The whine of machines would have been deafening if Trent hadn’t had earphones. He matched Evan’s speed and cranked up Eminem on his iPhone.
The trainer led the women in a workout. They slammed soft-sided medicine balls. They swung kettle balls. They did squats on the half-domed bosu. Vivian bent over to stretch. Her shorts rode up high. Every man could see the hollows in her thighs that connected to her twat.
Antoine Watson fell off his treadmill, which elicited more curse words from Evan and a dark look from Trent.
This had to be a Dooley Foundation stunt. One more reason why Cora had to go. If Jack was smart, he’d jettison Vivian, too.
Evan called out, “Five thirty-second sprints!”
Everyone quickened their pace, including Randy.
Trent was starting to feel out of shape. His abs spasmed, threatening to stitch.
Cora stretched on a matt, exhibiting a level of limberness that would’ve made Trent sweat had he not already been drenched.
“Recover. Thirty seconds,” Evan shouted.
The team slowed.
Trent considered the hit his image would take if he quit now. It was barely seven-twenty. No way would Trent earn Evan’s respect if he bailed after less than thirty minutes. And there was Randy, who for some ungodly reason, still admired him. His coaching assistant’s lips moved to the words of a song only he could hear, as he kept up the pace on his bike. Smiling.
The bastard.
Too soon, Evan was demanding more sprints. Trent had chosen poorly. It would’ve been easier on a bike. Although, when Trent glanced over at the cycles, every man was dripping with sweat, even Randy.
The pattern of sprint-recover continued for five more minutes. Then the pace dropped back to a power run. In the mirror across the room, Trent could see his face was bright red. His breath came in ragged gasps. Someone slid a knife between his ribs. But he was damned if he’d let this team see him collapse.
More sprints. More power runs. To keep himself from thinking about the slim thread that held his body upright, Trent watched Cora lift weights.
“You lift like a girl,” he gasped when she walked by.
“And you run like a hobbit.” She grinned.
He could swear he smelled vanilla.
Forty minutes later, Evan called for a cool-down. Shedding wet shirts for dry, the team took water and towels out to the practice court. Vivian and Cora followed. They sat on the low set of bleachers at center court. Cora seemed to be trying to convince Vivian to do something. The owner’s wife shook her head.
The team ran through a set of scoring drills at moderate speed. Again, Trent joined them. Randy stood on the sidelines, offering words of encouragement and high fives as players passed him. He’d always been a good teammate.
“Your moves are a little rusty, coach,” Cora said when he jogged to the baseline near where she was sitting. “And slow.”
“I can still take you,” he wheezed, trying to take the wind out of her sails.
She smiled. “In your dreams.”
Exactly.
He wasn’t going to do anything about his inconvenient lust.
At Evan’s direction, the team moved on to three-point shots. Everyone, including the big men and Randy, put them up.
“You’ve been carrying a clipboard too long, Parker.” Evan drained another three.
“That’s a clown challenge. I can make just as many threes as you do.” Trent hadn’t been. His legs were for shit and you couldn’t shoot long shots without leg strength.
They played a game of horse. Evan put one up and challenged Trent to make the same shot. If one of them missed, the other scored a point. The rest of the team took a much needed breather to watch. Vivian paced the outer halls, while Cora massaged Ren’s upper thigh, while talking to Antoine. She laughed and hugged the speedy shooting guard.
Trent’s shot hit nothing but air.
“Ah, you have a different problem.” Evan’s ball barely moved the net as it passed through the hoop. He glanced at Cora. “I thought you had her number.”
“The only number I have is yours.” Trent put up a clunker that bounced off the rim.
At nine o’clock, Cora and Vivian left.
“Enough,” Evan called.
“You’re giving up? What about best out of thirty?” Trent was currently losing by seven. But with Cora gone, his luck had to change.
“We need to run suicides before Kelly has to pick up his kid at noon.” Evan called for the team to line up on the baseline beneath one basket. “You can go to the sidelines, Coach. You did good today. I thought we’d break you during sprints.”
