Gemma Rules

by Mel Curtis

  Heedless of the chord he’d struck, Evan darted in and out of traffic as easily as he slashed through defenses on basketball courts. “I used to be like you, out to prove to everyone that I was the best.”

  “You play like that all the time.” And he was happily married, expecting his first child with Amber, Gemma’s half-sister. If Evan could do it, why couldn’t Randy?

  Because you weren’t meant for this, his father’s voice whispered in his ear.

  “Because I’m competitive as hell.” Evan braked hard and hit the horn as someone pulled in front of him. “I may have found happiness on the home court, but that doesn’t mean I’m soft on the hardwood.”

  This conversation was rapidly turning into an episode of Dr. Phil. “I’ll take you on, old man, but Gemma is off-limits.” No way was Randy allowing Evan into his head.

  “She still loves you.”

  Randy’s heart elbowed open the door to Heartbreak, which rushed in with a snap. “She’s got a pretty strange way of showing it, dude.”

  “She gave you space to pursue the big stage. Not many women would do that.” Evan slowed as they approached a red light. People craned their necks to see who was behind the wheel of the flashy car. “If you get back together—”

  “We’re not.” It pained Randy to say it out loud, but Gemma had it in her head that them being together held him back. She was afraid to risk his career for their love. And even if he made the team—When you make the team (Gemma’s voice this time)—she’d probably claim he couldn’t keep a spot with her as a distraction.

  Why couldn’t he have been like other up-and-comers and fallen in love with a shallow Hollywood bimbo? Nope. He’d had to fall for a woman with principles and a tendency toward martyrdom.

  “If you get back together,” Evan said louder. “You have to find a balance between the feelings you have for your family and the inner beast.” He turned into the lot of a public park with several, lighted basketball courts.

  “Are you offering to be my Sensei?” This was surreal. What was the MVP of the NBA Championship Series going to offer to do next? Give Randy sex advice?

  “No, kid. This is a one-time deal. A private tryout.” The engine went silent, and the silence emphasized Evan’s words. “Score on me and I’ll consider endorsing you to Coach Parker. You have excellent court vision. I could use you on the team. But not if you lose your edge.”

  “You think I’ll get back with Gemma and my game will go to hell?” The car seemed claustrophobic. Gemma’s voice was conspicuously absent.

  Evan shrugged. “You can’t plan for the contingency and get your guard up if you don’t think about it.”

  Randy didn’t want to think about it. Self-preservation demanded he knock doubt and uncertainty to the curb.

  Randy grabbed the strap of his sports bag. “I had an edge long before I met Gemma.”

  Really? His father’s voice.

  Really.

  Annoyance edged Randy’s words. “I have money in the bank that says I can score on you, old man.”

  “How’d it go with Amber?” Cora asked Gemma when they were tooling down the freeway in her new Mercedes coup.

  Two dresses draped across the back seat—one a stunning silver wedding gown, the other Gemma’s white satin bridesmaid dress. Gemma’s stuck-wheeled suitcase was in the trunk.

  “Amber didn’t fire me or disown me from the family.” Wasn’t that a wonder. “And I refrained from reminding her that…Dad…” It had been a year. You’d think she’d stop hesitating over the title, despite it being unearned. “Dad promised I’d be C.E.O. of the Foundation one day.”

  It wasn’t new-news. She’d told Amber that in the weeks after Dooley died, and reminded her siblings of it whenever they did something stupid that put the Dooley Foundation’s reputation in jeopardy.

  “Why you’d want to be the keeper of the nuts is baffling.” Cora fiddled with the cruise control. “It’s exhausting. Did you see the bags under Amber’s eyes this morning?”

  “Do you see the bags under mine?”

  “Here we go again. You haven’t slept since you ditched Randy. You can’t eat. Your patience is worn thin.” Cora shook her head. “Quit being a martyr and get your man back.”

