by Mel Curtis
To his credit, Irving looked at Trent for approval before coming over to join her. The metal bleachers groaned under his weight.
“Normally, when I bring a man coffee,” she said injecting her voice with Amber-like perk. “I spike it with whiskey. But since you have a full day of practice ahead of you, I didn’t think Coach would appreciate it.”
He slurped his drink. Quite the charmer.
“I’m trying to figure you out, Hugh. It’s no secret that even your agent believes this is your last chance at the NBA.” Cora cradled her cup in both hands, watching Ren shoot a beautiful three with as much grace as a ballerina. “If it was my last chance at something, I’d lay it all on the line. What is it you know that no one else does? Are you about to come into an inheritance? Win the lottery?” She turned to the big man expectantly.
He slurped more coffee.
So much for the subtle approach.
Archie walked past with his clipboard, shaking his head.
Cora’s gaze drifted to Trent. He was on the sidelines, helping Jablone with his stutter step before sending him back in to scrimmage. Off-season and training camp were the only periods when time was spent on a player’s technique. Trent was surprisingly patient, but his patience was running out with Hugh.
“Coach Parker believes in you. He’s all-in this year.” He was all-in with the team and with her.
I’m dating him.
It was strange and exciting and nerve-wracking.
She pressed her fingers into the cardboard cup to keep them from shaking. “Sometimes you have to decide how badly you want something and what you’re willing to sacrifice to get it.”
No response. He was such an ass.
Cora’s temper flared into bitch mode. How dare he sabotage Trent? “Or I suppose you could give up and become a lumberjack or a gold miner. The beard certainly fits.”
Movement near the main gym doors drew her eye. Mimi and Gemma came in. Gemma had been made over and was wearing Mimi’s clothes. Coco poked her head out of the Anuschka bag on Mimi’s shoulder. Cora excused herself and went to greet them.
“What are you guys doing here?” Cora didn’t know whether to congratulate Gemma for getting Mimi out of the house, or cuss her out for bringing the actress to a Flash practice.
“I had to see Randy in person.” Mimi hugged Cora, but not before giving Gemma a sly half-glance.
“This is so embarrassing,” Gemma mumbled, cheeks pink.
“Only if we tell Randy you’re here to show him off to me, Glitterfrost Gem.” Mimi was dressed like a movie star in a black leather mini, an orange silk tank, and black booties.
“I’ll introduce you,” Cora promised, feeling frumpy in jeans and a red Flash tee.
With a squeak, Gemma spun for the door.
“Don’t be a girl.” Mimi tugged her back around.
“I’m showing cleavage,” Gemma said hoarsely, brushing her straightened hair off her face.
A double-take revealed some kind of miracle beneath Gemma’s thin brown sweater. Her never-seen-the-sun skin blushed from chest to cheek.
The team noticed their presence. Cora could feel their effort downshift in intensity.
Trent turned, seeking to identify the source of the team’s change in tempo. His expression hardened.
“Why don’t you guys sit over there by Hugh Irving?” Cora didn’t wait to see if Gemma would argue. She hurried to Trent’s side.
“Get rid of them.” He didn’t look at her. “This is a closed practice.”
Berto and Randy stood on the other side of him, trying not to stare at their visitors. And failing.
“The team needs to get used to distractions. Your first game is against the Lakers. There’ll be movie stars and celebs on floor level.”
Trent’s jaw worked. He was always so serious and intense on the court. It wasn’t just the team that could benefit from a starlet’s presence.
“How you respond to celebs says a lot to the team about how they should respond to celebs.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mimi capture Hugh’s beard like a ponytail in her hands. She wore the brainless, sex-pot persona. It was a role she hadn’t used much since she’d been released from rehab. “Can you see this trimmed back to a goatee, Gemma? He’d be so hot.”
Hugh said something that made Mimi laugh. Gemma slouched next to her, looking as out of place as a child showing up for a play-date in her Sunday school clothes.
