by Mel Curtis
“What are you doing, Gemma?” Cora asked when she joined Gemma and Mimi in the elevator lobby before rehearsal.
“Looking for a cheap flight back to Los Angeles.” Gemma toggled through an airline app, trying to ignore the way just thinking about Randy made her heart feel as if it was withering, curling in on itself like a lone flower left on the vine.
Being a realist sucked. It had taken all her will-power not to run into Randy’s arms when she’d first seen him at the mini-golf course. And then he’d started in on his recriminations, which stung because they were…he was…
Spot on, damn it.
“You’d miss my wedding? Over a guy?” Cora was incredulous.
“He called me a coward,” Gemma said thickly.
“Like running away isn’t cowardly,” Cora retorted. “You show more guts with your clients than in your love life.”
Gemma couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think beyond the realization that Cora was right. When it came to Randy, she felt fragile and insignificant.
“Girls.” Mimi held up her delicate hand when Cora opened her mouth to say more. “There’s enough tension around this wedding already, what with Trent being unhappy about his tux and Randy being a disappointment to Gemma.”
Cora punched the elevator button. “That tux is Armani.”
“Admit it. You stole that tux from Sigfried & Roy’s wardrobe,” Gemma said, noting the date and time. Not only was she a coward, now she was a bitch. She gave herself a mental date and time stamp for this new low. A reversal was in order. “That was mean. I’m sorry.” Well, not 100% sorry, but sorry enough to make amends.
“The jacket is really mod,” Mimi said gently, trying to smooth things over. “Trent’s just old school.”
“But I’m not,” Cora whined.
“It’s Trent’s wedding, too.” Gemma felt compelled to say, still feeling contrary.
“I’m the bride—”
“Bridezilla, more like,” Gemma muttered, still too deep in the unhappy zone to control her words.
Cora raised her voice so high it cracked. “It’s my day!”
“Okay,” Mimi soothed, sending Gemma a dark look. “Everyone’s stressed out. Why don’t we stop at the bar for a drink before we go to rehearsal?” She froze, no doubt realizing she was a recovering alcoholic, recently out of rehab, who had no business offering to drink with anyone.
The elevator arrived. Thankfully, it was empty.
“No drinks.” Gemma dug into her small purse as they stepped inside. “We’ll have gum.” She parceled out Juicy Fruit. They rode silently to the mezzanine level.
When they reached the hotel’s banquet hall where the wedding was to take place, everyone else was already there. Archie had his arm around his young wife, who cradled their sweet baby in her arms. Evan stood next to Amber, one hand on her belly and their unborn child. Blue and his reality-TV producing wife, Maddy, were discussing camera angles, as she was going to film the festivities.
Randy leaned against the back wall, watching Gemma. His gaze said: I’m sorry.
She hoped hers conveyed: It’s for the best.
She was afraid it said: Let’s go back to the way we were before.
Add pathetic to bitch and coward. Gemma turned the other way, choosing a chair by the door, ditching her gum in a trash can.
The hotel’s wedding coordinator discussed the flow of the ceremony. The couples paired up outside the door. The groom was to wait at the altar while the bridesmaids and groomsmen marched in. Blue would walk Cora down the aisle.
The coordinator called for the groomsmen to offer their bridesmaid an arm. Gemma took Randy’s lightly. Her cold fingers were immediately warmed on his skin.
“I would have fought for you. I would have showed up at your door every day with flowers and arguments,” Randy said quietly. “I didn’t think you wanted me to.”
What she wanted was not to have this conversation. “You made your choice. It was the right one for you.”
“But it wasn’t the right decision for us.” He sighed heavily.
“Now you want to talk about it?” With Mimi and Evan eavesdropping nearby?
“You left me on the highway.” She wasn’t used to the hurt in his voice. It sawed into her chest slowly, methodically, with the bitterness of guilt, because she was the cause of his pain. And then in true Randy fashion, his temper receded as quickly as it arose, and he apologized. “I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough to ask you out the first day we met. It’s not fair of me to call you a coward.”
