by Mel Curtis
They each grabbed life by the handlebars and shifted into high gear, accelerating above the speed limit, especially when it came to romance.
And Gemma? She was too scared to tell Randy she liked him, too afraid to show him the plain woman she really was – a woman who wanted to enter a romance without exceeding the speed limit.
“You think we’re embarrassed to be related to you?” Amber gestured to Cora and Blue. “After all the embarrassment we’ve brought to the Rule name in the past year?”
“I don’t know what yardstick you’re judging yourself by,” Cora said sharply. “But you are a Rule – whether you wear those hideous combat boots or zebra spike heels.”
“Agreed,” Blue practically growled. The deep timbre of his voice stopped Brutus from chewing on Cora’s shoe. “Put the damn name plate on your damn desk.”
“But – ”
The front door opened. Randy stepped inside. He wore black Flash basketball shorts, a gray Flash hoodie, and a weary expression. Gemma’s heart gave a pang of longing.
She shoved the name plate in the box, plopped into her receptionist chair, and turned toward her computer, pressing the On switch. Heat crept up her neck. Don’t let him recognize me. She barely wore any makeup and her hair was nothing like Glitterfrost Gem’s. Randy hadn’t ever recognized her without the makeover before. She prayed he wouldn’t do so now.
Something clattered on the receptionist shelf above her desk. Something red, most likely Italian.
Her body froze. Only her eyes moved, confirming what it was.
“I wondered what happened to my other shoe,” Cora said dryly.
“Are we good, Farrell?” There was a protective edge to Blue’s tone that surprised Gemma and warmed her heart.
“This is between Gemma and me,” Randy said, a matching edge to his voice. “You Rules always make everything so complicated. Give us some space.” And then he added in a softer tone, “Please. For Gemma’s sake, if not mine.”
Gemma bit her lip and sent the other Rules pleading looks, which they disregarded.
One by one, her siblings retreated, leaving Gemma to face her mistake alone. She realized they’d come to her rescue if she called – Blue with his big brother bluster, Amber with her peacemaking calm, and Cora with sharp words that shielded. Maybe…just maybe…they did accept her. Army boots and all.
Randy cleared his throat.
She felt as if someone had tackled her. It was hard to breathe. She couldn’t look at Randy. She couldn’t…
She snuck a glance in his direction. There was disappointment in the set of his mouth, but something softer in the look in his brown eyes. She jerked her gaze back to her computer screen. “How did you find me?”
“Gemma,” he said softly. “You’re not Clark Kent. Straight hair or curly. Glasses or not. Combat boots or high heels. I’d recognize you anywhere.”
Her mouth dropped open. Slowly, she spun her chair to face him. “Last night? You knew who I was?”
“Gemma, I met you last summer when Coach Parker was introduced to the Flash, remember?”
She did. She’d assumed he hadn’t. “But last night…You said from the moment you saw me.” How those words and his kisses had haunted her last night. Somehow Gemma found the sarcasm that was her everyday armor. “You never chose me for Women Crush Wednesday until I showed up on Mimi’s Twitter feed.” All glammed up.
“I recognized you in that post. I’d been trying to work up the nerve to talk to you and it was easier to start a relationship on Twitter than face-to-face.”
“Bull.”
He shook his head, adding quickly, “The day we met you were wearing a black skirt and combat boots. You told Cora off for something she did with Coach Parker, and your chutzpah won me over. Hollywood women have hidden agendas I can’t decipher. You say exactly what you mean, whether to the Flash owner or a bartender. Since I saw you that first day, I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”
Something warm opened slowly in her chest, making it easier to breathe. But there were still lies between them. “Glitterfrost Gem isn’t who I am. This is me. Blue jeans and army boots.” She’d never hide who she was again.
“I know.”
“And…last night was a set-up.” Damn her meddling siblings.
“Yeah, by me.” He gave her the barest of smiles. “I asked Blue if I could do the show, on the condition that you were one of my dates.”
The warmth in her chest spread.