Trent experienced a fairy tale moment where an NBA superstar had called him Coach. He shook his head. “You’re not done. I’m not done.”
And so he ran suicides with his team, while Randy shouted encouragement from center court. Trent ran as fast as his cramped leg muscles would allow. If Cora saw him now, she’d have reason to call him a hobbit.
He ran from baseline to free throw line and back. From baseline to half court and back. From baseline to the opposite free throw line and back. From baseline to baseline. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Trent didn’t want to be last to finish, but he was. The pain was worth it. The entire team high-fived him as he crossed baseline the last time.
If he’d been participating as their official coach, he’d have delivered a short motivational speech – one of his infamous sermons.
Flash office staff delivered sandwiches and salad. The training staff appeared with water, Ben Gay, and ice bags. Muscles were massaged. Instead of icing his knee, Randy hobbled over and asked Trent if he needed anything.
Trent shook his head. “Ice your knee. It must be killing you.”
“He’s bad luck.” Evan nodded toward Randy when the kid finally sat down and iced his knee.
Trent wrestled an unexpected burst of annoyance. Somehow he managed to keep his voice civil. “I thought you said basketball players don’t believe in luck.”
“We don’t. But we aren’t blind to signs either.”
Trent understood. Randy was a neon sign. One that proclaimed winning came before players with him. It was something his father had taught him as a boy.
A bitter lesson for everyone who wanted to win.
Chapter 12
If there hadn’t been Coach Parker and NBA eye candy as witnesses, Cora might have strangled Viv this morning.
She’d wanted to tell her, “Reclaiming your power doesn’t involve flashing your hoo-hah.”
She’d wanted to tell her, “Put some clothes on, skank. This is not how to get your man back.”
But she’d known women who’d gone crazy over men before and made themselves look like fools. Wildly embarrassing behavior was nothing new. It was simply annoying because as a life coach, the most she could tell Viv was, “It’s time to shower.”
“I don’t like this,” Viv said as she and Cora walked out of the Flash practice facility in the late morning heat. They’d showered and dressed in jeans, casual blouses, and heels. “Jack didn’t show. He’s always here, from morning until night.”
Not always.
“Do you want him back or not?” Cora could almost look Viv in the eye without thinking about sex with Jack. Almost.
Viv straightened her shoulders. “I want him back. I just wish he’d get rid of this stupid team.”
Argh! Viv and her one track mind.
“No negatives about the team. You’re half owner. You co-signed the loans Jack took out to buy the team. You need to claim your half.”
“If it wasn’t for – ”
“Vivian.” Cora struggled to hold onto patience. “Let it go. Focus on the positive. You and Jack and a bunch of little Jacks running around.” When Cora agreed to be the one on the ground coaching Trent, Jack, and Viv, she hadn’t realized how frustrating it would be.
Viv blew out a breath. “You don’t think I’m pathetic? Chasing after Jack like this?”
“A little.” Cora
wasn’t the sugar-coating type. “But it takes balls to go after what you want. And you should never let anyone else tell you what you should want.”
Viv considered Cora’s words and seemed to approve. “Okay. What now?”
“We go where you’ll get maximum media exposure. Wicked Tantric.” Hopefully, Jack’s possessive streak would re-emerge if he thought Vivian was honing her sexual prowess and not using it on him.
Wicked Tantric had been founded by Senge Tenzing as a place to improve one’s sex life. Hollywood had embraced the studio, but more importantly it was a place the paparazzi regularly hung out, hoping to see the likes of Kent Decklin entering – which would be the same as saying Kent Decklin needed help in the sack. It didn’t matter that – according to Amber – Kent Decklin did need help in the sack. The actor would never show up.
Cora parked in front of Wicked Tantric. Pandemonium erupted when the paparazzi recognized Viv. And then they saw Cora. A swarm of man-sized locusts descended upon Cora’s car.
“I should have sent you with a friend.” Cora gripped her steering wheel, trying to ignore the cloying sweep of claustrophobia.