“I…It’s…You’re right. Realist. Coward. They’re just words I use to avoid getting hurt again.” He was a good man. She owed him the truth. Gemma drew a deep breath. “My parents supposedly loved me, yet they both cast me aside to pursue their dream lives. It’s hard to have faith when history’s been so cruel. I still…” Her cowardly streak stopped her just short of using the L-word and making a complete fool of herself. “I still feel the same way about you.” His expression brightened hopefully, so she rushed on. “But you’re playing so well, much better than when we were together. I don’t want to screw things up for you by taking up your mental space.”
“You’re always in my head anyway,” he said enigmatically.
She drew back. “You don’t have to make it sound like a bad thing.”
“It’s not.” At the coordinator’s direction, Randy began walking down the aisle, lowering his voice. “It’s a good thing.”
Her hand trembled on his arm. Her heart beat as if it’d never been broken, betrayed, or withered. Her chest felt wrapped in rope. What was she doing? She was still just plain Gemma. And Evan had told her last night not to screw Randy up, that he found him perfect for the Flash.
She didn’t say anything the rest of the way to the altar. She didn’t say anything on the way back. She didn’t say anything when Randy suggested they blow off the rehearsal dinner and go somewhere to talk, allowing him to lead her away before anyone noticed.
Because she was weak and selfish and just once—once—she’d like to be somebody’s dream, rather than the logjam to their aspirations.
Randy took her to a corner booth in a quiet coffee shop. He slid in after her, angling so their knees touched, angling so only inches separated their lips. She clasped her hands in her lap to keep from reaching for him.
“I should never have let you leave me on the 405. I should have followed you or showed up at your apartment the next morning.” His groveling eased the tension in her chest. “I should have turned down the offer of a tryout. I should have kept my coaching job. I can still—”
“Hold it right there.” So much for enjoying his humble pie. “Dreams are important.”
“And so is love,” Randy countered. “On a one-to-ten pain-scale, our breakup was an eleven. How can my dreams take precedence over my heart?”
“Hello mid-life crisis.” She rolled her eyes, catching sight of the Elvis picture hanging above their booth. “As if I don’t see enough mid-lifers at the Foundation. People blame their spouses for opportunities they passed on all the time.”
“It wouldn’t be like that,” he insisted. “Not with us.”
“It would. You wanted the chance to play so much you were willing to give up a coaching position in the NBA. Most guys would trade a set of limbs for a job like that. If that isn’t a set-up for a mid-life crisis and relationship-killer twenty years from now, I don’t know what is.”
“You can’t tell me what sacrifices I can and cannot make to be with you.” Emotion pulsed through his words—anger, frustration, pain.
If she dwelled on his hurt, she’d cave. “I beg to differ. Relationships are give and take. I chose to give you this time, hoping…” She trailed off, not brave enough to voice her hopes—that they’d walk down the aisle someday. She clenched her hands tighter. “This is a stupid conversation.”
&n
bsp; “I’d call it difficult.” He was back to being calm and understanding, but she could feel the tautness in him, could imagine him unleashing it in a desperate, thrilling kiss that silenced her objections. “Relationships require difficult conversations to move forward.”
“You’re going to be a star in the NBA. You need to date someone like Mimi or Isabelle.” Well, maybe not Isabelle.
“I’m an Indiana farm-boy. I don’t want eye-candy. I want a woman with substance, one who’ll keep me grounded, so my head won’t become ego-inflated.” He rubbed a thumb over the back of her hand, a hint of a smile on those lips she shouldn’t kiss. “Did you miss me?”
She nodded tersely.
“I’ll take the blame for the lack of communication up to this point. I can be single-minded.” His voice dropped, low and vulnerable. “You hurt me, babe.”