Randy had really long arms. He used one to reach over the counter and take her hand. It was the same hand he’d touched her intimately with the night before. Her mother would be mortified to know she’d let someone touch her like that. But she wasn’t living her life by her mother’s standards. She was finally branching out on her own.
Gemma felt oddly curious – not chicken – about what would have happened if she’d let him continue.
“How about we start over?” he said softly. “Have dinner with me tonight. I promise to take things as slow as you want to go.”
“I…uh…would you go really slow? Would you wait until…say…things were legal between us?” He had to understand she was saving herself for marriage.
“Gemma!” Cora yelled from her office. “This is not the Victorian era. You have to know if you’re sexually compatible before the wedding.”
“Cora!” Blue and Amber chorused.
Randy’s gaze never wavered from Gemma’s. “I said I’d wait. And I will.”
“Really?” Gemma swallowed and whispered, “Why?”
“Because you remind me of what’s real in the world. You see past the veneer. You don’t buy into the hype. You ground me with your honesty and your sarcasm.” He squeezed her hand, gently pulling her to her feet. “And your kisses make it worth the wait.”
Gemma sighed and allowed him to tug her lips to his. This was how she envisioned a romance beginning – with honesty, sweet words, and a flutter in her chest that said this might be more than Women Crush Wednesday.
It might be love.
* * *
Wedding Rules
Part 2
L.A. Happenings by Lyle Lincoln
…Which young, professional sports coach was almost caught canoodling with a barely legal starlet over cannolis at Paris Bakery? Rumor has it this couple has been dodging paparazzi all around town. I can’t identify which coach it is from this silhouette of him escaping into a back alley. Take a good look. Can you name him?
…The latest Rule wedding is upon us. Yes, I’m invited to the wedding of relationship coach to the stars, Blue Rule, to his reality TV producer, Maddy Polk. Its location is top secret (even I don’t know where it is!). All guests are being picked up by arranged limo.
Chapter One
Gemma Kent Rule was used to being rejected, abandoned, and left by the roadside so that others could live out their dreams.
For starters, there’d been her mother. She’d told sixteen-year old Gemma she was crimping her lifestyle. Her commune-based, free-love, sex-lifestyle, that is. She’d loaded Gemma’s things in a wheeled suitcase with a stuck wheel, and deposited her tearful daughter on a Greyhound bus bound for the City of Angels. For nearly 700 miles, a steadily depleting box of tissues served as Gemma’s teddy bear.
Then there’d been the man she knew as her godfather, Dooley Rule. He’d met her at the bus station in L.A., and dropped her at the home of one of his ex-girlfriends, Kitty Divine. For nearly two years, she’d earned room and board in exchange for babysitting Kitty’s toddlers while Dooley’s ex worked the evening shift at a gentleman’s club. One day, Gemma thought she’d been doing Kitty a solid when she’d called the cops on a gentleman who expressed his affection on Kitty’s face with his fists. Instead, Gemma had landed unsteadily on Dooley’s front porch, along with the stuck-wheeled suitcase, and a lecture from Kitty about ruining pe
ople’s dreams. This time, the tears had only lasted through the binge watching of three Glee episodes.
By then, she was eighteen, had earned her high school diploma, and acceptance to UCLA. Dooley set her up with a college fund, an apartment near campus, and a part-time job at his life coaching company, the Dooley Foundation. She’d thought Dooley’d been going the extra mile. Turns out he’d dumped her at the first turnpike he’d come across. Him being her dad and all, too busy pursuing his dreams and crazy life to be involved with hers. A fact she hadn’t learned until nearly a year after his death. Tears? There’d been a few. But she was used to rejection and abandonment, so there were too few to mention.
And now…
“Randy isn’t coming.” Gemma hung up her cell phone and tried to keep the hurt from her voice. She didn’t quite succeed.
All around Gemma were roses and happiness, sunshine and rainbows, a bride and her bridesmaids. She was their little black rain cloud. Rejection and abandonment thickened the air like one of L.A.’s mid-summer muggy, smoggy days, making it hard to breathe.
