by Mel Curtis
His office was a room to the side of the studio with large pillows and no furniture. They followed his lead and sat on pillows.
Cora contained a shiver when she saw an empty condom wrapper in the corner. The quicker they got out of there and found some antibacterial lotion, the better. “Vivian is looking for a closer connection to her man.”
“Which man? She is no longer with your brother, who benefited greatly from my tutelage.”
Although Blue had paid Senge a visit in recent months, as had Amber, Cora doubted they’d been here seeking the small man’s advice.
Viv seemed in a trance, staring at Senge with wide eyes.
Seeing as how Vivian was on mute, Cora continued talking for her. “It doesn’t matter which man.”
“It does.” Senge spoke with a melodic accent that calmed. “The spirit and the soul must connect as one. Some people are incompatible. You must tell me who the man is so I can sense his chakras.”
“We’re not going to – ”
“My husband. Jack Gordon. He owns the Flash.” Vivian’s mute button must have reset, for she continued blurting, “We have great sex. Fantastic sex. Mind blowing – ”
“This man.” Senge frowned. “This Jack. I know of him. He has locked away his feelings.”
Cora was grateful Senge had interrupted Viv’s over share, and she silently agreed with his assessment.
“Your Jack…” Senge had a distant look in his eyes. “He has much back pain, because he is suppressing his feelings for you.”
“We didn’t ask for a psychic reading.” Cora didn’t filter her sarcasm.
Senge’s gaze refocused on Viv. “When was the last time this man told you he loved you?”
Vivian’s eyes were watery. Cora took her hand.
“When?” Senge demanded.
Viv flinched. “I don’t know. Maybe three years ago?”
“And when was the last time you moved your bodies as one?”
“A few weeks ago.” Viv choked on a sob. “I stopped him from screwing around with Kaya Anika.”
Well, at least Cora and Viv hadn’t shared Jack. Cora’s tenure ended before Kaya’s began.
“For two weeks,” Viv continued. “I thought we – ”
“This is what you need to do. You need to stop arguing with this man, this Jack.”
“That’s what I told her,” Cora said.
Senge sliced the air in Cora’s direction. “You need to align yourself to him in all ways – with your words, at his work, in your home, with your heart.”
“I told her that, too.”
Senge frowned at Cora. “And only then should you open your body to him.”
“Ditto.” When Senge’s frown deepened, Cora shrugged. “We have you on retainer, remember? Amber takes good notes.”
Senge gestured to Viv. “In the meantime, you need to loosen your chakras. Yoga, massage, time alone with your special friend.”
Viv and Cora exchanged glances.
Cora took the bait. “Special friend?”
“The mechanical device that substitutes for true love.”
“A vibrator.” Cora was relieved the special friend wasn’t Senge.
“If you do not have one or want to upgrade, see Dalaja at the front desk. We now have XXL in stock. And batteries. Plenty of batteries.”
“No thanks. We’re good.” Cora stood.
“And my book.” He produced a large, hard-bound book from behind him. “It will show you how to join your body with his to create a soulful connection that cannot be broken.”
Viv reached for the book as if it held the secrets to mend her broken heart.
Senge pulled it out of reach, smiling that benevolent smile of his. “All for a cost of five hundred dollars.”
“She’s a client of the Dooley Foundation. This book is covered under our retainer agreement.” Cora considered asking for a copy herself, but she didn’t want Senge to think she needed his advice in the sack.
Reluctantly, Senge handed the book to Viv, who clutched it to her chest as they walked down the steps. “Do you think his book will help?”
“No.” Cora hustled Viv toward the door.
“I think Jack should come here. His back – ”
“Jack wouldn’t be caught dead in this place.” Cora silently cursed herself. She didn’t want Viv to realize she’d been more than Jack’s acquaintance. “When we leave, I want you to cover your face, as if you don’t want to be photographed.”
Viv groaned. “Here, take this.” She handed Cora the book. “Jack is going to hate me for coming here.”
“Lucky for you, hate is just a degree or two away from love.”
