by Mel Curtis
“I can’t work for the Flash.” She gaped at him as if he’d just suggested she run for President of the United States. “I slept with – ”
“Shh.” He pressed a light kiss on her lips. “Nobody cares about that.”
“Like hell.”
“I believe in you, sugar. You got over your past with Jack a long time ago. Otherwise, you couldn’t have worked with the guy.” He set her away from him so he could see her face. He looked into her eyes, not with Trent’s wicked smile or the Reverend’s stern scowl, but with a lover’s intensity. “Don’t go to Paris.”
He didn’t say I love you. He didn’t say I can’t live without you. He was treating her like a possession again.
She shook her head. “There’s nothing here for me.”
“There’s Brutus. And a basketball team full of head-cases. And me. Most of all, there’s me.” He squeezed her hand. “When I came here, I didn’t want anything to do with cult-like organizations that only saw their rules as the right ones. You showed me that good people can help others without too many rules and without milking clients for every last cent in their bank account. Maybe your methods can be unorthodox, but you renewed my faith in me when I needed it most.”
“Oh, please. You always had faith in yourself.”
He brushed his thumb over her lips. “No, sugar. I had faith in the Reverend.”
She loved being in his arms, but love didn’t last. All it would take was a few reminders of her past and Trent would come to his senses. She could make this easier on him and get him back to the game before the second half. “Nothing’s changed, Trent. This may not seem like a small town, but it is. I have a past.” One he didn’t approve of. “And that picture with Cal? I didn’t see it coming. I take too many risks and I don’t always say or do things in a politically correct way. I’m not the paragon of virtue the Reverend needs.”
“Forget the Reverend!” he roared. “I love you, Cora. Me. The hardass and the stuffed shirt. The Reverend, who can’t see life past basketball. And the man who doesn’t want to see a future that doesn’t have you in it.”
Cora’s spirits lifted. Her heart soared. He loved her. “Somewhere in that rant there was a very important statement. You may have to repeat it, because I’m having a hard time believing.”
“I love you, woman.” So much passion. It was there in the set of his mouth and the intensity in his eyes. She had to believe him. “Would I be here instead of there – ” He thrust a hand in the general direction of the television. “ – if I didn’t?”
She could barely ask, barely speak above a whisper. “You really forgive me for my past?”
He shook his head, sweeping hope aside. “I can’t forgive your past.”
Her heart felt as if it might shatter.
His thumbs traced her cheekbones, wiping away the vestige of her earlier tears. “Only you can forgive yourself, and only if you need to. I can only accept you and love you for who you are today.” He kissed her. Deeply, passionately, and with the promise of a love that no longer scared her. He only paused for an apology. “I hurt you when I chose appearances over substance. I’m sorry. I’m a slow learner.” He reached for something at his feet. “Now, I know you think of yourself as Skipper, but I don’t.”
Cora laughed. He’d brought her a Barbie doll in a sexy evening gown and G.I. Joe in full battle gear. She did so love this man, because he recognized and loved her for who she really was and who she wanted to be.
“I should have listened more closely to what Evan was trying to tell me all this time.” He looked at her the same way Evan had looked at Amber after Jack’s party – love, laced with desire. “Sometimes to love a Rule, you’ve got to break the rules of convention.”
On television, the crowd was going wild. Something had happened in the game. Cora drew back and turned up the volume.
Trent made a grab for the remote. “I just professed my love to you, probably at the cost of my career, and you want to watch basketball?”
She muted the sound and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “Trent Parker, you are the man I’ve been waiting for my whole life. Of course, I love you, but you’ve got to work on your timing.” She turned the volume back on.
“…would never have believed that a seven-footer could shoot like that. That’s the seventh three-pointer Ren Du has sunk. The Lakers are calling a time-out. It’s the Flash, up by fifteen.”
“Shit,” Trent said, awestruck. “The new offense worked.”
Setting Barbie and G.I. Joe aside on the bed, Cora climbed into Trent’s lap, straddling him. “What excuse did you make to miss the game?
“Archie told everyone I had the flu.”