“I don’t have time to meet Mimi Sorbet,” Trent groused, not near as angry as he’d like her to believe.
“So you do know who she is,” Cora teased. “Pretend she’s one of your college boosters. A fan who’ll give you support.” Except this support would most likely be on social media and spread to millions of the actress’ fans.
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Did you plan this?”
“No, but I should have.” She squeezed his hand briefly, hoping no one would notice.
“Go, girl,” Mimi said, noticing.
“Introduce the coaching assistants,” Trent grumbled. “Then get rid of them.”
“You’re sexy when you’re in charge,” she whispered.
He aimed whiskey-warm eyes her way. “I’ll never be in charge when you’re around.” He didn’t say it sarcastically. He said it softly, as if letting her know he was willing to go at her pace.
Cora couldn’t move. She could barely breathe. Trent was giving her so much. And what was she giving him in return? Her body. A shared laugh. But not her heart. Love was fleeting and, from her parents’ examples, led to unhappiness. Gemma’s words about what dating was came back to her. They hadn’t set boundaries between them. He called it dating. She…She didn’t know. Labels and declarations scared her.
Trent crossed his arms over his chest and faced the court.
Impulsively, Cora rose onto her toes and kissed his cheek. So much for keeping their whatever it was on the down-low.
One of the players hooted. Someone else whistled.
Trent’s lips twitched upward, almost to the set of his wickedly crooked smile. Those eyes didn’t turn back to her. “Subs!” Trent made substitutions, calling Hugh back to the court.
Cora moved behind Trent to wave Randy and Berto toward the bleachers. She returned her attention to the court. Irving was putting more pep in his step. Her mind jumped to a conclusion. “He’s butt-hurt.”
“Who?” Trent asked without looking at her.
She returned to his side. “Irving. He gets no ego stroking from you. He’s probably never been low man on the totem pole before. Mimi flirted with him and look how he upped his game. Think of what he’d do if you gave him some positive reinforcement.”
He bent, resting his hands on his knees, as if searching for a new perspective to the action on the court. “I don’t baby my players. And I’m not making him a captain to stroke his ego. He has to earn his place. This is not recreational ball where every participant earns a trophy.”
A basketball rim reverberated from a dunk. Male whoops filled the air. Players were high-fiving the bearded one. Irving’s smile was clearly visible beneath all that wild hair.
“Duck Dynasty got air.” Evan grinned as he ran by.
Cora chuckled. “You owe me, Reverend. No one works as fast as the Dooley Foundation.”
Behind her, Gemma and Mimi laughed.
“I’d prefer to think you owe me.” Trent straightened, capturing her gaze in a vortex of heat that made her knees weak and her panties damp and made her wonder: Could a woman want a man too much?
Chapter 27
The team was in a huddle early Friday afternoon when the door to the gym opened and a small, brown-skinned man wearing baggy orange pants led in several barefoot, beautiful women wearing harem pants and bikini tops.
The man’s face was familiar. It filled a billboard on Wilshire. Trent couldn’t remember his name, but the billboard promised great sex. When Cora warned Trent about celebrities, he’d never expected they�
�d start dropping by unexpectedly. Two in one day?
“Oh, mighty ones,” the little man said, waving the women forward. “I am here to help you.”
Before Trent could say anything, Evan pushed through the huddle. “Senge, you can’t be here.”
Evan was on a first name basis with the sex guy?
The women were quickly closing the distance to the salivating team. Randy looked nervous. Berto looked eager.
“I have an invitation from Mrs. Gordon to teach the Flash how to achieve heaven.” Senge smiled gently at Evan. “But I had forgotten you and the tall one were already disciples.”
“Which tall one?” Antoine asked, flashing a gold-toothed smile. “Ren or Hugh?”
“Not the bearded one.” Senge giggled, a high-pitched sound as comforting as a dentist’s drill. “My two graduates may contemplate their desires, while we demonstrate the poses and breathing techniques best suited for sustaining inner pleasure.” He gestured to his harem.