~*~
“Have you seen Ren shoot a three?” Randy stood next to Trent on the sidelines as the team worked on shots of their choice. The acoustics in the gym were terrible. Echoes of bouncing balls, reverberating rims, laughter and trash talk made it hard to hear. “Ren’s elbow is off, but the rest of his stroke is sweet.”
Trent glared at Randy. “Go correct it.”
Randy gave him the Who? Me? look.
“Yes, you.” Technically, they weren’t supposed to coach the players on technique or game strategy until training camp, but Trent found it hard to watch and do nothing.
Hanging his head, Randy walked over to Ren, probably expecting to be laughed off the court. He wasn’t. Ren was a seven-foot teddy bear, more’s the pity. Soon the center was hitting three-pointers more consistently, as if he was a shooting guard, not a seven-foot-tall giant who played beneath the rim. Contradictions like that always sparked Trent’s creative juices.
Randy returned to his side with an ear-splitting grin that made Trent proud.
“Take a look at Antoine,” Trent nodded toward the guard. “That’s one ugly pull-up jumper. Take a shot at fixing that.”
Randy returned to the court, if not eagerly, at least more confidently.
“He’s enjoying this.” Evan dribbled over to Trent, his attention seemingly on Randy, but it was as if the ball was a yo-yo, returning after each bounce to his palm. “Maybe he’s not bad luck after all.”
“The kid needs something to enjoy,” Trent grumbled. Why couldn’t Evan leave the Randy issue alone?
“You know,” Evan said after a moment. “Other guys have come back from more severe injuries. He could still have a shot at the NBA. Don’t look at him and see his dreams crushed.”
“You don’t know how I see him.” There was more than a grumble in Trent’s voice now. There was a territorial growl. If Trent thought Randy could make it in the NBA, he’d give him a chance on the Flash, especially if he knew Randy wouldn’t get hurt again. But Trent had to be Randy’s mentor first and foremost – give him the credentials to find a job in case he never reached his previous playing potential again.
Evan turned to Trent, raised an eyebrow, but didn’t back off. Or lose ball control.
Shit, he was good.
Trent crossed his arms over his chest. “The Rules have ruined you, Oliver.”
His star player laughed. “You have so much to learn. The Rules help you find your happy place, grasshopper.”
Trent didn’t think he could find a happy place, not with so many responsibilities weighing on him.
And then the mood in the gym changed. The dribbling became crisper, cuts to the basket sharper.
Cora was back. Trent could almost feel her re-entry into his sphere like a physical touch, could almost smell her scent. She wore jeans that looked as if they were painted on and a navy blouse that draped over one shoulder, revealing a black bra strap. She must own a dresser-full of black bras. He wanted to see and remove every last one from her body.
But wanting and needing were two very different things.
“You want that scholarship.” His father. In his grill. “You need to think of winning as a need – you need to win as much as you need air! Wanting gets you nowhere in life. Now get your ass out there and win!”
Archie Parker, motivational spe
aker to pee wee football players.
Trent shook off the memory. Soon, he’d shake off the Dooley Foundation. He followed Evan to a basket. Several players were shooting on others.
Cora walked over, her heels clicking a message on the hardwood – I-want-you-you-you.
Dream on, Parker.
She stopped at the post position on the free throw lane, fingering her purse strap. “Evan, I have a favor to ask you.”
“No.” Evan’s stroke was a thing of beauty. Textbook. His sister-in-law’s appearance had no effect on it.
“It’s for Amber,” she said.
Evan’s next ball clanked against the rim. Trent didn’t try hiding his smile. Everyone had their kryptonite. Nice to know Evan’s.
Randy rebounded and passed Evan the ball.
Cora glanced at the coaching staff and closed the distance between herself and Evan. Her voice dropped so low, Trent had to strain to eavesdrop over the gym noise. “You know how you’ve been having the team over at the end of each workout for dinner and to watch game film?”
Trent stopped pretending to snoop and stared at Cora. There was something off in her voice. Something in her tone he couldn’t quite place and didn’t quite trust.
“Amber needs a break tonight.” Cora fiddled with the neckline of her blouse.
