by Mj Fields
“All right, men, let’s get this started,” Coach D says, nodding at Landry, who begins to walk off the court.
“Be right back,” I yell as I run toward the tunnel.
“It’s practice time, Rhodes,” Coach D yells behind me.
“Practice started fifteen minutes ago,” I yell back.
Once in the locker room, I grab my phone out of the locker and call upstairs.
“Charlie Cohen’s office. How may I help you today?”
“It’s actually Courtney Cohen’s office, and I’d like to speak to her if she’s not busy.”
“Busy? Pft. Hold please.”
Whoever the idiot answering her phone is, he needs to go.
“Courtney Cohen, president and CEO of Stable Arena and the Seattle Stallions. How may we help you today?” a woman who is not Courtney answers.
“Courtney please.”
“Who’s calling, please?”
“Trae.”
“Trae Rhodes?” the voice purrs. “Tall, dark and living at the—”
“Christa!” I hear, and then some muffled chick chatter before, “Hello?”
“Just wanted to give you a heads-up,” I tell her. “Coach D was chatting up Landry, and then he walked off the court.”
“Coach D?”
“No, Landry,” I explain.
“Why?”
“No idea, but he looked bent.”
“I should talk to him,” she says.
“Yeah, and Court, he seems like a good guy. Maybe you should check him out.”
“You mean, like, hit on him?” she whispers.
“Fuck no,” I say on a laugh. “You wanna hit on someone, I’m your guy.”
She giggles. “Whatever.”
“Christ, Courtney, just ask him for suggestions and shit. Men like to feel like they’re in charge.”
“Do you?”
“In the bedroom.” I grin, though she can’t see it. “Gotta go. See you later.”
I hang up the phone and toss it into my locker before heading back out to practice.
***
AFTER PRACTICE, I PULL WALKER, Anthony, Parker, Gallinari, Casspi, Black, Matthews, and Parsons aside and invite them over to my apartment for dinner and some drinks. No, it’s not my place, but as much as I try my damnedest to stay away from the business side of this shit show, I want to help Courtney out. Got nothing to do with Brock anymore. Done that; he’s pissed. Whatever else I need to show him, I’ll do it on the court.
It’s also not just because I want to bang Courtney. I genuinely like her, and I don’t want her to get swallowed up by this fucking place. At the same time, I don’t want her to know I’m trying to help her. She seems pretty damn certain she doesn’t need anyone’s help.
I see Brock stewing at his locker when the guys all accept the invitation. He makes this so fucking easy.
I give him a cutesy little wave as I leave, laughing as I walk out.
When I get to Gate A, I see everyone standing around, spewing and sputtering.
“What’s up, Anthony?” I nudge him as I look around him, trying to figure out what has everyone so upset.
“Fucking Cohen. She has the doors locked so the girls can’t get in,” he snaps.
“Said she was gonna do it.” I shrug. “Shouldn’t be a surprise.”
Never was my thing. Doesn’t affect me a damn bit.
“How are we supposed to get laid when she’s cock blocking us?” Walker huffs.
“Ever hear of a bar?” I suggest, trying not to laugh.
Parker sighs. “Fucking lame. Then you gotta talk and shit.”
“You’re being serious?” I snicker at him.
“This is preseason tradition, man,” Parsons whines.
“She’s just not letting them in here without tickets. That doesn’t mean you can’t go out there and meet them. Problem solved.”
“She has the door locked. Bill says we gotta use Gate D.”
“So use Gate D.” Now I can’t help laughing at how difficult they are making this.
“Shit’s not funny, man.”
I nod, figuring it’s easier to agree than to stand around and argue sense into them. “See you all tonight.”
When I walk out Gate D, I find a new security guard on post.
“Miss Cohen wants me to tell you all that Gate D is where you’ll enter and exit from now on. You’ll also use Lot D for parking.”
I nod. “Thanks.”
I walk around the perimeter of the arena to get to my truck and find Courtney talking to a group of chicks. She’s smiling as she hands out fliers to the hoop whores—as she calls them—with her little friend.
When she looks up and sees me, I wave.
Unlike last time I saw her after being surrounded by the honeys, she’s actually smiling. It looks good on her.
I walk over and crook my finger, motioning her toward me.
Wrong thing to do.
“And there’s Trae Rhodes!” She smiles mockingly back at me.
They all come running, surrounding me, asking for my autograph. Meanwhile, she stands back, laughing. Laughing!
“He’s single, ladies,” she calls out to them.
“You are?” comes from ten different directions.
“Unmarried,” I reply. “But I’ve got my eye on something.”
“Something or someone?” I hear and look over at the woman smiling from ear-to-ear next to Courtney as she elbows her friend.
I give her a wink, and she giggles.
“You ladies should come to some of our games to watch the show unravel live and in living color.”
“Sign me up!”
I chuckle as Courtney’s friend walks over with her tablet, telling the woman who shouted that, “Like we talked about earlier, we have a special section for our VIPs right across the court from the players’ bench. Ladies, only season ticket holders get the best view of our boys in the house. And you get exclusive meet and greets.”
“Shit, girl, can I buy a pass for a friend?” one of the women asks her.