Because once more, she was a drag on someone’s dream. Randy’s. Her boyfriend was working full-time as an NBA coach while training for his own NBA tryout. Any time he spent with her was a compromise to his intense regimen, diminishing his odds of making the L.A. Flash roster. This time, instead of being the rejected, abandoned one, she was going to do the leaving. For his own good.
She blinked back the pitiful feeling breakup created in her chest, and sucked in a deep breath.
“What’s going through that head of yours?” Cora, her half-sister, fluffed her long, dark hair in the air-conditioned presidential bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel. “You look like someone just stole your glasses.”
“It’s the heat,” Gemma said evasively, checking the time on her cell phone. She’d volunteered to be the bridal party wrangler, as the wedding planner had left to coordinate ceremony set-up onboard the ship.
They’d spent the past two hours wilting for the photographer on the hotel grounds in L.A.’s mid-summer, muggy, smoggy heat. Although Cora and Gemma were half-sisters of the groom, all women in the wedding party were using the bungalow to freshen up before the ceremony. Their other half-sister, Amber, who was eight months pregnant, had gone ahead with her husband in their own car, just in case their baby made an early appearance.
“You’re thinking about that picture again. The one in the L.A. Happenings column.” Cora smoothed the lines of her neck-plunging, body-hugging tuxedo dress over her hips. She was the non-traditional best man. “You can’t believe everything Lyle posts. He wasn’t invited to the wedding. That photo isn’t of Randy.”
“It is.” Gemma could never lie to herself. The silhouette in the gossip column had Randy’s dependable broad shoulders, his sturdy, muscular legs. She was standing in the way of his dreams and he was cheating on her? The relationship was over.
The ache of impending break-up disagreed with the turkey sandwich she’d eaten for lunch. It twisted in her belly, spiraled up her throat, and made her look around for her broken-wheeled suitcase.
Instead, her gaze landed on her reflection in the mirror. Her taffeta dress was conservatively scoop-necked with a cinched waist and flared short skirt. It was a blue so deep it was almost purple, just like her eyes. Gemma brushed her straightened hair from her face and blinked over contacts that dried her eyes (contacts Cora insisted she buy for today). She looked great – an eight when she was a six on a good day.
Yes, there was pride that she cleaned up so well. Yes, she knew her newly-found siblings loved her no matter what. Yes, Randy claimed to like her everyday look as much as this made-up one. Just the other night, she’d worn jeans, a Flash T-shirt, and little make-up. His goodnight kiss had lasted twenty hot and heavy minutes. His hands on her body, his lips against her mouth, his breath as ragged as hers...
They’d talked again about abstaining. They’d both felt guilty. He, for going too far. Her, for enjoying letting him. Randy’s embrace made Gemma doubt her vow to hold onto her virginity until marriage. Other women handed sex out like discounted day passes to amusement parks. Gemma put a premium on her innocence.
She wasn’t only breaking up with him for his own good. She wouldn’t compromise her principles, and he tempted her. Being honest with herself was hell on her heart.
And then there was the combination of her calling a halt to things the other night combined with today’s post in the L.A. Happenings column. It opened the door to Doubt, who marched in with the idea that Randy’s eye had been caught by a sexy starlet who liked cannolis, running from the paparazzi, and spreading her legs.
Could Gemma blame him for looking for satisfaction elsewhere? Could her heart stand it if he was?
In the next room, the bride and her attendants twittered like giddy birds on a warm spring day.
“This is it, then,” she murmured. “The end of Gemma and Randy.”
Cora’s hand paused mid-lipstick application. “Are you being maudlin?”
“No. I’m being realistic. I’m going to break up with him.” Maybe if she said it a few more times, tears wouldn’t press at the back of her eyes. Although it helped with the contacts. “We’re through.”
“Let me get this straight,” Cora said. “You’re crazy about him?”
Gemma nodded miserably.
“And he’s crazy about you?”