“I’m sorry.” She swallowed past the emotion in her throat. “I’ve stood too often in the way of people’s happiness. It doesn’t matter if it was unwittingly or not.” She drew a shaky breath. “I don’t want to be the person you resent because you traded off a dream to be with me. What I’m saying is, I’d do it again. I’d give you up if it meant you’d be happy.”
“It won’t mean anything if you aren’t by my side.” His hand moved to her cheek, turning her face to his. A gentle kiss, a mending of fences, a hopeful flutter in her heart, one that urged her to be brave. “Promise me we’ll talk things through before you leave me for my own good again.”
“Randy, I—”
He tugged her close and kissed her again. This time it wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was a kiss of frustration, of crushed hopes, and never-mores, until she could almost feel the scars she’d inflicted on his heart. She’d been focused on her hurt, her pain, her sacrifice. She hadn’t thought about the impact on Randy beyond his wounded, manly pride.
He drew back. “Promise me.”
The realist in her cautioned against it.
“That’s not a promise.” He knew her too well. “Gemma.” It wasn’t a term of endearment. It was a growl of warning. But it was followed by a deep kiss that left her breathless, and wanting to be as courageous as he hoped she’d be. If only she had some reassurance that her love wouldn’t hold him back.
“Excuse me. Are you two ready to order?” A harried waitress with a stained apron and a ragged set to her shoulders interrupted them.
“We’ve changed our minds.” Randy stood and took Gemma’s hand. “We need a more private place to discuss our future.”
Our future.
Maybe it was because this was the second wedding in Gemma’s family in a few weeks. Maybe it was because she’d been feeling adrift and without purpose. His touch shifted her course.
Good intentions? Burned.
Resolve? Charred.
Principles? Crumpled ashes.
Randy led her to the elevator bank. “What floor?”
She told him, ignoring the warning bells chiming in her head, shutting out promises she’d made to herself about waiting until marriage to go beyond second base. She craved Randy’s touch and she’d do anything—anything to have his arms around her once more. This was proof enough to conquer her fears.
He cradled her cheeks in his hands and kissed her as they rode up. It was dizzying to feel such wanting for him, and to realize how much he wanted her, too.
She breathed in the woodsy scent of his cologne and the smell of a new shirt. In his arms, she forgot her frustrations as a life coach. She couldn’t remember why disappointing Amber was to be avoided. Or why she’d let Randy go in the first place. Her hands skimmed across his back as she drew him closer.
The doors slid open and he led her out. “Which room?”
She told him. She was no better than Isabelle with the pool guy. Consumed by lust, by wanting, by the need to be held and kissed and cherished. When she returned to Hollywood, she was going to have to apologize to the young actress.
Gemma slid her key from a pocket in her purse. Behind her, Randy’s hands settled on her hips, warm, gentle, possessive.
Her hand hesitated above the lock.
She could imagine how this would play out. Inside the room, Randy’s lips would heat her blood. His touch would turn her muscles pliant. They’d fall back on the bed. His hand would find its way beneath her blouse, hot on her skin. His fingers would glide up to her breast. Her heart would pound in desperation. Her head would send cautions she’d ignore because his touch felt so good, so right.
She’d ignore her defenses. She’d break promises she’d made to herself. She’d go all the way with him. And sometime, not tonight, but certainly tomorrow, she’d hate herself for it.
Who was Gemma if she didn’t honor her own beliefs? No better than Isabelle, searching for something or someone to make her feel special.
She wasn’t a coward. She was brave. Because it was nearly as hard to put the brakes on their passion as it had been to break up with him in the first place.
Gemma half-turned as Randy’s cell phone buzzed.
His hands left her hips. He stepped back.
Gemma sucked in a breath, immediately missing his touch, the reassurance of his presence. She drew courage around her like a cold cloak, hoping he’d understand.
“I have to go.” Randy drew her into his arms and kissed her with an intensity that made Gemma forget about resolve and morals all over again. Too soon, his lips released hers.
“Come to my game tomorrow,” he whispered. “I have a surprise for you.”