“Buy five, get one free. Great Christmas presents.”
While Courtney’s friend signs up some of the women, I walk over to stand next to Courtney.
“Is she for real?” I ask.
Courtney smiles. “She is our new marketing, slash social media, slash game day coordinator.”
“Slash?”
Courtney ignores my question, telling me, “Christa has been my best friend since grade school.”
“It’s nice to see you smile and actually act like you may be enjoying yourself.”
She grins. “I trust her implicitly.”
“You’ll be right on the fifty-yard line!” Christa cheers.
I look at Courtney, who giggles.
“Did I mention she knows nothing about basketball?”
I shake my head as laughter bubbles out. “You really didn’t have to.”
She smiles at her friend. “I’m going to try my hardest to teach her.”
“It’s probably a good idea if she’s going to be your slash—”
“Everything.” She smirks at me.
“So, you’re designating and selling off seats for the honeys?”
Her smirk grows. “Honeys?”
“Now that you’ve made friends with them, you should probably stop calling them whores,” I whisper.
“Made friends?” She giggles.
“Do they recognize you from the other day?”
“Of course not.” She laughs outright.
“Do they know who you are now?”
She shakes her head.
“Ladies!” I say loud enough to get their attention. “This is Courtney Cohen, the owner of the Stallions.”
“Shh.” She smacks me.
“Oh, no,” I mock. “They need to know who the queen bee is.”
The women start to surround her, and she smiles like she was in the car. Right now, she looks her age.
All attention is on her and her friend
Christa at the exact time the entire team walks out and sees it. They witness their boss being treated the way she should be—with respect and adoration.
She looks up at me, and I nod toward the ponies. She cocks her head to the side, confused, and I just give a slight bow and walk away.
When I walk past the team, I tell them, “She’s doing this for you, so give her some respect.”
***
AT SEVEN O’CLOCK, I HAVE eight Stallions sitting on the patio, and I am wondering where the hell Courtney is. Not that I don’t enjoy a beer with the guys, but the whole point in bonding with them is for her.
Her. The woman who has gotten under my skin, much further than expected. I was supposed to have fucked her and bragged about it just to get under Brock’s skin. Instead, I am smitten with her smile, her laugh, and watching her rise above the fuckers trying to bring her down.
“When’s the food gonna be done, Rhodes?” Anthony asks, gripping my shoulder as I close the grill.
“About ten minutes for the steak. Everything else is done. I’ll go grab it.”
I walk into the garage and look at the beautiful cars. Charlie Cohen liked beautiful things. Spent a fortune on them. That fortune doesn’t come without taking time away from what’s important, and what was important to him was clearly his daughter. A man who loves his kids gains respect from me automatically.
I take the stairs two at a time to the apartment and grab the food out of the fridge. When I come back down with the vegetables and salad I had delivered from the market, Courtney and Christa are on the patio. Courtney’s nose is in the air, and Christa has a suspiciously sloppy grin on her face.
“I’m learning all about you ball guys,” Christa says with a giggle. “Those girls talked and drank, and talked and drank some more.”
“Christa...” Courtney whispers in warning.
“Is Brock here? They had a lot to say about him. Well”—she holds up her pinky—“comparatively, not really a lot.”
“Christa!” Courtney hisses at her obviously drunk friend.
Anthony laughs. “Hell no. Let her go.”
“And who might you be?” Christa asks him.
He winks at her. “Derrick Anthony.”
“Derrick...Derrick...” she ponders before she grins and says, “No, it doesn’t ring a bell.”
“What the hell do you mean, doesn’t ring a bell?” he huffs.
“Where’s Stalks?” Christa asks, looking around.
“Don’t,” Courtney grumbles.
“He’s one of Brock’s main bitches,” Parker tells her.
“Slam, bam, thank you, ma’am Stalks. They say he’s in and out in minutes, but leaves you satisfied.”
Everyone laughs.
“Rose, the petal whisperer?” she asks, looking around for Damien Rose.
“Oh, my God. Christa, let’s get you inside.” Courtney grabs her elbow.
“I’ll whisper to your little rose bush any day,” Damien remarks, looking her up and down.
“Will you bring your ball handler, Walker?”
Courtney covers Christa’s mouth and looks around. “I’m so sorry about this. She’s had a little too much to drink.”
Christa pulls her hand away, giggling. “Please don’t be like Mother. I’ve only just escaped her evil clutches. Let me have some fun.”
“Let her go. None of us give a damn.” Parker chuckles. “Now tell me; what do they say about Parker?”
CHAPTER TEN
Stay With Me
COURTNEY
CHRISTA AND I JUST SPENT the past five hours at The Bucket, a little bar a couple blocks from the arena with all the “Hoop Honeys,” which is what they call themselves. Fifteen of them, and they have all been intimate with one, if not more, of the Stallions. Some have been with more than one at a time, which is the case with Walker and Rose. All of them were excited to see who got the first taste of the newest Stallion, number 23, Trae Rhodes. For some reason, it makes him more desirable.
By the end of the night, my opinion of many of these women have changed. Well, some, but not so much. Regardless, all of them bought one, if not two, season passes and gave us some great ideas on how to bring more paying women to the games.