“The flu…I heard that can really tire you out.” She started unwrapping his tie. “You may have to stay in bed for days.”
Outside, a horn honked. It wasn’t Luck, rubbing Cora’s nose in her impossible situations. It was the limo driver.
Cora drew back, struck by an idea. “How would you like to go with me?”
Trent blinked. “To Paris? Now?”
“No.” She was already extricating herself from his lap. “To the game. If we hurry, we can make the second half.”
He grabbed her hand. Together they ran downstairs to the limo.
Leaving Barbie and G.I. Joe alone in that big pink bed.
Epilogue
L.A. Happenings by Lyle Lincoln
…I told you the Flash was full of more drama than any other NBA team. They beat the Lakers and Coach Parker proposed to Cora Rule after the game on national television! If that wasn’t enough juice for you, rumor has it that Glitterfrost Gem attended without her bestie, Mimi Sorbet.
…Sadly, we’re hearing the final bell toll on the marriage of Jack and Vivian Gordon. At least, that’s what the press release says. But I’ve heard…
Cora hurried down the hallway of the Flash training facilities, more nervous than Kylie Jenner at her first modeling gig. Only Cora didn’t have Kris Kardashian giving her a pep talk.
It was just Cora who was in charge of her fate, rather than letting Fate and Luck rule her.
Will this change things?
Her steps faltered.
Of course, it will change things.
She slid a hand over the belt at her waist. Tricky things, belts. They slid out of place or bunched up your blouse. Cora wanted to look good when she delivered the news to Trent.
Her heels clicked and echoed as she forced herself to walk, not run. He was so focused on the team. This put a wrench in his plans.
A door at the end of the hallway opened. Evan entered, carrying a basketball, dripping sweat. “Hey, Cora. You and Trent want to come over for dinner tonight?”
Cora stopped in front of Trent’s office. Someone was inside with him, seated in the visitor’s chair, back to the window. “I don’t know. Maybe?” Where was her confidence? Her fire? Her decisiveness? “I don’t think so.”
Evan stopped in front of her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m…” She glanced into Trent’s office, but he was exhibiting his best Southern manners today and giving his full attention to his visitor. “Distracted.” She fiddled with her belt again. That had to stop. “Too much going on up here.” Cora tapped her temple. “You know how that goes. Thought comes in. Squirrel! Thought drifts away.”
“I will never understand you Rule women.” Evan kissed the top of her head. “But I love you anyway.” He headed toward the showers.
“Amber’s lucky she saw you first,” Cora teased, knowing full well he wasn’t the man for her. Trent was. But this…This was a test of the unconditional love between them.
Trent opened his office door. He still had the power to make her melt with just his smile. “We haven’t been married long enough for you to hit on one of my players.”
“Hitting on Evan doesn’t count.”
“Everything counts.” His eyes flashed with heat that said she’d pay for that comment later (bring it, big man). He held out h
is hand. “Come inside. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
His fingers were warm around hers. Cora’s nerves settled. She drew a deep breath.
Things will change. But we can handle it.
“Dr. Rambis. I’d like you to meet my wife, Cora Rule Parker.”
The man stood. He was tall, close to seven feet. He dressed like a college professor – cheap blazer, wrinkled khakis, stain on his checked shirt. Shaved like one, too. He’d missed some graying whiskers beneath his right chin.
“Cora, Dr. Rambis is here to offer his services as the team’s sports psychologist.” Trent’s voice was dead-on serious.
Her lungs suddenly felt as if they’d been filled with hardening glue. She struggled to draw a breath.
Without realizing how, her hand was swallowed by the good doctor’s and pumped too hard.
“Nice to meet you.” Dr. Rambis laughed, a donkey-like disaster – her-haw, her-haw. “You’ve done a great job taking the team as far as you have. The both of you.”
The old Cora, the one who was bitter and caustic and vengeful, raised her gaze to Dr. Rambis. He wanted her job? He wanted to belittle what Trent had done with the team? Cora moved to lean on the credenza, searching for weaknesses, planning her attack. Knowing she’d do nothing but sit quietly on the sidelines.