She wasn’t a fidgety woman.
Evan shook his head. “We discussed this. She’ll get a night off in a few weeks when pre-season starts.” He bounced the ball so hard other players turned toward them.
Cora batted her eyelashes. She was a horrible liar. “Okay…I guess you can wait until next month.”
“For what?” Evan snapped.
“Hello?” Cora wasn’t fazed by her brother-in-law’s temper. She glanced around, carefully not looking at Trent. “Remember that deal you made? The one about babies?” Cora patted her flat stomach. “Well, there’s a time to get things done, and that time is now.”
Evan launched a shot. And air-balled it.
Trent laughed.
His star player glared at him, holding out his hands to receive another ball. “I can cancel the team thing tonight.”
“Amber suggested you send the team to my place,” Cora said innocently. Too innocently.
How could Evan not see something was fishy here?
“They can come to my hotel suite,” Trent suggested. “Or we can stay here.” No way was he letting his team go to Cora’s house. If anyone made her angry, she’d wreak havoc with her kisses and foot massages.
“No one wants to stay here.” Evan squeezed the ball with both hands. “And unless you’re staying in the presidential suite, a hotel room doesn’t have enough space for the team.”
Cora turned her back on Trent, twisting her long hair over one shoulder. “It’s not like they haven’t been to my place before. When you guys were remodeling in May – ”
“The team came to your house?” Trent couldn’t keep the disbelief from his voice.
“Not one at a time,” Cora said coolly, clearly following the path of his dirty mind. “They hung out as a group in my living room and ate all my food.”
“I’d offer my house.” Vivian approached them. Trent had been so mesmerized by Cora, he hadn’t noticed she’d come in. “But it’s very small.”
“And she lives with her parents,” Cora whispered to Evan, loud enough for Trent to hear.
“You didn’t have to tell them that,” Vivian snapped. “It’s only temporary, until – ”
“Why the sudden, positive interest in our team, Viv?” Evan’s eyes narrowed.
“She’s decided to assert her ownership rights and be more involved in management.” Cora’s lines seemed practiced, rehearsed, insincere.
Trent smelled a rat. And the rat smelled of vanilla.
Evan called Amber, but it seemed she was indeed ovulating, because he started cussing and picking up his things.
Vivian’s phone rang. She stepped away to answer.
“You’re up to something,” Trent said to Cora.
“You’re paranoid.” Cora watched Ren dunk. “Not a good trait for an NBA coach.”
She was up to something and he was going to find out what. “After I shower, I’ll be over.” Trent tugged his cell phone out of his pocket. “What’s the address?”
“Uhhh…” Cora’s gaze fell to her feet. “Do you have to come?”
His brain latched onto the double entendre and went places unrelated to basketball. “Yes, I do. You’re watching game film. With my team. If I’m not welcome, I could just as easily make them stay here to watch.”
She nodded slowly, and then stepped closer. The vanilla scent increased. She put a hand on his arm and led him farther away from Vivian. Her palm on his skin ignited a heat transfer, sparking all kinds of inappropriate thoughts. Trent held his breath, willing the Reverend to stay in control.
Cora licked her lips, dialing her sex-appeal setting to high. His dick woke up.
And then she let him go.
It was like a car he’d been driving at sixty miles per hour had stalled and rolled to a neck-bending stop.
“Here’s the thing, Reverend.” Cora’s smile dared him to defy her. “You can come over, but you have to be on your best behavior. You’re not the coach yet. I can help you break the ice with the players, but if you come you have to tone down the intensity.”
She knew how to hit his hot button. No one told him what to do. “I’m their coach, not their friend.”
A stray basketball sailed through the air toward her. Trent caught it easily and passed it back to Antoine.
Cora beamed her thanks. Only with Cora, there were layers to be uncovered in her smile. Confidence, smarts, beauty, sex appeal. And an agenda. Probably the Dooley Foundation’s agenda. He had to remember that.
“This is the time they use to unwind,” Cora was saying. “They don’t need you to be their coach until next week.”
