It's Only Love

by Mel Curtis

  “I don’t like it.” But the softening crease between Trent’s brows indicated he was caving.

  “It’s okay to give something new a chance. If you don’t like it, after tonight you can ban game film nights.” Or not attend. She retrieved the bottles from him.

  Ren ducked beneath her kitchen archway, crowding into the small space with Cora and Trent. “Do you have milk, my Evening Star?”

  “In the fridge door.”

  Trent moved stiffly toward the living room, almost as stiffly as Randy. Today’s workout was catching up to him. He leaned against the wall like some rent-a-cop sent to watch kids at a high school dance, determined not to have a good time. Across the room, Gemma mirrored his stance.

  Cora resisted rolling her eyes.

  “You are feeling our workout, Coach?” Ren patted Trent on the head as he passed. “You should ask my Evening Star for a massage.”

  Trent’s gaze connected with Cora’s. Her cheeks felt hot. Then Trent’s gaze dropped lower and her entire body felt hot.

  Cora swallowed past her dry throat. No one ever looked at her like that. Guys looked at her with speculative interest, not I-will-die-if-I-don’t-have-you fire.

  Trent shifted his gaze to the television, allowing Cora to breathe and regain her composure. Amber and Blue expected her to make Trent see the team wasn’t a tool for his career path, but his family. Coaching a team required a dance along the fine line between players as treasures and players as replaceable commodities. Amber believed Trent viewed players as Jack did – disposable. Having watched Trent with the team today, Cora wasn’t so sure.

  But there was proof of Trent’s commodity views in one six-foot-six, broken, college point guard, standing indecisively between the dining room and the living room as if unsure where he fit in.

  Antoine, bless his blustery, street-smarting heart, made room for Randy on a couch. The team settled within her huge conversation pit and on the floor in front of the television. Cora handed Antoine the remote.

  “I think we need a new rule.” Cora tried to sound as if the thought had just occurred to her, rather than it being part of a plan the siblings had devised this weekend. “If Coach Spinks makes a mistake, the new coach has to drink for him.”

  That drew approving laughter from the team. Trent shot her a look that said he didn’t know whether to curse her or thank her. He had a few shots coming this game.

  Let’s see how the Reverend holds his liquor.

  “And Coach Randy will drink for my good friend, Evan.” Ren sat on the step to the sunken living room, near Trent’s feet, as if he was Trent’s large, loyal dog. He spread his legs and put his milk and plate between them. “Look at me on TV, Coach Parker. I am about to dunk.”

  Gemma smiled at Cora.

  Gemma smiling? Despite the pressure, the stakes, and Gemma’s clear disapproval of her on most days, Cora found herself smiling back.

  “Turnover! Turnover!” Antoine bounced on the couch, pointing the remote at the screen and pausing the action. “You dunked and then you made a sloppy inbound pass to Oliver. Drink up, my Korean friend.”

  Cora poured Ren a shot of whiskey. Her role, as Evan’s stand-in, was to bartend and to make sure no one drank too much.

  Brutus made the rounds, licking hands, begging for tidbits, and receiving a greeting from everyone. He hopped into Randy’s lap, giving the assistant coach a small lick of welcome, before jumping down and claiming a spot on Trent’s foot. The coach frowned at Cora, but didn’t nudge Brutus aside.

  “Wait for the second quarter, Antoine.” Payton elbowed his teammates. “You had a few nasties yourself.”

  While the guys watched the game, Cora cleaned up the remains of the buffet, poured shots, massaged shoulders, and generally tried to avoid interacting with Trent. But the previous coach had made mistakes, and Trent took his punishment like a good sport. Each time she handed him a shot of tequila, their eyes clashed.

  You’re up to something, his gaze accused.

  It was getting harder to feign innocence.

  In the fourth quarter, Randy stood to receive his shot and looked at Gemma, who blushed. Blushed! The world had to be ending.