  Gemma’s chest constricted at the memory of the pain in Randy’s eyes when she’d left him. The warm way he looked at her had extinguished, perhaps forever. When she saw him tomorrow, she’d have to keep herself from running into his arms, from pressing her lips to his. He needed this time for himself. All his energies—mental, emotional, physical—needed to be directed toward optimal performance. She was a complication he couldn’t afford. “Randy hasn’t made the final roster.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if he’d fought for you.”

  Gemma forced air into her lungs. Forced air out. Tried not to feel as if the world was ending on a dizzying, vomit-inducing rollercoaster ride. If Randy had fought to keep her in his life, she might have believed that—for once—she was important to someone. She might have believed him when he said he loved her, believed that the roots of his affection ran deep, deep enough to weather uncertainty, failure, or colossal success.

  She was, after all, just Gemma. Not blonde, not stacked, not red carpet worthy. Guys like Randy, guys who made it to the NBA, didn’t stick with plain-Jane girls like Gemma. They dated Jennifer Lawrences, Emma Stones, and Isabelle Chavezes.

  She drew another deep breath. It was time for a change of subject. “I’ve decided to wear my army boots underneath my bridesmaid dress.”

  Cora was suitably redirected. “You and Trent have no sense of fashion.”

  Gemma bit back a smile. “How is Trent feeling about his shiny silver tuxedo?”

  “He’ll wear it. It’s very Mad Men.”

  Gemma thought it was more Liberace, but wisely kept that to herself.

  “It compliments my dress.” Cora waved her hand, as if waving off Gemma’s unspoken opinion. “It’s Vegas. We have to have bling. Besides, he can take the jacket off as soon as we hit the reception.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he will.”

  Cora didn’t seem pleased. In fact, she seemed distracted all the way to Vegas.

  Chapter Three

  Gemma.

  Randy spotted his ex-girlfriend in the baking Vegas parking lot of the mini-golf course, and his heart made an impulsive attempt to break free of his chest and run to her, like a young, foolishly infatuated puppy.

  Gemma looked uncharacteristically perky with her petite frame housed in white capris and a flowery, sleeveless blouse. He knew she’d much rather wear jeans and a Flash T-shirt. Her dark riot of curls had been tamed into straight tresses that fringed her shoulders. Both her choice of dress and her hairstyle had most likely been dictated by Cora. Or perhaps Mimi Sorbet, another bridesmaid, who enjoyed making over Gemma too much.

  One thing that was one hundred percent Gemma was her black, plastic-framed glasses. They highlighted her expressive brown eyes, eyes that turned near violet when he kissed her.

  Don’t think about kissing her!

  Too late. His gaze dropped to her lips.

  “Hey, Gemma.” Two words. They seemed wrenched from deep inside Randy. The same deep, dark place where he stored the memory of her reaction to him saying, “I love you.” Her eyes had glowed, her touch had been tender, her words bittersweet. He hadn’t caught onto the bittersweet part until it was too late.

  Gemma startled when she saw him, like a small bird suddenly realizing she was caged. And then she assembled a chirpy smile—most un-Gemma-like—and approached him.

  She’s going to hug me.

  Randy didn’t want her to touch him. If she did, he might not let her go. His game. Her principled resolve. There were too many unknowns.

  Panicked anticipation thrummed in his already pulsing veins. Clumsily, he threw his hand toward her, like a
n ill-timed pass. “Nice to see you again.”

  She halted three feet from him and evaluated his offer of a handshake. “I suppose it had to end this way,” she murmured, not quite disguising the hurt.

  Her handshake was as firm as her resolve to leave him beside L.A.’s 405 freeway. And then just as resolutely, she released him.

  So civilized. It’d be smart to shut up and move on, say nothing, avoid starting an argument and blow his chances with her. But Randy wasn’t that smart, he hadn’t been able to move on, and the arguments he’d had with Gemma in his head pressed upon him, demanding release. “It didn’t have to end this way. You bailed because you were a coward.”

  She gaped at him.

  “That’s right. I said it.” Words jumbled with anger, splattering into the space between them. “You’re a coward. What we had scared you. We were on the precipice of taking the next big step in our relationship and you just couldn’t take a chance on me, could you? Instead of moving forward, you pulled back and protected your heart.”

