by Mel Curtis
She wished he’d have bought an engagement ring, too. “Did Coach Parker tell you to step up your game?”
“He told me not to over-think.” He did the disappointment shuffle, a nervous side-to-side. “But I need to slow down and make fewer turnovers or I’m screwed.”
Props to Antoine for being smart, but, “Didn’t Coach Parker tell you not to over-think yesterday? Didn’t he tell you not to worry about turnovers?”
“Yeah.” A reluctant admission.
“You need to play the way Coach Parker tells you,” she said. “Remember what I told you last week? About believing in yourself and trusting in Evan?”
He nodded.
“You have to keep believing. You know there’s never a guarantee in professional sports. If you get traded, you’ll be treated well. It’s better to be seen helping a team win than holding a team back.” But it would break her heart to see him go.
Antoine laughed and pointed his finger guns at her. “Girl, when you’re right, you’re right.”
“Watson!” Trent yelled.
“See you at Evan’s later?” He trotted backwards.
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Besides, the way Viv was going, she’d have more Dooley Foundation damage control to perform.
~*~
Jack Gordon blinked his eyes open to blinding light.
I’ve died and gone to heaven.
Someone made a mistake.
Now there’ll be hell to pay.
“Breathe deeply, Mr. Gordon.” A face jittered into focus. Gentle eyes. Round features.
The light was too bright. He squinted. His head felt as if someone had put it in the washer on spin. He was dizzy. And his limbs were heavy. He couldn’t move, not even to scratch his nose, which itched.
“It’s time to wake up.” The kind-eyed voice again. “The doctor wants you to try eating something.”
Doctor. Not heaven. Not hell.
Where was he? He cracked open his eyes and swallowed past searing pain. His throat was on fire. And the room? He opened his eyes wider, adjusting to the light. Wherever he was, it was made to look like an institutionalized home.
“Don’t eat the prunes.” A smoker’s voice. Somewhere to his left. “Bad enough the soup gives you the runs, but the prunes will do you in for sure.”
“Mr. Lazarus, you should be grateful you don’t need an enema.” Medical humor.
He was in a hospital. Snatches of memory flitted past – Viv looking like his idea of a dream at a restaurant, Viv holding his hand and begging him to come back to her, Viv…
“How long?” His words grated over his vocal chords. He sounded worse than Lazarus.
The round, friendly nurse wore baby blue scrubs with Disney princesses on them. She wheeled a tray over to his bed and operated the controls to elevate Jack’s head. “You’ve been in the hospital ten days.”
Fuck me.
The negotiations he’d been involved in would have fallen through. Everything he’d worked for was in jeopardy. His fortunes once more on thirteen black. The roulette wheel spinning as quickly as his head.
“You must be doing a tango on death’s doorstep if they put you down here with me,” said smoker-man Lazarus.
Jack inched his head to the left.
The old man sat on top of his hospital bed in a purple velvet bathrobe, chewing on the end of an unlit cigar. Wrinkles rippled down his jaw-line like a Shar -Pei. His skin tone matched the white pillowcases behind his back. “They put terminals down here closer to the morgue.”
“I’m not dying.” Jack’s words shredded his sore throat. He had too much left to prove before he died, millions to make up to Vivian for. “Where’s my wife?”
“Haven’t seen her.” The nurse dipped a plastic spoon into something puke-brown and brought it toward Jack’s mouth as if he was a baby. “Open up.”
“Don’t eat the prunes,” Lazarus advised again.
“He needs the prunes to get his bowels moving again,” argued Nurse Disney.
“No prunes.” Jack lifted a hand to swat her away. Or he would have, if his hand hadn’t been strapped to the bed. He jerked his body weakly, but all four limbs were tied. Helplessness burned through his veins hotter than any junkie’s drug hit. He tugged at the straps harder, rocking the bed. “What the hell is this?”
“The doctor wants you confined to bed until your equilibrium returns.” While he was distracted, she slipped her spoon in his mouth.
