door jam, waiting to see if Evan was going to perform as requested. Evan hadn’t put up with his father for all those years to be put down by an upstart millionaire who should have been putting together a fantasy basketball team, not an NBA franchise.

  Evan liked some of the guys on the Flash, but they’d floundered before he joined the team and fell apart when Evan was benched. Spinks ran an offense that was designed for players that could penetrate the defense and score. He didn’t realize that besides having a seven-foot teddy bear on the court that the rest of the team, other than Evan, were outside shooters. It wasn’t that his teammates sucked, it was that the components – players, coach, strategy – didn’t mesh. And so when they ran Chaos, an offense designed for driving to the basket, Evan knew only a few of the players would succeed and only one player – Evan – would shine.

  So, the question was: should Evan be honest and take the credit for turning the game around or should he credit the rest of the team and the wisdom of his coach?

  The reporters were quiet as they waited for Evan to speak. Panic and elation drove Evan’s heart rate to competition level. The battle made his limbs tremble.

  Evan sat on his hands, laughed nervously and blurted, “I had one hell of a game, didn’t I?”

  He hadn’t meant to hurt anyone or destroy his chances for another season in the NBA. Sometimes, shit happened.

  Two days later Evan was still the pariah of the Flash. The team, including Ren, snubbed him. As they filed onto the bus to go from their hotel to the Toyota Center, home of the Houston Rockets, his teammates wouldn’t look Evan in the eye. A couple of them put their sports duffel on the seat next to them so that Evan had to keep walking to the back of the bus.

  He’d told himself their snubs didn’t matter. He’d eaten all his meals alone since they left Oakland and arrived in Houston for a day of rest. He hadn’t talked to anyone since the press room incident in Oakland. They had a practice yesterday, borrowing Houston’s practice facility. And Spinks didn’t yell at Evan once.

  Things were exactly the way Evan wanted them. All he was required to do was show up and play and no one would bother him. But for the first time since his father shot him, Evan didn’t feel love for the game. His feet felt heavy as he ran down the court. He couldn’t get the proper spin on the ball when he shot. He didn’t look forward to putting on a uniform and going against some of the best players in the NBA. What the hell was wrong with him?

  Amber would have said something perky and contrite, like the biggest badass in the NBA was getting what he deserved. Or she’d skip down the aisle of the bus, hips swaying in her high heels and say, Look at me. I’m the great Evan Oliver. She’d place her hand over Evan’s heart and ask him if he remembered what it was like to enjoy the game. He’d close his eyes and breathe in the smell of coconut while he remembered his high school team and how much fun it had been to ride a school bus to games while he joked with his buddies about girls, pointless homework assignments and the ugliness of an opposing player’s shot. Or how he and his UCLA teammates pretended to study while listening to pre-game music on their iPods, exchanging knowing smiles when the assistant coaches weren’t looking.

  Wasn’t that weird? Evan wasn’t remembering shining moments of his basketball career, but laughter and…friendship.

  “Damn it,” Evan murmured, stopping mid-bus.

  Antoine sniggered at his elbow, probably assuming that the team had finally gotten underneath Evan’s skin. They had, but not the way Antoine thought.

  A few rows back, Cora smiled and patted the empty seat next to her.

  And then Antoine held up his iPhone, displaying a picture of Amber with Kent Decklin. “According to the Happenings column our little Amber is back together with her actor friend.”

  Evan willed himself not to care. One crisis at a time. But his skin prickled with jealousy and he almost reached for his phone to call Amber and tell her…what? That he’d come to his senses about basketball? That he chose to be a team player? That he trusted he could do it and would welcome the opportunity to help this team of misfits come together? That he was in love with her?

  Evan grabbed onto the nearest seat, equilibrium shaken although the bus had yet to move. He loved Amber? She was infuriating and totally out of her element. Except when it came to watching out for those sh
e cared for, like her bartender friend, Ren and…him.

  Evan knew Amber cared for him. He’d ignored the meltable softness in her eyes and the way she sighed when he kissed her that last night they’d been together. He’d ignored the signs because he wasn’t ready to love anyone. Not five days ago. But now he was ready.

  Amber wouldn’t believe him. In fact, she’d probably suspect Evan’s motives for wanting to be with her, just as the team would doubt Evan’s sudden change of heart toward them. He’d have to prove it to her and everyone else on the bus before he gave voice to his intentions – to be a team leader and to love the one woman who’d captured his heart.

  Fortunately for Evan there was an early, nationally televised game to be played and then immediately afterward a post-game flight back to L.A., because if everything went as Evan hoped, the team was going to trust him again and he was going to be in Amber’s bed tonight, not Kent Decklin.

  “Find a seat, Oliver,” Spinks bellowed from up front.

  Evan spotted Ren sitting in the center seat in the back row so he could extend his stilt-like legs down the center aisle. There were empty seats on either side of the Korean wonder boy and Evan headed purposefully that way.

  Ren held up one large hand. “I like to be alone before games.”

  “Bull shit.” Evan tossed his bag over the last row of seats occupied by the team doctor and one of the assistant coaches. Using the seat in front of Ren as a step, Evan clambered over and settled into the corner. He poked Ren in the arm. “Do you want to know why you can’t make Chaos work?”

  Ren stared at him suspiciously before nodding once.

  “Because you respect the opposing player’s space.”

  As the bus started pulling away from the hotel Ren crossed his arms over his chest and frowned.

  “You do,” Evan continued as if Ren wasn’t trying to tune him out. “You’re the biggest guy out there and yet you have the fewest fouls on the team. Just once I want to see you knock someone to the ground on your way to score.”