  Her cheeks had paled.

  His fingers twitched with the urge to take her into his arms and reassure her she had nothing to fear because theirs was a forever kind of love. But only if they could bridge the gap between them. “I shouldn’t have let you dictate the terms of our relationship. We should have talked this through together. You should have told me you were spooked.”

  She swallowed, but otherwise didn’t move.

  Heedless of his emotional dump, the rest of the wedding party funneled in the front gate. Evan with his arm around his pregnant wife, Amber. Trent with Cora. Trent’s father, Archie, with his barely legal, younger bride, Mary Sue Ellen, pushing a baby stroller. And bombshell actress, Mimi. All they needed was Blue Rule and the wedding party would be complete.

  If Gemma admitted her fears, he’d take her back, chance at the NBA be damned. Maybe he needed to tell her his feelings hadn’t changed. He still loved her. Maybe—

  She cleared her throat. “Surprise. We’re paired up for the mini-golf tournament.” Gemma walked to the main gate, proving she was still a coward, heedless of Heartbreak weighing on his shoulders.

  Evan glanced back at them. His smile improved when he saw Gemma walking ten feet ahead of Randy.

  Despite the fact that Randy had scored on Evan last night—several times—or maybe because of it, Randy’s competitive nature reared its head above Heartbreak. “Can you golf, Gemma?”

  “I can.” Without turning, Gemma shrugged. “I play to win, but if you’d rather gracefully lose to the bride and groom—”

  “What’s in it for the winner?” Losing wasn’t on his agenda this week. Not in the game of basketball. Not in the game of love.

  “Tickets to a burlesque show tonight.” She cast a quick glance his way, revealing her pinkening cheeks. “It’s…uhm…topless.”

  Which was so not Gemma’s thing. She was determined to remain a virgin until marriage. He respected that. But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to win. It’d be sweet to beat Evan again. And he’d be lying if he didn’t admit he wanted to see Gemma’s reaction to a burlesque show. Would she squirm with embarrassment? Bury her face in his shoulder? Or push her glasses up her nose and arch a brow at him? “No sandbagging, Gemma. We’re in it to win it.”

  They passed beneath the mini-golf’s gates and nearly bumped into the happy couple.

  “Cora, I told you I’d wear the damn tux and I meant it.” Trent handed his credit card to the cashier. “Eight adults, please.”

  “But you don’t like it.” Cora tossed her long, dark hair.

  “But I love you,” Trent said wearily. “Can we just play golf?”

  The rest of the wedding party pretended they were invisible. The bride huffed, but thankfully let the argument drop.

  During the game, things became increasingly intense. And not because of shiny silver tuxes. Evan mocked Trent’s putting technique. Trent challenged Randy’s stroke-count. Randy threatened Evan if he didn’t record a penalty stroke for sinking his ball in the water hazard.

  “It’s all down to you,” Randy said to Gemma on the 18th hole, trying to ignore the excited shouts of the four-year-old golfer on the hole behind them. “Sink this one and we win.”

  “Miss and we tie.” Gemma nodded, pushing her hair off her face.

  For seventeen holes, Randy’d had a pit in his stomach. Every time he told Gemma she’d made a nice shot or listened to the familiar way she and Cora ribbed each other, the pit deepened, until it felt as if it was bottomless, a black hole ready for his ever-hopeful heart to drop into.

  “I’d like Randy and Gemma to win.” Evan rubbed Amber’s lower back. “I’d pay to see the looks on the youngsters’ faces when things start coming off on-stage.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Gemma.” Randy hurriedly stood between Gemma and Evan. “Winning is the most important thing to me.”

  Gemma cocked her head. “I thought basketball was the most important thing to you.” Her dark gaze probed for the truth.

  And Randy wanted to tell her—that he missed her desperately, that what they had was worth a second try. But what good would the truth do? He hadn’t yet made the Flash’s roster. Until he did, she’d only tell him she was his ball and chain, dragging him down, keeping him from achieving his dreams.

