by Mj Fields
“Call the police?” Brock lets out an angry snicker.
“I’ve told you to stop calling. I left the hotel so you’d stop knocking on my door. I want nothing to do with you.”
“Then why did you come, Courtney? It sure as fuck wasn’t to save this team. I had investors lined up for that. You’re here to make my life miserable; don’t expect any less from me. And you.” He points at me. “I would watch your back.”
“You watch yours, motherfucker,” I snap.
“Trae, just go. Brock, leave.”
“I am leaving, but you just crossed a line. And you.” He points at me again. “Don’t think for a minute I won’t end shit for you.”
I laugh. “Tried once; how’d that work out for you?”
“I’m not shoveling horse shit in Utah.” He laughs without amusement as he walks toward the door.
Once he leaves, Courtney hurries into her bedroom, and I am left standing there, pissed off as fuck.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Such A Guy
COURTNEY
AFTER GETTING MYSELF TOGETHER EMOTIONALLY, then make a salad from a bag, I walk out onto the patio to find Trae standing at the grill.
“You okay?” he asks without looking back at me.
“I’m fine.”
“How often does he bug you?”
“He bugs me every time I hear his name,” I joke poorly.
“Glass of wine on the table, but maybe after that, you’d like to say fuck it and do some shots.” He chuckles weakly.
I know this—me and him, dinner, the car ride—isn’t just crossing a line; it’s stepping over it and embracing whatever is to come. I’m forging a friendship with a man who I am also wildly attracted to. One who has a habit of picking up what Brock has discarded. Nevertheless, curiosity wins over sense.
“How did he ruin you?” I can’t stop myself from asking.
He looks back at me and shrugs. “It was a long time ago. You know the deal; saw it on The Dirt.”
“The woman? Is she—”
“Callie’s mom? Yeah.” He nods then takes a drink from the bottled beer next to the grill. “How do you like your steak?”
“I’m not really that hungry.”
He looks back at me. “Don’t let that piece of shit get to you.”
“He’s not.” It’s not a lie. When I came to Seattle, I was ready to exact revenge, but now, Brock is just as Christa said—a pimple on the ass of nothing.
Trae chuckles like he doesn’t believe me.
“He isn’t,” I defend myself. “I’ll admit, he did at first. I wanted to...” I pause to put my thoughts in order.
“Deflate his balls?” Trae asks as he closes the grill and walks toward me.
“Something like that.” I toss back the rest of the wine, and he fills my glass after sitting opposite of me. “But now, I really want to make this work, you know?”
He smirks. “Then let’s be like Nike and...”
“Just do it,” we say at the same time, and then laugh.
“What plans do you have for the team?” he asks.
“Well, first of all, to gain their respect. I should have it automatically.” I shake my head in disappointment. “I didn’t expect them to all treat me like they do.”
“Like a little girl playing dress up?” he asks, and I nod. “They’re worried about their careers. Some of these guys are lucky to be on an NBA team, myself included. If this thing flops, there’s a great possibility that they’re done. They all know that, and some are just riding out their contracts, not looking at career goals. Most of them are lucky to be here, but already too sucked into the fame to remember where they came from and where they could go back to in the blink of an eye.”
“It’s not just the team. It’s the staff. Even my assistant is a dick.”
“He’s not contracted, is he?”
I shake my head and take another drink.
“Then shit, can him.”
“When his replacement comes, I’ll do just that.”
“There you go.” He smiles. “You got plans.”
His smile has super powers. It sends electric currents to whomever it’s intended for and causes that person to smile back.
When I do return his smile, his eyes twinkle, and then he raises his glass.
“Offer still stands, Court.”
“And which offer would that be?”
Now his smile grows. “Either one. Hell, both. Just keep in mind, you have me for a season, and then I’m back to shoveling shit in Utah.”
“Aren’t you from the Midwest?”
“Yeah, geography obviously isn’t one of shithead’s stronger suits.” He looks at me thoughtfully. “He cheated on you?”
I nod. “I thought the ring meant something more than it did. Like, I didn’t have to worry about that.” I raise my glass. “Lesson learned.”
“It’s more the person than the ring. Look around.” He gestures to the world around us. “Marriage is a joke.”
“I agree, but I never intended mine to be.”
He smiles and nods. “What’s your idea of marriage?”
“Mine?” I snort, having just started to wonder that exact question. “I don’t know...Probably more the little girl playing dress up thing, you know?”
“Except she’s wearing white lacey panties and no bra,” he teases, his voice a little huskier.
I look down, hoping he doesn’t see what that tone does to me, what his words do to me. He must know, though. Hell, I bet he can see my nipples tighten, my cheeks start to flush. Not to mention, I’m sure he somehow knows my white lacey panties are getting damper by the second.
“We’re two attractive people, both adults, both unattached; if you wanna play make believe with me, by all means—”
Oh, God, no, no, no, no.