Her news was going to break them. Their love would shatter like a mirror that fell off a too-small nail. In anticipation of that fall, Cora’s heart began to crack.
“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” Dr. Rambis was saying, gathering his briefcase. Even that was uncool. It was an old leather briefcase, not a messenger bag. “Nice meeting you.”
Chest feeling empty and hollow, Cora fiddled with her belt, and watched her husband close his office door.
Don’t let this be the end.
Trent turned, chuckling softly.
“What’s s-so funny?” She’d meant for the words to come out with heat, but she sounded like she’d developed a stutter and taken a hit of helium.
“Life is full of irony.” Trent had that slow Southern smile on his face, the one she loved, the one that made it challenging to be the old, hard Cora.
Jack burst in without knocking. “Well?” He looked at Trent. “Was I right?”
Trent nodded.
“So you’re hiring Dr. Rambis.” Cora swallowed her disappointment and pride. It went down like a lump of dry chewing gum. “And firing me.”
“Huh?” A dual chorus from the men who ran the Flash.
“You think I’d hire that guy?” Jack grinned.
“You think I’d let that guy work with my team?” Trent pulled Cora into the circle of his arms. “He came highly recommended from the commissioner’s office.”
“They don’t like the way I run things. Hiring the Rules and breaking the Rules.” The Flash owner puffed out his chest and turned to go, tossing over his shoulder, “I got more fines from the NBA this year than Mark Cuban. Screw the commissioner!”
“But we couldn’t just blow Dr. Rambis and the commissioner off.” Trent smoothed her hair. “We had to take a meeting. We’re happy with the way things are.”
Cora drew a deep breath. “I’m about to change things.”
Trent held her away from him. “In what way.”
“I…uh…” The longing and the want and the way she’d kept things secret from him for months bumbled around in the way of her words. Just say it. Cora cleared her throat. “I got accepted in to the UCLA Sports Psychology program.”
“Sugar…”
Cora knew how important keeping the team in balance was to Trent. “I’m not quitting the Flash,” she rushed on. “But I really, really want this. It’s going to be hard, but I’m ready. Or I will be with a flexible work schedule.” She wasn’t explaining this well. Trent was all about the schedule and keeping to it. “I can do my homework on the plane or at the hotel when I’m not having player sessions. I’ll put in long days. I won’t let anyone down. I…I…” Cora was finally able to put her babble button on pause. She fingered her belt. “Say something.”
His whiskey-brown eyes turned as soft as the way he kissed her every morning. “I’m so proud of you.” His hands settled on her waist, and he swept her off her feet, spinning her around twice before setting her back down. “This will change things, but we can do it.”
“Do you mean it?” She loved this man more than she’d ever loved anyone or anything, more than really great shoes, or a clearance sale at Barney’s.
“I love you, sugar.” Trent cradled her face in his hands. “And I fell in love with you because you always reach for the stars. I’d be honored to help you catch one.”
Excerpt from All My Love
L.A. Happenings by Lyle Lincoln
…Have you heard? Nearly a year after his death, we’re finding more of Dooley Rule’s children. Can’t wait for the official count from the Dooley Foundation, Hollywood’s favorite life coaching firm. Who are these hidden Rules? And will they be as fascinating and gossip-worthy as Dooley’s other children?
…It’s a day of questions. @GlitterfrostGem is one of starlet Mimi Sorbet’s BFFs on Twitter, a frequent #WomenCrushWednesday of NBA Flash’s assistant coach, Randy Farrell, and a soon to be featured date on Blue Rule’s matchmaking reality show. But who is she really? Actress? Porn princess? Lucky sperm club member? I’m dying to know.
Chapter One
Everything about Gemma Kent’s life was a lie.
She’d thought Dooley Rule was her godfather. Yeah, take away “god” and you got that right.
Then the hottest gossip columnist in L.A. called her a mystery woman. The mystery is why no one recognizes me when my hair isn’t straightened and my make-up isn’t heavy.