I won’t pretend that it was my winning personality that got them onboard. It wasn’t. It was all Christa. She has a knack for pulling off the ditzy blonde. Hell, even her insults weren’t taken seriously, and some of them even offended me.
We gained intimate details about all the players. The ones who knew Brock and I were once engaged seemed to look upon me favorably, almost like they felt sorry for me. I didn’t like that, but when I started to tell them I really didn’t want their pity and I certainly wasn’t one of them, Christa kicked me under the bar. I took that as a sign to clamp my mouth shut.
Most of them offered advice on how to get what you wanted from the guys before walking away with the smallest amount of emotional damage possible. Like it’s a status thing, like fucking them is seriously on a list of life goals.
I never set out to bang a baller, but some of these women certainly have. Hell, they have Christa convinced she has to try out Rose and Walker like they are on some menu, like “I’ll have the salmon, and a side of Rose and Walker.”
It didn’t take me long to realize they are no different from the players.
“This okay?” Trae whispers as he walks by me.
I shrug. “Not sure.” When I first saw Trae after getting home, I went from being pissed at him for inviting these arrogant assholes here without asking or even mentioning it, to feeling warm all over because the way he’s looking at me, or wine... it could be the wine.
He stops and looks at me. “It’s good,” he promises. “They get to see you as a normal human being, and not the one tearing shit up at The Stable. It’s also good for me to make friends.”
The way he says friends is amusing, making me shake my head and smile.
“What?” he asks.
“Why are you really doing this? For you? For me? Why?”
“For us.” He winks before walking toward the table and setting the food down.
Us?
To avoid looking at him, I look over at Christa, who is sitting at the table with the team, laughing, smiling, and yes, flirting.
I shake my head. That girl...
“Come with me for a minute.” Trae reappears at my side and grabs my hand, pulling me into the house.
“What?”
“They’re having fun at your house. It’s a good thing.” He bends slightly so we are eye to eye, making him closer to me than he has ever been before. “It’s a good thing for us.”
“Us?” I whisper.
His eyes narrow as he licks his lips. “Fuck, Court, we can have a lot of fun this season.” He reaches out and grips my hips, squeezing them slightly.
I should pull away, but I don’t. It’s not overtly sexual or showy for the team. It’s him being honest, and me allowing myself to be, too.
“Neither one of us came here to have a good time, but tell me you can’t see yourself enjoying the hell out of it.”
I swallow hard because everything is dry. My throat. My lips...Well, not everything.
I lean closer to him. He smells amazing. I want to know what cologne he wears because I would bathe in it.
I close my eyes and lick my lips, and then I hear him groan before I feel heat radiating from him as he moves closer. I wait for the inevitable kiss.
Instead, I get, “How much have you had to drink?”
I open my eyes to find him looking at me with amusement. Now I feel foolish.
“Clearly, too much.” I pull back and turn around so my back is to him.
He places his hands on my hips again and pulls me back against him. “When I kiss you, I’m not gonna stop at your lips. And I don’t think you want to chance them”—he gestures outside with a nod—“walking in when my head’s up that skirt.”
“What makes you think I’d let you kiss me?” I ask, tr
ying to sound annoyed, though the deep rumble in my voice gives me away.
He chuckles, and I elbow him. Then he leans in and whispers, “So, a kiss is out, but me licking your pussy’s a go? Good to know.”
I pull away and turn around. “I doubt it.”
He smirks. “You won’t doubt it; you’ll love it. Now pull yourself together, come eat, and enjoy your team.”
He leaves me standing in the middle of the room, knees weak, mouth dry, and panties soaked. Damn him. Damn the fact he knows he made me this way. And damn...well, everything.
I look up when the door opens again and hold my hand to my belly, trying to calm the butterfly infestation.
“Come on; we’re going in the hot tub!” Christa yells as she runs past me.
“Wait, what?” Oh, no.
“The Stallions want to get in the hot tub, so let’s get changed.”
“I am not going in a hot tub with them, Christa, and neither are you. It’s unprofessional,” I yell after her.
“We’re twenty-three years old; we’re not old enough to be professional full-time!” She giggles as she takes the stairs.
“She’s right.”
I look back to see Parker walking into the house, watching her.
At the top, she stops. “Wait, where’s my room?”
“Down here,” I yell up at her.
She comes flying back down the stairs, laughing, “I need one of your suits. I didn’t pack one.”
“Top drawer on the right.” I point to my room.
“Thanks!”
Once she’s inside my room, I spin around and look at Parker. “She’s not one of your honey's; she’s my best friend.”
He winks. “She’s a grown-ass woman.”
“You touch her, you’ll be lucky to be cleaning toilets at the arena, you hear—”
“Courtney, I could use some help out here,” Trae interrupts me from the door.
I scowl at him, and he scowls back.
“What?” I ask, not moving.
His eyebrows rise. “Gotta problem. Need your help.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask, walking quickly toward him.
He grabs my hand and pulls me outside. “She just got here; let her have some fun.” He leans down and whispers, “And embrace them. They are you.”
“I am not one of them; I’m their boss,” I hiss at him.