“I can’t speak for him. He’s—”
“Trust me. He’s crazy about you.” Cora opened a velvet ring box, removed the platinum necklace around her neck, and threaded it through the wedding rings. “And yet you’re breaking up with him.”
“I’m an obstacle to his dreams,” Gemma began, hurrying on when Cora would have cut her off. “He shortens his practice time to be with me. And let’s just say he makes the team. What do I bring to the picture? He needs a celebrity on his arm, someone to up his Q-rating, and make him buzz-worthy.”
“You’ve got this all wrong. If you would just sleep with him, all your problems would be solved.” Cora settled the pendant around her neck. “And by problems, I mean your insecurities.”
Gemma chose the most direct route of defense. “I’m not the kind of girl who solves her problems with sex.” Nope. She was a wait-for-the-white-lace-and-gold-ring type of gal. A total anomaly in the Rule gene pool. A complete disadvantage in the Hollywood dating scene.
“You want me to play devil’s advocate?” Cora’s voice oozed with sibling sarcasm. “I heard a rumor that the actress in Lyle’s column is Isabelle Chavez.”
Gemma succumbed to the deep end of the self-pity pool. Names made the rumor all too real. “Isabelle Chavez?” That’s who Gemma was competing with? The girl was gorgeous, fashionable, and talented. Game over. But, “She’s...like…fifteen.”
Cora shook her head. “She turns eighteen soon. She plays a younger character on TV.” She handed Gemma a hot red lipstick. “This thing really bothers you, doesn’t it? I can guarantee you Randy’s not standing you up tonight for a date with her. Am I going to have to drive you over to the Flash’s practice facility before the wedding to prove it?”
“Would you?” Gemma was so pleased with the offer, she applied a coat of lipstick without having to be asked twice. “I need closure.”
Cora took Gemma’s shoulders and gave her a little shake. “He’s not cheating on you.”
The land line rang. Gemma answered, raising her voice above the revelry. “The limos are here. Maddy, once you and the girls are off, I’ll give Blue a call.” She grabbed her clutch, and herded the bridal party out. “Cora and I need to make a quick stop. We’ll take the third limo.”
Cora was oddly quiet.
Gemma trailed after her, not as proficient in her high heels.
The bride and her bridesmaids crossed the swank lobby in a swish of satin and silky, harmonious laughter, exiting onto the red carpet th
at led to the portico.
Will that ever be me?
“When I get married—” A dream that seemed unlikely at the moment for Gemma. “–I want a traditional wedding, but nothing this big or fancy.”
“We can cross Vegas hotels off the list then.” In a few weeks, Cora would be getting married at the Aria in Las Vegas. The couple had chosen Sin City because her fiancé was a NBA coach, and the NBA’s summer league would be held there. “But you should have some bling.”
“We’ll see.” Gemma hadn’t been raised with a silver spoon. She’d spent her early years in a commune, without girly toys or provocative clothing. She favored blue jeans and army boots, the non-hip kind. A year ago she’d never have imagined she’d own high heels, much less a Hadi Katra blouse, and a hair straightener.
Gemma texted Blue that the bride had left the building.
Chris Pine, famous for his movie role as the new Captain Kirk, strolled through the lobby with an exotically beautiful model on his arm. He nodded at them.
Gemma felt as if she’d stumbled into someone else’s dream. “This is one of those surreal moments when I have to pinch myself.”
Cora pinched her arm. “I know what you’re thinking. You belong here. Whether Randy becomes a superstar player or not, you belong by his side. Relationships can be scary. Don’t chicken out and throw it all away because of a shadowy picture and a rumor.”
“I’m not. I’m looking to the future and I can’t see how I fit into his.” Gemma rubbed her arm, taking stock once more of her dress, high heels, and the French pedicure Cora insisted she get. “My life feels as if the valet gave me a movie star’s Ferrari and I drove it home.” At any moment, she expected someone to jump out at her from behind a potted palm and yell, “Thief! Fraud!”