  The Dooley Foundation’s receptionist retreated to the corner of the dining room, turning her back on the game. It was the perfect opportunity for a virgin-laden gibe, but for some reason, Cora couldn’t do it. That look in Gemma’s eyes behind her out-of-date glasses was pure puppy love. Brutus took pity on Gemma, dancing on his hind legs at her feet until she picked him up.

  While Cora washed shot glasses at the end of the game, Gemma brought in plates and glasses from the living room, and Trent filled trash bags. Team members cleared out and said goodbye, not just to Cora, but to Randy and Trent as well. Between the workout and drinking tequila shots, the men had gone a long way toward earning their respect today.

  Randy offered to drive Antoine home. The guard had made the most mistakes and seemed tipsy. Gemma slipped out soon after.

  The condo was quiet. Only Trent remained.

  When had everyone left? And why was Trent still here?

  Cora tried to keep it light, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “You have potential there, Coach.”

  “So people keep telling me.” He stood in her kitchen doorway, arms crossed over his chest as if she was violating parole and he was her parole officer.

  Nerves she hadn’t felt since high school skittered over her skin, loosening her tongue. “Did you like the way the guys bonded over game film?”

  The barest of nods.

  Cora couldn’t read him beyond the tension in his eyes. The blurt-fest continued. “They really seem to get it, you know? The concept of moving on to the next play after a mistake.”

  “They’ll have to prove it to me on the hardwood.”

  “They will. I’ll make sure they play…” She stopped herself from saying, “Their hearts out.”

  He gave her the barest of frowns. “It’s my team. I’m responsible for how they play.”

  “Of course, you are. Of course. Only you.” Cora shut her mouth. She sounded like a high-schooler who’d bumped into Trent after having slipped a love letter in his locker. “What I mean is, you have a reputation as a good coach.”

  For all his tough reputation on the court, there was no buzz concerning his personal life. None. No reason for his impending divorce, except irreconcilable differences. No hint of the yin to the Reverend’s yang – the intense, sometimes angry, cussing, alcohol-imbibing man. Why did he hide behind the Reverend?

  “I have a reputation as a coach who runs his players into the ground.” His voice lowered. “You want something from me, say it, plain and simple.”

  What she wanted from him was sex. Not plain or simple. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You removed Evan from the equation tonight for a reason.” More proof that Trent was smart. “You want to convert me to a believer in your Foundation’s rules, go for it.”

  A part of Cora wished it was that easy. “This was game night, hosted by the team captain’s sister-in-law. Nothing more.”

  He scoffed.

  “I don’t know what you have against the Dooley Foundation or me. There’s no hidden agenda when it comes to this team.” It was official. Cora had liar-lips.

  He knew it, too. His gaze drifted to her mouth.

  Oh, my.

  There was enough heat in him to warm her on the coldest winter nights. Again and again.

  Her body softened. She didn’t want to lie with her mouth. She wanted to lie with him.

  She needed a distraction. For him. So he’d stop looking at her as if she was naked and she’d stop envisioning him stripping her.

  She steadied herself against the kitchen counter. “I hear Sammy Carson is looking for a team now that he’s served his drug suspension.” And found religion.

  Trent scoffed and straightened. Mission accomplished. “And I thought you knew the sport.”

  She wasn’t going to admit she’d
studied it to impress Jack, who’d been less open to a conversation about the team than Trent. “I know when Sammy ran with Kentucky his player value on the court was amazing. Everyone scored more. He didn’t translate that skill to the big court – ”

  “This is where I say goodnight.”

  “Playing things close to your chest. I like that.”

  His gaze strayed to her chest and her off-the-shoulder blouse. He backed toward her front door, as if afraid she might jump his bones. Or maybe he was hopeful she’d jump his bones and wanted to see her coming.

  “You were a good sport tonight.” Cora leaned against the arch where Trent had been seconds before. “Teamwork is the most difficult and magical aspect of basketball.”

  “They call me coach because I know things like that.” Trent took another step toward the door. From the edge of the living room, Brutus watched him, prepared to let him go.