The women circled the team, hips swaying provocatively.
“There will be no orgies performed on this court!” Trent bellowed.
“As you wish, mighty sir. I can see that your chakras are in line with the benefits of good, regular sex.”
“Out!” Trent pointed to the door amidst the chuckles and disappointed glances of the team.
Senge waved the women toward the door. Trent hoped they wouldn’t start stripping as they left. He’d never stop the team if that happened.
“I will extend a twenty-four hour offer,” Senge said. “Any Flash member may come to Wicked Tantric during that time. All fees waived, compliments of Mrs. Gordon and the Dooley Foundation.”
Trent glared at Senge until he left.
Antoine elbowed Ren. “Was his advice worth it? I can go tonight after game film and then maybe hit the club with my new secret powers.”
“No one is going to Wicked Tantric.” Trent pointed to the court. “Now get out there and loosen up with three hundred shots.”
Antoine hesitated. “But – ”
“Four hundred!”
~*~
“Can I talk to you for a minute, Miss Rule? Outside?” Trent met Cora at the gym entrance as she returned from her rounds with other clients.
Hip-hop music blared through speakers as players worked on individual shots.
Cora followed Trent into the hallway. He led her into his office, closed the door behind her, then locked it.
Her heart gave an anticipatory ka-thump. “Given our history with locked doors, you probably shouldn’t have done that.”
He took a step toward her, hunger in his eyes. “You weren’t here when I needed you. We were invaded by Vivian’s evil minions.”
She gave him a once over, fully enjoying toying with her man. “I don’t see any scars.”
“I need you to say here and now.” His brows were as low as his voice.
Cora suppressed an anticipatory shiver.
“Say it.” He could have reached for her. The room was that small, his arms that long.
Cora was used to quick, illicit sex. It’d been her M.O. for years. But something held her back. She laid a hand on his chest. “Hold on. People will suspect something is up if we’re in here too long.” And she returned to the gym looking thoroughly kissed, because Trent didn’t do anything in half measures.
His eyes held hers for a tense moment, and then he shrugged. “I said I wanted to date you, not run around on the Q.T. Most of the guys have guessed we’re seeing each other anyway.”
Her heart pounded faster. She glanced at the window that faced the hallway. He wasn’t thinking this through. And she wasn’t ready to de-evolve what they’d had so far to the level of her relationships in the past.
His stare was smokin’ hot, uncaring of his reputation. “Kiss me.”
She wanted to. She wanted to move her hand lower and feel how much he wanted her. But she shook her head. “One of us needs to keep an eye on the ball. Your day is over in another hour. I’ll kiss you then.”
His gaze turned calculating. He’d tried letting her lead. He’d tried demanding. She wasn’t surprised that he changed tactics again. That’s why he was a good coach. He adapted. “The day Irving arrived, when I saw him coming onto you, I wanted to knock him down.”
Men. So predictable.
She wanted Trent to take back the words that made her feel like a possession. Suddenly, she was tired, tired of practice dating and pretending she could be in a normal relationship. She was tired of trying to figure out her emotions and not hurt his. Sex was simple. Relationships were exhausting. She should just fuck him and get it over with. “Why didn’t you knock him on his ass, Trent?”
His brows didn’t draw down at her end-of-my-rope tone. “Because I knew you could take care of yourself, sugar, even with a brute like him.”
Something inside Cora shifted and broke open. Instead of being tired, she was energized. Instead of being confused, everything was clear. He knew who she was. He, of all the men she’d had sexual relationships with, knew what she needed.
She threw herself into his arms and kissed him. It wasn’t a kiss born of anger, or the heat of passion. It was a kiss of one soul acknowledging its connection to another. Her entire body seemed to be floating, but not up. It floated toward him.
“That’s the sweetest thing anyone ever said to me,” she murmured a few minutes later, gazing into his eyes through a mist of tears.
He brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “I don’t want to own you, sugar, or to have casual sex whenever the urge strikes. You’re an intriguing woman when you’re not annoying me.”
She nipped his lip. “Now who’s talking too much? Shut up and kiss me again.” He could take her here, in the corner of the office where no one passing by in the hallway could see. She undid a button on his polo.
Trent captured her hands. “You keep too many people at a distance.”
“Like you?” She tried to free her hands, plotting where to put them next. But his hold was tight. She snuggled closer, encouraging his hips into a promising rhythm.
“Thank, God, not me.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “It’s the strangest thing. As a life coach you have boundaries, and yet you make each person feel loved.”
“Loved?” She stopped moving. No man ever spoke the “L” word willingly to her, even in a secondary context. He may know her, but if this was his segue to a conversation about love…she wasn’t ready. He’d want to know things, like how many men had come before him, what positions she’d tried, and how well he measured up to her past lovers. He wouldn’t understand that she’d never met anyone like him and couldn’t compare him to anyone she’d been with before.
“Ren said he was going to marry you.” Trent’s crooked smile teased as much as his words.
He didn’t realize she didn’t joke about love. “Ren says he wants to marry every woman he meets.” What was Trent doing? Where was this heading?
“Antoine tells you all his love-life secrets.” He clasped her hands over his heart.
He could probably feel its wild beat. “Antoine talks about his conquests to anyone who’ll listen.”
“And then there’s me.”
“You?” Her heart was pounding its way out of her chest toward his. In hope. In confusion. In fear. Fear that he’d say the L-word. Fear that she’d never live up to his expectations. Fear that she’d run away and hurt his feelings.
“You make me feel like you’ve got my back.” His face clouded over. “I know you think I’m too old-fashioned and probably too old for you – ”
“Hold that thought Rip Van Winkle.” Unable to let him go down that path, she resorted to humor and held him at arm’s length. “What’s going on here? We’ve barely started to…to…date and you’re talking about feelings.”
“You’re right.” He gave her space, sitting on the edge of his desk. “I haven’t asked you out. I’d like to take you for ice cream after we watch game film tonight.”
&
nbsp; How much hokier could he be? Hokey was sweet and sweet led to commitment and commitment scared her.
“Don’t be scared, sugar.” It was eerie how he read her mind.
His words didn’t comfort her. “My Dad…My Mom…They dated. They married. They divorced. More than once. All their relationships ended up in a tangled heap.” Love turned to hate. She didn’t want that with Trent. She wanted great sex, good times, and fond memories without regrets.
Each of their phones buzzed with text messages.
“That’s fear talking. Say yes.” He reached for his cell, but didn’t look at the message. He was waiting for her response.
She swallowed. “Check your phone, Reverend. It could be important.”
He wanted to look. His eyes drifted in that direction. But he held out, giving her a tender smile that melted her heart. “Not until you say yes.
Her brain was muddled on overload. There was danger here. Trent couldn’t understand the lifestyle she’d only recently given up. How could this possibly work?
“You won’t regret it,” he added gruffly.
Desire and loneliness ganged up on self-preservation. “Yes.” She regretted it already.
He stood, kissed her forehead and went back to practice.
Lingering in his office, trembling, Cora checked her messages.
Portia’s text read: I need you.
She called her former best friend.
“I don’t have a date for tonight’s Women’s Gala Fashion Show and my assistant just went home with the flu.”
Cora was flipping through her mental Rolodex of men when Portia surprised her by adding, “Come with me.” Portia didn’t wait for an answer. “I know you still have that Zuhair Murad in your closet. It’s only from last winter.” Being Cora’s former best friend, she knew of the conditions of Dooley’s will and that Cora couldn’t buy anything new.
A fashion show. Cora was tempted. It was work, a legitimate reason to cancel her ice cream date with Trent.
It wasn’t ice cream that scared her. Nor the possibility of great sex. It was the possibility of intimate discussions and that they’d run into another relationship road block.