Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015

by Melinda Curtis

Vivian’s eyes shuttered, as if she was jealous of a basketball team.

  You love coaching more than you love me. Rachel’s words. She’d spoken matter-of-factly when he told her he wasn’t the Reverend and he wanted a divorce. Rachel hadn’t missed a beat as they separated their lives and their bank account.

  “It’s the end of visiting hours, lords and ladies,” the male nurse cooed. “Only immediate family after ten.” It was closer to eleven thirty.

  “I’m staying,” Cora said stubbornly.

  The nurse shook his head. “Honey bear, you can stay in the waiting room down the hall. But this room? Na-uh.”

  “It’s okay.” Vivian’s voice stretched thin. “I’m used to being alone.”

  Cora hadn’t let go of Vivian’s hand. “Is there anyone I can call? Your mom? A sister?”

  “No siblings. My parents are on an Alaskan cruise with my Aunt Winnie until next week.” Vivian attempted a smile. “Besides, my mother is the last person Jack wants to see. The last time she saw him, she told him what a screw-up he was for leaving me.”

  “Jack, you’re a fool to leave Viv.” Cora stood, patted Jack’s hand, and then hugged Vivian. “Call me if you need anything. Come on, Reverend.”

  Surprising himself, Trent gave the nurse a severe look and a business card. It was from Holy Southern Cross, but it had his cell number on it. “If Mrs. Gordon needs anything, you let me know. Day or night.”

  “Honey bear, you are too sweet,” the nurse cooed.

  Vivian didn’t seem to hear. She clutched Jack’s hand.

  Cora waited for Trent in the hallway. “That was nice.”

  They walked toward the waiting area. The hospital was depressingly quiet.

  “Don’t sound so surprised. I’m not in the habit of kissing women I just met.” Repeatedly. Despite them making nice, it was best to make things clear. Cora was still a part of the Dooley Foundation, and he still planned to clean house.

  “There’s something about L.A. that loosens people’s inhibitions.” Cora hitched her purse higher on her shoulder. “Or maybe where you come from people are uptight.”

  “Where I come from you don’t kiss a woman on the first date.” And that was the rub. He was a small town, old school boy. Cora was an urban, sex-in-the-city, babe.

  “We haven’t dated.” She didn’t quite smile. “And we won’t. According to Jack, you’re my client.”

  “You’re fired.”

  She laughed, leading him into the empty waiting room. A fluorescent light buzzed in the ceiling. “You don’t have the authority to do that. And the likelihood of Viv appointing someone to make decisions now is slim.”

  He’d been worried that was the case. Reluctantly, he followed her into the room. She plopped on an uncomfortable looking gray couch with wooden arms. The neckline of her blouse slid lower over her breast, putting every fiber of his being on alert.

  “Let’s clear the air.” Cora had more poise and polish than most women her age. She was an intriguing combination of sexy siren and old soul. “The Coach Parker I’ve been dealing with isn’t the Grim, Career-Ending-Reaper the press has made him out to be. Or the pious Reverend. Why the ruse?

  He shouldn’t have been surprised at her insight. Those dark eyes saw more than most men probably gave her credit for. But he could trust the Reverend. He couldn’t trust her, and so he turned the tables. “And you? I expected you to be asserting mind control over each player.” He waggled his fingers as if casting a spell. “Why aren’t you having players chant your choose-trust rosary?”

  “You really do believe we’re a cult.” She tsked. “Trust me. None of our clients worship my dad. I don’t even worship my dad.” The way she said it made it sound as if she didn’t care much for her father.

  Trent was confused. “But you said my dad was like yours.” She’d said she liked him.

  “All true.” She nodded sadly. “You know the trouble with our dads?” She leaned in conspiratorially close, but her expression was somber. “They’re well-meaning bad boys. My dad was a very bad boy. Hollywood loved him. Once Mary Sue Ellen becomes your step-mama, the world will love Archie again.”

  “For how long?” Something that had been balled in his gut for too long unraveled and his fears tumbled out. “She can’t handle him. She won’t be able to hold Dad’s attention for long. None of them ever do. If she hadn’t gotten pregnant, he’d be on to another woman by now.” Back home in the South. None of Trent’s responsibility. “May-December romances are doomed from the start.” A hint toward their age differences. “And a baby? At his age?”