The prunes were tasteless, unsweetened, and cool on his throat. He considered spitting them back in her face, along with a string of obscenities. But his unbalanced brain stopped him with a plan to tempt Nurse Disney with honey.
“I feel fine. I can feed myself.” If she freed him, he’d break out of this prison. He’d crawl if he had to. Or maybe he could convince the old man to get him out.
Lazarus cackled. “Nice try.”
“You need to be in bed for the next few days until your equilibrium returns,” she said. “Wouldn’t want you falling out with a cup of prunes in your hand.”
“He’ll be dead before those straps come off.” Lazarus sucked on his cigar as if it was lit. “Georgia, I’ll buy you a diamond ring if you bring me a match.”
“No, Mr. Lazarus.”
Jack wanted a phone, preferably his cell, but a quick glance about the room revealed there were no phones and looking made the room spin. The prunes gurgled back up his throat, threatening to spew. Jack swallowed them down.
“She’ll feed you and wipe your ass later,” Lazarus was saying.
The nurse’s round features drew downward. “Mr. Lazarus, if you don’t behave, I’ll take away that cigar and make sure no one else sneaks you one. Don’t let him get to you, Mr. Gordon.” She patted Jack’s hand.
The same hand he imagined Viv holding. But when?
“You’re not going to die.” She dipped the spoon in the plastic container of prunes.
Lazarus cackled again.
Neither of which comforted Jack.
Chapter 23
“We should have tried harder to get Archie to come along,” Randy said.
Trent walked toward Evan’s front door. “Mary Sue Ellen needs her alone time with Archie.” They’d left Archie at the hotel, Skyping with his young true love.
Evan’s home was high up in Beverly Hills. The view of the valley was awesome and reminded Trent that he had to find a place to live soon. The hotel was fine, but he was living out of a suitcase and the Flash had only agreed to put him up for ninety days. What few things he’d taken from Louisiana were in storage.
Vivian had done her damage. The mood of the team was grim. You could feel the oppressiveness when you crossed Evan’s slate threshold. Trent could’ve explained the reasons for acquiring Irving, but he didn’t have all the pieces yet. He’d like to open the season with his planned roster in place, but that was looking like a pipe dream given Jack’s condition, unless Cora could work a miracle with Viv.
“What’s Viv up to next?” Evan handed Trent a beer from behind his custom-built wet bar.
The small forward’s house would have been doom and gloom – dark hardwood floors, gray walls, black marble fireplace and countertops – had it not been for the feminine touches – cream-colored couches, flowered pillows, live plants. Amber had clearly put her stamp on the place, although the bar, seating for twenty, and the ten foot wide television mounted on the wall still screamed man-cave.
“All we can do is hang together as a team.” Trent stepped aside so Randy could get a drink.
Cora entered, wearing black leggings, a fluttery beige blouse, and heeled sandals. She always wore heels, never flip-flops.
Players hugged and kissed her. He bet they’d still treat her with affection if they knew she’d given Vivian the emotional tools to screw them all. Somehow, she’d become one of the hearts of the team.
Damn.
“Hugh Irving is a beast, on and off the court,” Randy was saying, surprising Trent with their shared vision. “In an
age when NBA teams don’t crash the offensive boards for a rebound, he does.”
Evan smiled ruefully. “You’re a fan.”
“I’m open.” Randy shrugged. “He’s the perfect enforcer, a modern day Charles Barkley, able to do all the dirty work inside. But he’s one of the slowest big men out there. He won’t be able to keep up with us.”
“A versatile team is a dangerous team, fast or slow,” Trent said almost absently as he watched Cora.
Antoine called Randy over to referee a dispute about who had a prettier jump shot.
“What are you playing at?” Evan fixed Trent with a hard look after Randy left the bar. “If you didn’t want the trade you’d be howling to the media. Are you behind this deal?”
Cora hadn’t told anyone he wanted Irving or that he’d been working a trade. Trent had wanted proof that he could trust her and here it was.