Now was the perfect time to talk about life balance and managing stress, encouraging Viv to put herself in a paparazzo’s shoes. They were only trying to make a living.
Bodies jostled her car. Cora couldn’t do it. Hell, she barely kept herself from speeding away. “I’m afraid your celebrity plus my being from the Dooley Foundation is going to make this more difficult than I thought. We can circle the block and phone a friend.”
“I don’t have friends anymore,” Viv said with a quiet determination. “They all thought I should move on from Jack.”
“Maybe you had the wrong friends.” Cora didn’t like the bitter note in her voice. Portia’s face came to mind. “You need the kind who sticks with you when life gets messy. The kind who won’t stab you in the back or tell you what you should want.”
Viv stared at her. “I struck a chord, did I?”
She nodded. “A familiar note, yes.”
A hint of a smile emerged on Viv’s face, thawing her usually-frozen features. “Who needs those bitches?”
“My sentiments exactly.” Cora returned her smile, wondering at how much they had in common. She wished she could take back having sex with Jack, because the more she got to know Viv, the more it felt like a betrayal. The truth fell upon her, like the paparazzo around her car, scrambling for an opening. The problem was that Viv may look strong, but underneath her love made her fragile. The truth might crush her.
“Let’s do this,” Viv said.
Together, they braved the swarm of photographers, who had no concept of personal space.
“Mrs. Gordon! Mrs. Gordon! Are you seeking help because of your disappointment in Blue Rule’s sexual skills?”
Cora elbowed someone in the ribs.
Viv was better at dealing with the paparazzi. She laughed and tossed her blond hair over her shoulder, not looking directly at anyone.
“Are you two ladies attending a naked yoga session?”
Cora ground her heel into someone’s tennis shoe.
“Is someone meeting you inside? Jack Gordon? Trent Parker?”
Cora feigned a stumble, catching her balance with a hand on a large black lens, sending it smashing into someone’s face. “Sorry,” she sing-songed.
They entered the den of sin to the rapid cacophony of cameras. As soon as the doors swung closed, there was silence, tranquility, and nearly life-size statues in X-rated poses. Lots of statues.
Cora’s gaze kept returning to one provocative statue.
Like that’s possible. Trent would have to –
Trent was off-limits. Grabbing Viv’s arm, Cora approached the front desk and the beautiful, Asian receptionist. “We have an appointment with Senge.”
They were directed upstairs, where sandalwood burned in side sconces. Their heels clicked over the bare, hardwood floor. There was nothing special here. It could have been a dance studio, except for the dais at the front where Hollywood’s most popular sex therapist stood.
Senge was a swarthy little man with the kind of smile that swung between creepy and compelling. He wore a long white robe and what looked like a braided friendship bracelet. “Ladies, I have been waiting for you. Come into my office so we can discuss your needs.”
His office was a room to the side of the studio with large pillows and no furniture. They followed his lead and sat on pillows.
Cora contained a shiver when she saw an empty condom wrapper in the corner. The quicker they got out of there and found some antibacterial lotion, the better. “Vivian is looking for a closer connection to her man.”
“Which man? She is no longer with your brother, who benefited greatly from my tutelage.”
Although Blue had paid Senge a visit in recent months, as had Amber, Cora doubted they’d been here seeking the small man’s advice.
Viv seemed in a trance, staring at Senge with wide eyes. Seeing as how Vivian was on mute, Cora continued talking for her. “It doesn’t matter which man.”
“It does.” Senge spoke with a melodic accent that calmed. “The spirit and the soul must connect as one. Some people are incompatible. You must tell me who the man is so I can sense his chakras.”
“We’re not going to – ”
“My husband. Jack Gordon. He owns the Flash.” Vivian’s mute button must have reset, for she continued blurting, “We have great sex. Fantastic sex. Mind blowing – ”
“This man.” Senge frowned. “This Jack. I know of him. He has locked away his feelings.”