  Smart dog.

  “Of course.” Cora nodded like a bobble-head, her mouth running equally erratically. “You never know how players are going to mesh until you give them a shot and – ”

  Trent’s hands shot out, grabbed onto her hips and pulled her to him.

  And then he was kissing her.

  Damn, he knew how to kiss. It was a seductive kiss, tasting of sweet tequila and the trembly, tantalizing burn of desire.

  Her hands were trapped against his chest. His roamed along the small of her back, nestling her tight against his hips and that now-familiar erection. She opened her eyes and found him looking directly into hers. Not at her body parts. Not shuttered as if imagining he was with someone else. He looked at her.

  Her breath left her lungs in a rush, as if this was where time stopped and memories began.

  And then his lips worked their way down to the hollow of her throat and his fingers traced their way along her butt crack, reaching for a place she’d like any part of him to fill.

  She gasped for air. Her fingers curled into his hard pecs. “This is such a bad idea.”

  His fingers flexed. “Sugar, don’t you ever shut up?”

  At their feet, Brutus growled.

  “Oh.” Ren’s voice. “My Evening Star.”

  She and Trent leapt apart so fast Brutus danced back and growled again.

  “I hate to be rude, but I must be going out this door.” Ren edged along the wall, seven feet of uncomfortable man.

  “I’ll walk out with you.” Trent opened the door.

  Ren darted past him.

  Cora watched them go. Desire thrummed through her veins, registering a complaint, nearly silencing reason, which reminded her of sales quotas and sibling expectations. “See you tomorrow, Reverend.”

  “Not if I see you first.”

  Chapter 14

  L.A. Happenings by Lyle Lincoln

  …Hot ladies are hotter when they’ve been to Wicked Tantric. Cora Rule and Vivian Gordon shared a session. Rafael Wozniak spent his day off there. And naked yoga continues to be wait-listed through next year.

  Vivian was nervous. Since Jack had found out she didn’t have a lover, he’d stopped talking to her. He’d stopped accepting her calls or answering her texts. He’d stopped meeting her for jealous, break-up sex. And now she’d been summoned to dinner.

  Was it because of her visit to Wicked Tantric? Or was he going to hand her a new set of divorce papers?

  She dressed carefully and not for the wild sex they’d had for a few weeks last month – silver flats, black skinny jeans, a thin pink sweater. Her long, blond hair hung loose about her shoulders. She should have felt comfortable, but her skin prickled as if any touch would shock her.

  The Rules had convinced her that she had to be the business partner Jack needed if she wanted to win him back. She had to be positive about the team. Supportive. A team player.

  Difficult, considering the purchase of the franchise had taken Jack’s love for her and replaced it with love for the Flash. How did a woman compete with a team?

  She’d had hope again during those few fabulous weeks when Jack thought she was sleeping with Blue. He’d reached for her hungrily, the way he used to. She’d missed him so desperately, that she’d lied to get him back, even for that short period of time.

  Vivian walked into the Lush Gardens restaurant. Black, floor-length tablecloths and candlelight created a gloomy mood that didn’t bode well for reconciliation.

  Jack sat in a corner booth, a big circular table that could have fit six.

  So much for an intimate dinner. “Who’s joining us?” She should be happy he was including her, not disappointed. Viv slid toward the back of the booth, leaving room for others and leaving a narrow body of space between her and Jack.

  “What were you doing at the office today, Viv?” His voice sounded weary. The circles under his eyes confirmed he was exhausted and not sleeping.

  Heartbroken over her? Sadly, she’d bet not. “A long time ago, you asked me to be a more integral partner. I’ve decided to live up to my obligations.”

  He studied her with those black eyes that unnerved most women and many men. “What are you really doing?”

  She wasn’t sure what he was referring to – her appearances at the Flash facility or Wicked Tantric. It didn’t matter. “I’ve grown tired of cheap sex with you.”

  He flinched.