Nodding, Gemma leaned back against the door, her eyelids too weighted by desire to open. She listened to his footfalls in the plush carpet as he left her.
The muted ding of an elevator cut through her lust-fogged brain. “Wait. Where are you going?”
Chapter Five
“Look at you! My baby boy!” Randy’s mother wrapped her long, wiry arms around his neck and pulled his face close enough that she could kiss his cheek. Several people in baggage claim turned to look at them. Tessa Farrell paid them no mind. “Have you grown again? You seem taller.”
“Mom, I’m twenty four. I’m not growing anymore.”
Tessa tsked. “Your Uncle Brad grew an inch when he was twenty-five.”
Randy’s father snorted, but otherwise didn’t take his eyes from the luggage turnstile and the sea of black bags being burped out of it.
“My brother did grow,” she reiterated. “His shoe size went up, too.”
Randy’s sister, Lindsey, had been hanging back, clinging to the strap of her purple backpack. He gathered her in a hug and swung her around. She protested, like the self-conscious fourteen-year old she was, but Randy didn’t care. He’d been swinging her around since she was a giggly baby.
“You’re such a dork,” she said when he put her feet down.
“Yeah, but you love me anyway.”
His father stood rigidly by the carousel, as if afraid someone would steal their luggage. Randy walked over, wondering if his dad would put up with a hug or if he’d have to settle for a handshake.
As if sensing impending awkwardness, Matt Farrell turned to offer his hand. “Good to see you, son, even if we had to come here to do it.”
Randy’s father didn’t approve of any big city, much less the city of sin. He believed in hard work and results to show for it—a crop, a widget, not a win or a championship ring. He’d come to two games in Randy’s college basketball career, both the weekend of the Final Four last year. He’d been there when Randy came out of surgery, and had greeted him with a grumbled, “Stupidest reason to be injured ever.”
How his mother finagled that trip or this one, Randy didn’t know. They’d just shown up tonight with a simple text: Hi. We’ve landed. Can you pick us up?
Lindsey scuffed her sneakers on the carpet. “Dad says we won’t see any movie stars.”
“Sure y
ou will. I told you I’m friends with Mimi Sorbet. She’s a bridesmaid.”
“Your sister shouldn’t know who that woman is,” Matt grumbled.
“She’s nothing like the roles she’s played in movies.” Randy rose to the voluptuous actress’ defense. “I’ve never seen her strip and try to seduce a man before blowing his brains out.”
His father’s expression said: This is a waste of time.
“And Winnie Tiegler will be at the wedding, too. She’s been in a ton of movies.”
“We used to watch her films at the drive-in. Don’t you remember, Matt?” His mother’s smile tinged wickedly, implying things Randy didn’t want to think about. “And what about that girl you’re dating? When can we meet her?”
He hadn’t told them he and Gemma had broken up.
“I want to meet Glitterfrost Gem.” Lindsey used Gemma’s Twitter handle.
“I’ll introduce you after the game tomorrow.” He tugged a lock of Lindsey’s long brown hair. “I need to get my practice shots in early, then I’m going to chill in my hotel room and mentally prepare.”
“Where you’ll be hanging out with some woman after your fortune.” His father put the word in air quotes. “No doubt this Glittergirl Gem.”
“No, Dad.” Randy should have been used to his father’s pessimism when it came to his chosen profession and lifestyle. “It’ll just be me. If you want, we can hang out together or you can gamble while Mom and Lindsey go to the spa. My treat.”
“Gambling is just like throwing away your hard-earned money.” His dad grabbed a black suitcase with a red yarn braid about the handle. “Seems a shame to have wasted a morning. We could’ve taken the red-eye and I could’ve plowed the back thirty.” His father hefted a green suitcase off the belt and headed toward the exit. “Where’d you park? I bet they charge you a fortune.”
Randy sighed.
His mother looped her arm through his. “He’s really happy to be here.”
As lies went, hers wasn’t a very good one.
The Flash had a summer league game at two in the afternoon.