And now she was helping perpetuate the worst lie of all on Valentine’s Day. She’d thought her half-sister, Cora Rule, was setting her up on a blind date. Only it wasn’t a date. It was an exercise in confidence building by the Dooley Foundation for a client – a young, sexy NBA coach who embodied everything Gemma found honorable in the world – honesty. The same man who kept tweeting sweet things to her @GlitterfrostGem on Twitter’s Woman Crush Wednesday. He’d cyber-stolen her heart. He’s going to be so disappointed in me in real life.
Gemma’s stomach did contortions that’d terrify a member of Cirque de Soleil. College students working as part-time receptionists didn’t land dates with NBA coaches. Not unless they were beautiful, tall, and well-endowed. Gemma was plain, petite, and sharp-tongued.
What started as an innocent assignment for the Dooley Foundation – accompanying a popular actress fresh out of rehab on shopping trips – had gained made-over Gemma notoriety as Miss Glitterfrost Gem. Her alter-ego’s picture was posted on gossip sites. Once a picture of her and actress Mimi Sorbet made it to a sidebar of People magazine’s cover! But no one ever posted Gemma’s real name. She was known only as Mimi’s BFF and by her Twitter name – @GlitterfrostGem.
No one would have known about her had Cora not “borrowed” Gemma’s phone and tweeted that first picture of Gemma and Mimi on Gemma’s account, hashtag bestie, hashtag MimiSorbet.
And now Gemma was one of three women meeting Coach Randy Farrell on Valentine’s Day. He’d choose one of them for a dinner date. She’d bet her next car payment it wasn’t going to be her. He’d take one look at Gemma and see she was a phony. Crush over. Foolish heart broken.
Sitting on a stool in Cora’s bathroom, Gemma’s stomach contorted once more.
Cora flung her long, dark hair over her shoulder with a sophisticated flair Gemma envied, and then rummaged through her large make-up case as if Gemma needed more paint on her face. “Don’t you have contacts?”
“No.” Gemma wore glasses. Black-framed, rectangular lenses. The only time Gemma didn’t wear them was when Mimi made her over and carted her around Beverly Hills, leaving Gemma feeling like a mole dragged into the sunlight.
Because of all the media exposure, she couldn’t be Glitterfrost Gem with her
glasses on. Thus, tonight’s dilemma – glasses meant honesty. Honesty meant Randy wouldn’t want her. Because when he’d met plain, lens-wearing Gemma Kent, she’d been invisible to him.
Just as she was about to bite her lip, Gemma remembered she was wearing several coats of Bite Me red lipstick.
“No glasses tonight. You need to look hot.” Cora paused in her rummaging to slide Gemma’s glasses onto her own face. “Yeesh, you really are blind.”
“Only without my glasses.” Gemma blinked eyelashes heavy with mascara.
“I didn’t go to all this trouble for you to dumb-down the look.”
“Cora, this is me you’re talking about. I don’t have a look.” Until a few months ago, she’d been clumping around in combat boots because a condition of her godfather’s…her father’s…will stipulated that her tuition to UCLA would only continue to be paid if she wore army boots every day. She might have been considered fashionable if she’d worn them once or twice a week. But everyday?
“You have two looks.” Cora stood between Gemma and the mirror, blocking Gemma’s view of herself. “The Dooley Foundation receptionist, and the hottest secret in the Twittersphere, Glitterfrost Gem.” She set Gemma’s glasses on her nose, then stepped aside so that Gemma could see herself.
Gemma sighed wistfully. The woman in the mirror had conservative cleavage, tamed shoulder-length, straight brown hair, and beautiful, dark eyes behind Poindexter glasses. The little black dress Cora had loaned her was understated and classy. “This isn’t me.” No matter how much she sometimes wished otherwise. “I’m a fraud.”
“This is you. Embrace it. Two looks make you more interesting.” Cora dug in her closet and came up with a pair of red pumps.
Those crimson shoes struck fear in Gemma’s heart. They matched the color of the lingerie Cora had made her buy earlier. Stripper clothes, her mother would say. Gemma had never worn anything but white cotton. “I should wear my combat boots.” And the glasses. And a trench coat.