  “Clearly, you don’t know what I value,” he said gruffly. It could have been the heat. It could have been the heartsick look Gemma couldn’t quite mask. All Gemma had to do was say the word and he was hers again. No admissions of being a coward necessary, just a promise to try again. “Sink the ball, Gemma.”

  “Or what?” Sometimes she was annoyingly stubborn.

  Didn’t she know? Couldn’t she see?

  “Or I’ll kiss you right here,” Randy growled. “There’ll be no shot. No tie. No win. Just you and me.”

  Finally, his heart whispered.

  “You owe me twenty bucks.” Cora held her palm out to her fiancé.

  “Not so fast,” Trent retorted. “He only threatened to kiss her.”

  “You made a bet?” Gemma’s tone dropped to def-con five. “About me and Randy?”

  Cora and Trent both shrugged, but couldn’t contain their mischievous grins.

  Gemma threw down her club and headed for the arcade-filled clubhouse.

  “Thanks,” Randy said to the bridal party. Everyone but Evan was grinning.

  “You’ll thank us if you go after her,” Cora said.

  Evan started to say something, but Amber clapped her hand over her husband’s mouth.

  “Rules.” Randy dropped his club and hurried off. He found Gemma sitting in a driving game in the arcade. He took the seat next to hers, folding his long legs beneath the console, bumping his knees against the dash. “You okay?”

  “I hate my family.” Gemma’s grip on the wheel was white-knuckled. “They never stop meddling. I don’t want to be a life coach. I don’t want to wear heels because someone says I have to. I don’t want to straighten my hair to be in fashion.”

  “What do you want?” Randy asked softly, prying one of her hands from the steering wheel and cradling it in his. How could he not? She was hurting and he was destined to be the sap who tried to ease her pain.

  Gemma blinked back tears. “I want to work in finance, and wear army boots, and let my hair be, and…”

  “And…” he prompted.

  “And I want you,” she finished miserably.

  Her comment momentarily drained air from his lungs. “You had me,” he said weakly.

  “But you didn’t fight for me.”

  She’d broken up with him and was disappointed when he respected her decision? Randy would never understand women.

  “I’m not so much a coward as a realist.” She stood, her features drawn tighter than the Flash’s zone defense. “Look at me. I’m not basketball wife materi
al.”

  “You’re not…what?”

  She spun away, sandals slapping the linoleum.

  “Gemma.” Randy twisted in his seat. She stopped at the door, but didn’t turn. “I’m not looking for a reality show wife. You were always more important than basketball or winning.”

  She’d been brainwashed by Hollywood, by Cora and Mimi’s idea of beauty and social standing. Gemma didn’t believe him or believe in herself worth. She left, leaving Randy struggling to free his long legs.

  While Randy contorted his hips to get loose, Evan claimed Gemma’s seat, putting his hands on the wheel as she had. “Women screw with your head, kid.”

  “So do teammates, old man.” His tennis shoe was stuck between the gas pedal and the brake.

  “Gemma set you free for your own good. Tell me your game didn’t improve afterward.” Evan added quickly, “And don’t lie. I saw your workouts before and after.”

  His game had improved after he’d been left roadside. Everything had come together in one big bundle of anger. “I miss her.” He missed her snark and her smile and the soft way she sighed when he kissed her. He missed how she didn’t care for the pomp and pretense of Hollywood.

  “Pity that,” Evan said, testing the game’s gas pedal by flooring it. “You don’t know how your game will be affected if you let her back into your life. If you want to be with her, wait until after summer league when you make the team. Or after pre-season. Or maybe after you earn your second NBA championship ring, this time as a player.”

  On some level, Evan made sense. Randy could taste victory almost as vividly as he remembered the taste of Gemma’s mouth. The promise of victory and the tease of immortality slowed him. But it was his love for Gemma that kept him moving.

  When he finally reached the parking lot, she was gone.

  Chapter Four