“To me, marriage is a partnership,” I cut him off. When he chuckles, I look up and try to bring the conversation back to where it started, telling him, “My mom and stepfather have a perfect marriage. Where she’s weak, he’s strong, and vice versa. When she is being ridiculous, he steps in and makes her appear less so. When she’s out of line, he gives her a soft nudge back to reality. They’re best friends and partners.”
“So, a best friend is what you want in your life-long partner?” he asks before taking a drink.
“Yes. That’s the only way it can last.”
“So, you think attraction and sexual desire isn’t necessary to make a marriage last?”
“It’s not as important as the partnership, having mutual respect, goals, and a deep friendship.”
To this, he laughs.
“What?”
“Now I get why you agreed to marry that fool. It certainly wasn’t because he’s a good lover.”
I smile as I shake my head. “We were friends once.”
“But he sucked in the sack.”
I shrug. “Sex is sex.” I have never had mind-blowing sex. However, I am sure it would be better with an attentive partner and if it lasted just a little longer than just ten minutes.
He abruptly stands up and walks to the grill. “Marriage should be all that, but you gotta matchup between the sheets, too.”
“That doesn’t last forever.”
He turns around, his jaw nearly hitting the floor. He looks like I just told him Santa Claus isn’t real.
“What?” I ask.
“The hell it doesn’t!”
“Not true.” I giggle. “I mean, why do you think that blue pill is such a hit?”
“Maybe because the shit you were talking about wasn’t happening, too.”
“You agree with my idea of marriage?”
“Sure, but there needs to be a lot of fucking, as well.”
I roll my eyes. “You are such a guy.”
“No, Courtney, I’m a man. I’d never get married to someone who’d just be a friend to the end, so to speak. I’ve had plenty of friends. Life changes, and so do they. Hell, we all do. But if I ever get married, it’l
l be to a woman who makes me feel like I can’t be inside her enough.”
“All about the balls, huh, player?” I giggle again.
He lifts the lid of the grill then runs his hands over his head as he stares down at the steaks. “Something like that.”
There are times when awkward silence fills the space between two people. Then there are times when silence feels like a reprieve, a necessity. This is one of those times.
There has been a sexual tension between us since the first time I saw him. I will never to admit it, but just the way he stands gives off an air of confidence that makes you assume he would be a good lover.
The locker room where he all but bared his body to me when I banged on the door...The conference room when he stuck up for me in a room full of men, and then made his intentions clear as day once again...I wish I had met him in a different circumstance. I wish he wasn’t a plan B. I wish I wasn’t his.
I let my thoughts dance around each other, sense and imagination doing the tango. It would make sense because of my past that it would be okay. But I also imagined that sex could be what I still held out hope for it to be someday.
Trae oozes sex and stamina. I imagine he would be wonderful in bed. I sure hope sense wins. My life needs no more chaos.
After he flips the steaks, he grabs a bottle of water for himself and brings the bottle of red wine over, refilling my now empty glass.
“Look, you and I both know this thing between us will happen.”
It’s like he read my mind. “Says who?”
“Says your desire and my persistence. It’s inevitable. Let’s push that aside for now and focus on what you’re gonna do to make this work for you.”
“I don’t need your help,” I say, still somewhat stunned at his forthright comment.
He rolls his eyes as he sits. “What happened with Coach today?”
I take a deep breath, and he pushes my wine toward me. I lift the glass and take a sip before answering, “He’s pissed at me.”
“I kind of figured that. He has no right to be.”
“I agree.” I nod. “I’ve done nothing, but he insists that he and my father—”
“He’s gone, sweet thing,” he says with much more kindness and less kink this time. “He left you this team.”
“He left it to his kids, not specifically me.”
“He left it to you.” He points at me. “He was planting roots for you. Not for the coach and not for Brock. Not for Cole or Carter.”
“Wait, how do you know my brothers’ names?”
He smirks and shrugs. “I’m not just here for the love of the game. I want that fucker to implode. The easiest way to get him to do that is hitting him with a left and a right. Show him up on the court and take what he thinks is his. So, I’m here for you, too.”
I was right; I am his plan B. Oddly, this doesn’t annoy me. He’s being forthright and honest. It may actually make this easier.
This?
Oh hell, sense is not winning.
Redirect!
“And the money,” I point out.
“Of course the money.” He shrugs again. “Not gonna lie, though, Courtney. When I first saw you, I thought, well, hell, I guess I can make this work. You don’t photograph well.” He grins wickedly.
“You did not just say that!” I kick him under the table, and he laughs.
“Be careful. You may damage something you’ll enjoy someday.”
“Oh, please, I kicked your ankle.”
“Mere inches from the goods.” He winks.
“And a big head.”
“Proportionate.”
“I was talking about your ego,” I huff.
“Let’s stop talking about our soon-to-be sex life and back to Coach. What did he say?”
I shake my head. “You make my head spin, Rhodes.”
He raises his eyebrows. “That’s nothing. Wait until I’m face down between your legs.”
My mouth drops open before I sputter out, “I was talking about the fact you keep switching subjects!”
He chuckles. “I can multitask.”
“You’re impossible.”