  “I want something more satisfying. Power. Respect.” Love. “And despite what you think, you need someone at your side. Jesus, Jack. You look like death kicked you to the curb.”

  The waiter brought Jack a whiskey on the rocks and Vivian a glass of Pinot Noir.

  She hadn’t ordered. He’d assumed she’d want wine. He assumed too much. Her heart’s best defense – anger – surged in her veins, banishing despair. But the Rules had been adamant. Be nice. Be considerate. Imagine she had a British butler sitting next to her, overhearing every word. Downton Abbey had never been so inspirational.

  “If you want to make millions, you have to sacrifice.” Jack’s voice sounded as dry as Death Valley.

  She nodded. “And if you want to live to see forty, you need help. I can help you more than just with a signature on legal documents.” Dangerous territory. He’d offered her divorce papers several times. “I need something in my life. Last month you thought I needed a man. I think differently. I’ve decided to put that business degree I earned to use.”

  He didn’t say anything for several minutes. He spun his whiskey glass. She sipped her wine. The waitstaff scurried about on near silent feet.

  Jack sighed. “There are things you don’t understand. When a man – ”

  “You can go on being the team’s holy terror. I’ll play good cop to your bad.” She smiled softly. “I know how much you like breathing fire to get your way. Turnover in the front office has been horrendous. You’re on your third admin this year.”

  “Viv.” He hadn’t touched his drink. “I can’t work with you. I look in your eyes and I want…I want…”

  Vivian’s heart had gotten good at breaking. She held it together by sheer force of will. “You want to have sex. We can work that into the deal as well.” She could settle for being his sex toy if it meant she’d still have him in her life. Pathetic? Yes. But what her heart wanted. She closed the distance between them, deviating from the Rules’ plan. “I went to Wicked Tantric today.”

  “I saw.” His voice was husky. She imagined him hard beneath the tablecloth. Damn the Rules. She wanted to touch him. She wanted him to touch her. She wanted to have him in her bed, exchanging whispered ideas about their future – a future without the NBA.

  “We can do this – in the boardroom and in the bedroom.” It was a risky proposition. She slid closer, until her thigh grazed his. “You can touch me. Back here, in this corner. No one can see.”

  “Viv – ”

  “That’s another thing about working together. We can find time to release some of this crazy pressure of becoming a billion-dollar success story.” She unzipped her jeans, regretting not wearing a skirt. She took his
hand, crossing her thigh over his, creating greater access. His palm was sweaty. His skin hot. Viv reveled in the fact that she made him nervous. She guided his fingers beneath a layer of silk. “That’s it. Touch me there.”

  The waiter approached, but she waved him away with her other hand.

  Jack’s forehead touched her temple. He was sweating there, too. “Viv, we shouldn’t be doing this.” But his fingers were moving, touching her in a way that set her senses on fire. He kissed his way along her cheek, toward her lips.

  No kissing, Cora had said.

  But Vivian loved the way Jack kissed. Their breath mingled as his mouth waited at the edge of hers for her to turn to him.

  No sex, Cora’s voice echoed in her head.

  He moved his fingers urgently, painting her nub in her own juices, while he nibbled at the corner of her mouth. His breathing was heavy, labored. He wanted her. He needed her.

  She came undone, turning so his lips captured her sound of release.

  An older couple looked their way disapprovingly.

  Viv didn’t care. She was hopeless when it came to Jack. She’d have to start again with the Rules of Attraction tomorrow. After they spent the night having sex.

  She expected Jack to tug her hand to his zipper, to encourage her to reciprocate.

  Except Jack wasn’t moving.

  He’s rejecting me?

  Her heart nearly stopped beating.

  But he didn’t pull away or pull himself together.

  Instead, he collapsed into her lap.

  ~*~

  “Any word?” Blue asked when he met Cora at the hospital long after the team had left Cora’s condo.

  She shook her head. “They suspect meningitis, but they won’t know for a day or so. Viv said Jack’s been a human pincushion with all the tests they want to run.”