“You’re starting to annoy me, sugar.” He couldn’t look at her any more. Instead, he watched Randy make a hitching, slow-motion lay-up.
Shit. Looking at Cora was easier. He turned back.
“Starting? I thought I annoyed you every time we met.” There was a hint of that sexy, superior tone, the one that said she wasn’t intimidated by his bluster.
“Are you trying to ply some of that Dooley Rules magic on me? Because if you are, it won’t work.” If he pushed hard enough, he’d find that sensitive spot that made her back off. Everyone had one.
She laughed. It was rich and throaty and took the sting out of the way she refused to cow to his demands.
Damn it.
Vivian returned, looking a bit shaken. “That was Jack. He wants to meet me for a late dinner.”
Immediately, Cora abandoned Trent and led a pale Vivian toward the door, talking to her softly.
“I’ll see you later,” Trent called.
“Not if you don’t get my address,” Cora called back.
Trent turned to the one person who couldn’t refuse him directions to Cora’s house.
The team’s gentle giant. Ren Du.
Chapter 13
Trent was putty in Cora’s hands.
Okay, maybe not putty, but he’d shown up at Cora’s house with the team. That was something. So what if he looked hot in a white Flash polo and blue jeans? Other team members looked hot, too. Tonight, Cora had to set aside female appreciation and be one of the guys, whether she wanted to sleep with the leader of the guys or not. Only in her weaker moments would she admit that Trent was like a large cotton candy at a carnival – satisfying for about fifteen minutes and then regrettable.
Regardless, Cora rode a wave of triumph. Things were going according to plan. Jack was having dinner with Viv, and they’d succeeded in getting Evan away from the team and Trent alone with the guys. The day might have been perfect, if she hadn’t been saddled with Gemma tonight. Cora was starting to think Amber had planted a spy to make sure she didn’t sleep with Trent. The life coach wannabe sat in a co
rner of the dining room looking uncomfortably out of place.
It took Trent less than thirty seconds to walk into Cora’s Beverly Hills condo and assume the role of Debbie Downer. He and Gemma could form their own chapter of the club.
“My team isn’t drinking.” Trent surveyed the bottles of liquor on the bar in Cora’s kitchen, totally ignoring the salads, veggies, chicken and meat on the dining room table. To be fair, it was hard to see all the healthy food when the tall group of men was making the rounds, filling their plates.
“Payton.” Cora caught the attention of the player closest to her. “Which game are we looking at tonight?”
The good-looking forward didn’t turn around. “The last game with Houston.”
“They won’t be drinking much tonight,” Cora reassured Trent. “Houston was a good game for everyone.”
Trent looked from Cora to the alcohol and back to her. She brightened her smile. He scowled.
Trent’s uncomfortable, slow-moving shadow, Randy Farrell peeked into the kitchen. When Randy would have bent to pet Brutus, Cora was quick to warn him. “Wait until you’re seated, Coach.” She gave the younger man the courtesy of a title. “Brutus gets nervous around tall people.” Although he’d let Trent pet him the other day. “Do you need any help getting a plate?”
Randy’s cheeks bloomed with color. “No, ma’am.”
“Ma’am?” She laughed. “Ouch. I’m what? Two years older than you?”
“Three,” Gemma muttered from a corner of the dining room, loud enough for everyone to hear. She turned away, hiding behind her curls as if afraid Randy might recognize her fan-girl Twitter picture. Not likely without Mimi’s makeover magic.
That girl needed tips on how to talk to boys.
“Come on, Coach Farrell.” Antoine waved Randy over. “Get something on your plate before Ren eats it all.”
The young coach walked slowly to the dining area. A few of the players turned their backs, as if loathe to rub shoulders with the wounded athlete for fear of attracting his bad injury-karma.
“No drinking.” Trent picked up bottles, tucking them into the crook of his arm.
He’d ruin everything. Cora wedged herself between him and the counter, lowering her voice. “They don’t like watching film. So we made a game out of it.” One of her father’s principles at work – a Mary Poppins, he’d called it. “Whenever someone makes a mistake – if the team sees the mistake – that person has to take a shot.”