“For most. But for you, I’ll be easy.” When I groan, he then tells me, “Coach wants you out, because he thinks Brock’s his in. Brock wants you out, because he has investors that will no doubt give him power.”
“That’s what I’ve come up with,” I agree.
“And what do you want, Courtney Cohen?”
“I want respect. I want to be taken seriously. I want anyone who has a problem with me to leave.”
“But there are those pesky contracts...”
“Yes, there are those.”
“I’d love to tell you you’re doing the right thing and it’ll all work out.”
“But you don’t think I am?” I ask, deflating at the idea that I might not be.
“On the contrary, I think you should hold the team accountable. Coach and the rest of the people you employ owe you respect. But I think you’re gonna take a lot more shit than you did today before it gets any better.”
I sigh. “I figured the same.”
“Like tomorrow, they’re all gonna show up at fourteen after.”
I nod. “Then they’ll bench the next game.”
“You gonna make Coach bench them?”
“No, not completely. But I think they should sit for the exact amount of time they were late.”
“You’re gonna go in with your weakest players for the season’s first game and hope what? That ticket sales increase because the season looks less promising than the last?”
I half-shrug. “Hopefully it teaches them a lesson.”
“Your team, your rules.” He smiles as he gets up and walks to the grill again. “Steaks are almost done. How about that salad?”
I point to the bowl on the table.
He smiles. This one is sweeter, less wicked. “Was gonna ask how I could miss that, but I know why. I was looking at you.”
***
I LIE IN BED, LOOKING up at the ceiling and thinking about Trae. Black hair, olive skin, and his eyes...God, his eyes are an amazing topaz brown, pale and clear, with a dark golden tone to them. They are also very telling and get darker when he says things that I shouldn’t encourage, but I do. It can’t be helped.
Christa can’t get here fast enough.
The way he looked at me while I ate, the way I know I look at him because I can’t look away—nothing good will come of this.
I need to remain professional, and I need to put my plans into motion. Now, more than ever, I want to save this team. And it’s not just because of how sexy number 23 is, or the fact that I want to make him proud. But because of the players like him, the ones who are here to make dreams come true.
I toss and turn all night, unable to sleep, yet unable to focus on what needs to be done and what needs to be ignored.
I have plans in place. Steps are already in the works to make the arena profitable, like a concert a month to be held at the Stable during the off-season. Plus, the Stallions’ first home game is going to be spectacular, and sure to bring in fans of all types with hopes that the fun seekers return to every game.
For next season, I have plans to hire a transfer team to change from basketball to ice hockey, or any other sport that will bring in a crowd of paying sports lovers. I know my father wanted to keep The Stable for Stallions only, but numbers don’t lie.
Ronald has been such a help to me. He and Mom are more worried about my financial future than the team is, and they have made that abundantly clear. I agreed to sell the vehicles and put the money away for my future, a future that assumedly is not here in Seattle, but I want to see this through.
I know it’s forty percent stubbornness, which is inherited from my mother, whether she thinks so or not. Another forty percent is my need to make my father proud. The last twenty percent is to prove to Brock and all the others that I don’t need a savior to fix this problem. I especially don’t need a man who
thinks I am “manageable” and uses me to get his hands on a team he feels entitled to.
My father brought Brock’s archrival here to Seattle. Therefore, he clearly didn’t feel he owed Brock Boeheim a damn thing.
I roll to my side and look up at the moon hanging high in the sky. Then I look over and see Trae Rhodes doing the same from his window, but he is bare. I wish I hadn’t scurried into the house, leaving him standing inches from me while looking at me with what I know was desire in his sinfully sexy eyes.
I roll back to my other side so maybe, just maybe, I can sleep.
***
ARMED WITH A VENTI CARAMEL flan latte in each hand, I walk into my office at seven in the morning. Coming in early, I can avoid everyone looking at me like I’m a joke.
I look up at the picture of my father hanging on the opposite wall from my desk and nod at him as if he were here. Old habits die hard, and this photograph is no different than the hundreds of others I looked at while wishing he was closer to me.
I sit down and start my computer when the door opens and I hear the sweetest, most insane sound that oddly comforts me immediately.
“I’m...here!”
“Christa!” I jump up and run to the door to hug her. “You’re early!”
She steps back. “Should I go home and come back Thursday? Or are you ready to get this place in shape?”
I laugh. “I’m ready.”
“Okay, but I’m gonna tell you this just one more time. I have no clue what I’m doing.” She giggles.
“You being by my side is all I need.”
CHAPTER NINE
Eight Stallions
TRAE
I DRIBBLE THE BALL TOWARD center court as I watch Coach D and Assistant Coach Landry’s interaction. Landry is looking down while Coach D sputters and stews.
I look at the clock and, as suspected, the ponies come trotting out at nine fourteen. Brock, Damien Rose, Chandler Howard, Dwight Johnson, and Dwayne Stalks.
He’s two followers down from yesterday. And yes, that makes me happy.
Looking up, I see Courtney and another woman looking down from on the bridge. Courtney sticks her nose in the air and marches down the bridge toward the elevators when she sees them. The other woman also sticks her nose in the air and follows.