Trent considered telling his team captain what he had planned, but he hesitated. “I like to leverage the hand I’m dealt, don’t you?” He excused himself and sought a seat in the back. Cora’s shock that he hadn’t told any of his coaching staff or players about his plans came back to him. There was a point where not knowing would impact his coaches’ contributions. Was he at that point? The Reverend thought not.
He watched the team relax and downshift. They felt like his team now. Cora had been right. Team bonding had helped him fit in. He had a better feeling for each man and what he was capable of, which made it easier to test them on the court.
Cora worked the room, massaging shoulders and handing out shots when an error was made. In the third quarter, she stood next to Payton Jablone, who placed a hand on the small of her back as he downed his shot.
Trent tried to ignore how he wanted to break Jablone’s fingers, especially when the power forward flexed them deeper into Cora’s flesh.
Cora moved on, seemingly without noticing Jablone’s pass.
Trent was on the verge of a make or break season. And what occupied his mind? Cora.
He wanted to look away. He couldn’t. He was so screwed.
The coach from last season made an error.
“Coach! Coach!” his players chanted. Cora had been right in having him drink for last season’s coach. They loved it when he participated along with them. The positive she brought to the team dynamic almost outweighed her lost gamble with Vivian. Almost.
Cora wove her way through the maze of bodies to the bar, exchanging whiskey for tequila, which was Trent’s drink of choice for shots. She walked toward him, seduction in her every move until every nerve ending in Trent’s body yearned to surrender.
She handed him a shot without quite looking him in the eyes. “Mentre viviam, vogliamo vivere.”
“What’s that mean?”
“While we live, let’s live.” Her words had the forced energy of a reluctantly offered olive branch. “My mother taught it to me.”
“I like it.” He’d like it better if she put her hands on him. He’d settle for a shoulder massage. Or a foot massage. Or hell, holding her hand.
What was wrong with him?
Trent downed his shot. It burned its way to his gut, but didn’t burn away his desire to touch her.
She took his glass and poured a shot for herself.
“Cora.” Amber gestured for her sister to follow her into the kitchen.
The rest of the team didn’t notice. They continued watching the game. Was this where Cora told someone he’d wanted to sign Irving? Or that Viv wanted to trade Evan? Trent got up and leaned against the kitchen wall, where he had a view of both the television and Cora, whose back was to him.
“You shouldn’t let those guys touch you like that,” Amber was saying.
You go, big sis.
“Don’t start. They’re my friends.” Cora’s none-of-your-business attitude made him smile, even if he didn’t want her being manhandled by someone else.
“When a man gets that close, he thinks you’re open to something more,” Amber persisted.
Yep.
“I had this talk with Daddy when I was, like, fourteen.”
“Bonus points to Dad.” Amber’s tone was lecture-firm. She’d make a great mom someday. “It makes me uncomfortable to watch you.”
Me, too.
“Then don’t watch.” Cora turned around and caught Trent eavesdropping. “I suppose you have something to add.”
Shit. “I agree with your sister, sugar.”
“You would.” Two words. So much disappointment.
Trent was used to identifying a player’s emotional weaknesses. He couldn’t demand the performances he did without knowing how and how far he could push a player. He’d had players like Cora before. They came from broken homes and the team was the only family they’d ever known. All Cora’s prickly independence contrasted against her need to be close to people, to create the semblance of family. With the team, with clients like Viv, and with him. And yet, the words that came out of her mouth always stressed her independence. Why hadn’t he seen it before?
“If you were dating me, I’d be jealous and ask you to stop letting other men touch you.” Why Trent said it, he had no idea. It was the kind of statement Cora usually spit on.
Cora’s dark eyes widened. “There stands Exhibit A, the reason why I don’t date. I’m no one’s possession.” But her protest lacked her usual punch.
Trent smiled. “Dating isn’t about ownership. It’s about finding someone to trust with your innermost secrets, your private dreams, and, yes, your body.” The position in the book on her pink bed came to mind.
Someone called for a shot. Cora flounced past him.