Cora was grateful Senge had interrupted Viv’s over share, and she silently agreed with his assessment.
“Your Jack…” Senge had a distant look in his eyes. “He has much back pain, because he is suppressing his feelings for you.”
“We didn’t ask for a psychic reading.” Cora didn’t filter her sarcasm.
Senge’s gaze refocused on Viv. “When was the last time this man told you he loved you?”
Vivian’s eyes were watery. Cora took her hand.
“When?” Senge demanded.
Viv flinched. “I don’t know. Maybe three years ago?”
“And when was the last time you moved your bodies as one?”
“A few weeks ago.” Viv choked on a sob. “I stopped him from screwing around with Kaya Anika.”
Well, at least Cora and Viv hadn’t shared Jack. Cora’s tenure ended before Kaya’s began.
“For two weeks,” Viv continued. “I thought we – ”
“This is what you need to do. You need to stop arguing with this man, this Jack.”
“That’s what I told her,” Cora said.
Senge sliced the air in Cora’s direction. “You need to align yourself to him in all ways – with your words, at his work, in your home, with your heart.”
“I told her that, too.”
Senge frowned at Cora. “And only then should you open your body to him.”
“Ditto.” When Senge’s frown deepened, Cora shrugged. “We have you on retainer, remember? Amber takes good notes.”
Senge gestured to Viv. “In the meantime, you need to loosen your chakras. Yoga, massage, time alone with your special friend.”
Viv and Cora exchanged glances.
Cora took the bait. “Special friend?”
“The mechanical device that substitutes for true love.”
“A vibrator.” Cora was relieved the special friend wasn’t Senge.
“If you do not have one or want to upgrade, see Dalaja at the front desk. We now have XXL in stock. And batteries. Plenty of batteries.”
“No thanks. We’re good.” Cora stood.
“And my book.” He produced a large, hard-bound book from behind him. “It will show you how to join your body with his to create a soulful connection that cannot be broken.”
Viv reached for the book as if it held the secrets to mend her broken heart.
Senge pulled it out of reac
h, smiling that benevolent smile of his. “All for a cost of five hundred dollars. Cash or traveler’s checks.”
“She’s a client of the Dooley Foundation. This book is covered under our retainer agreement.” Cora considered asking for a copy herself, but she didn’t want Senge to think she needed his advice in the sack.
Reluctantly, Senge handed the book to Viv, who clutched it to her chest as they walked down the steps. “Do you think his book will help?”
“No.” Cora hustled Viv toward the door.
“I think Jack should come here. His back – ”
“Jack wouldn’t be caught dead in this place.” Cora silently cursed herself. She didn’t want Viv to realize she’d been more than Jack’s acquaintance. “When we leave, I want you to cover your face, as if you don’t want to be photographed.”
Viv groaned. “Here, take this.” She handed Cora the book. “Jack is going to hate me for coming here.”
“Lucky for you, hate is just a degree or two away from love.”
~*~
“Have you seen Ren shoot a three?” Randy stood next to Trent on the sidelines as the team worked on shots of their choice. The acoustics in the gym were terrible. Echoes of bouncing balls, reverberating rims, laughter and trash talk. “Ren’s elbow is off, but the rest of his stroke is sweet.”
Trent glared at Randy. “Go correct it.”
Randy gave him the Who? Me? look.
“Yes, you.” Technically, they weren’t supposed to coach the players on technique or game strategy until training camp, but Trent found it hard to watch and do nothing.
Hanging his head, Randy walked over to Ren, probably expecting to be laughed off the court. He wasn’t. Ren was a seven-foot teddy bear, more’s the pity. Soon the center was hitting three-pointers more consistently, as if he was a shooting guard, not a seven-foot-tall giant who played beneath the rim. Contradictions like that always sparked Trent’s creative juices.
Randy returned to his side with an ear-splitting grin that made Trent proud.
“Take a look at Antoine,” Trent nodded toward the guard. “That’s one ugly pull-up jumper. Take a shot at fixing that.”
Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015 Page 11