“Sorry about exposing you to family drama.” Amber twisted her red hair over one shoulder, the same way Cora did. “She’s smart. I don’t want people to think she’s that kind of girl.”
He’d thought she was that kind of girl from the moment he’d laid eyes on Cora. It hadn’t taken long for him to realize there was more to her than met the eye.
Downstairs, Cora’s condo was tastefully decorated – big, powerful, black leather sofas, with colorful accents on the walls. That mirrored the woman she presented to the world – I can play with the big boys.
It was the pink bedroom that confounded the impression. The pink screamed fragile princess, and longed for happily-ever-afters. The woman expressed upstairs was soft and vulnerable, the kind of woman you curled up in bed with on lazy Sunday mornings. She was as afraid to show that side of herself to the world as a swamp turtle was to sun himself next to an alligator.
“How’s Cora doing with the team?” Amber checked pizza boxes, consolidating slices.
Trent chose his words carefully. “Contrary to what you see, they treat her like their little sister. And she fights like a tiger to protect them.”
“I’m glad.” Amber’s dark gaze delved for more truths. “And what do you think of her?”
The Reverend offered up an answer. “She’s a good kid, but don’t kid yourself. I don’t want my players to come under the influence of an organization that might brainwash them into walking on coals. I want your company out of the picture.”
“That’s not an answer. Cora isn’t a child.” Despite her words, Amber smiled as if she’d gotten the answer she’d been looking for. “And coal-walking is Tony Robbins’ territory. Relax, Coach. If we wanted to turn the team against you, we would have done that on day one.”
Trent was surprised to find he believed her.
Evan called for his wife.
“We don’t need to be frenemies.” Amber hooked her arm through Trent’s and led him out of the kitchen. “I used to worry about Cora. She seems so hard and uncaring on the outside. But these last few months I’ve come to realize she’s got a soft side she doesn’t like to show. Hurt her soft side, and you may as well kiss her goodbye.”
So he wasn’t the only one who saw more to Cora. “Is that a warning?”
She released him, patting his cheek. “It’s whatever you want it to be.”
/>
Trent was left watching the rest of the game from the back of the living room. He paid more attention to Cora. Her soft side was tied to her pink bedroom. Her soft side was what she showed the team. But when it came to sex, she hid in that hard outer shell.
What would it be like to make love to Cora? Slow and sensual lovemaking, not fast and hard sex. The desire for her soft, pink side grew.
The game film ended. Randy drove a tipsy Antoine home in the speedy guard’s car. Evan and Cora made sure everyone else who needed a ride had one. Trent lingered on the pretext of the same thing, but his dick wanted to walk Cora out.
When it became clear that Cora wasn’t going to leave soon, Trent headed for the door. It was his own fault. They’d had sex and he hadn’t even sent flowers. In his lust, he hadn’t thought enough about her personality and what her contradictions meant. The upstairs Cora would have appreciated flowers.
On the couch, Amber was involved with her cell phone. She gasped and glanced up at her sister. “Cora, is this true?” She handed the phone to her.
Cora read, “Coming to the Flash: the ultimate bad boy, Hugh Irving. Rumor has it this acquisition will cost the team Evan Oliver.” She didn’t look at Trent. “It’s another plant from Viv, like the one about Trent and I being an item. Jack isn’t trading Evan.”
“Ignore Viv.” Evan wrapped his arms around his wife and pressed a kiss on top of her head. “She’s a bitter woman looking for targets.”
“A bitter woman who wants to trade you! This was supposed to be your big year.” Amber sniffed.
Cora practically launched herself at the couple, creating a group hug.
From the shelter of Evan’s arms, Amber glared at Trent. “You’re not going to trade him, are you?”
“No. I think he’s a franchise player.” He retrieved his car keys from his pocket. “According to Cora, Jack should be healthy and able to go home in a few days. The legal department is delaying decisions until Jack returns.”
“I don’t want you to be traded.” Amber hugged Cora and Evan tighter.
The Flash star looked at Trent with a wry grin that seemed to say, “Yeah, this is what love’s like, you poor bastard.”