  “There’s that glass half empty attitude again. I’d expect it from a heartbroken eighty-year old, but you?” She twisted her hair until it cascaded over her shoulder. “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-two.”

  “I’m almost twenty-six,” Cora said, as if she was a teenager trying to convince Trent that she was almost eighteen and legal. “We’re both too old for a new set of siblings. I don’t blame you for wanting to distance yourself from Archie’s indiscretion.” She clenched her fingers.

  Trent blinked. “I’d never turn my back on family. My mother once told me you don’t have to like everyone you’re related to, but you have to love them and watch out for them.”

  She stared the ceiling. “Even when they betray your trust?”

  “I’m not going to punish that baby for something stupid my dad did.”

  “So you won’t be jealous comparing how Archie raised you to how this child is going to be raised? You won’t go nuts when Archie applies a different set of rules about hanging out and curfew? You won’t wonder which of you he loves more?”

  He’d found her emotional hot button – family – and he wished he hadn’t. “It’s getting late.” But he still had one more topic to broach. “About that kiss earlier – ”

  “Dude, I’m not some starry-eyed, Flash groupie.” Her voice seemed brittle. “I kissed you the other day. You kissed me tonight. Call it even.”

  “It won’t happen again.”

  “You’re funny.” Her slow perusal sparked sensations he didn’t want to acknowledge. “So we occasionally kiss? I’m not asking you to go steady.”

  “You’re a distraction.” A test of his resolve for success. “I’m not interested in starting anything with you.”

  “We both know you’re lying.” She laughed, but it sounded oddly hollow.

  “But we both know it’s for the best.”

  ~*~

  When Cora was a little girl and her temper welled up inside of her like a pot of water threatening to boil over, her father used to shuttle her to the bathroom, close her in and say, “Just let it out.”

  And she would. She’d release a primal scream that would’ve sent King Kong scuttling back to his skeletal cave.

  As an adult, screaming wasn’t an option, which may have explained why she’d turned to kissing. She tried to squelch the stirrings of anger – over his holy attitude toward family, over his dismissal of their attraction to each other.

  “I have a lot on my plate,” Trent was saying in his good ol’ boy twang. “If I’m seen with you, someone will make the leap from my dad’s preference for young women and apply it to me.”

  Her heart and her stomach switched places, agitating her anger. “I didn’t say I wanted to be seen with you.”

  Trent ignored that detail. “You have to see that on paper, because of our age differences and because of the way you look, you undermine my goals in too many ways to count.”

  “Reverend. Seven years is nothing.” Cora didn’t want to be any man’s mistake. “Besides, it was a couple kisses. You didn’t even feel me up.” Despite her words, the heat of anger suddenly drained, leaving her cold, chilled by everything Amber had been telling her without actually telling Cora she’d been playing fast and loose with her body. Frosted by Archie’s first impression of her as a bimbo, and Gemma’s calling her a whore. And by the final, frozen realization that she was the kind of woman guys dat
ed but never married.

  Who could have known she still held onto the desire for a white wedding? She didn’t even believe in love.

  Why did she have to figure this out now? In front of him?

  On some level, Cora must have known her life needed a course correction. After all, she’d gone cold turkey on men recently. But she was who she was. She still liked uncomplicated sex. She didn’t want someone messing with her head, telling her who to be, and what to do with her life. She’d witnessed enough of that with her parents. Other people traded wedding promises for compromises. Cora wouldn’t.

  The fluorescent light above her flickered and buzzed louder.

  “Well…” She was hurt, smarting from past choices and unexpected rejection, but she didn’t want him knowing that. She hoped she projected only disdain. “Thanks for telling me your opinion, Reverend.”

  “I’m not saying this right.” There was that exasperated tone she was used to receiving from him. “I just feel that other people would judge – ”

  “You’re only making it worse. Go.” She waved him off.

  Surprisingly, he did as she asked.

  If she played things right over the next few weeks, she’d reach her sales quota. She’d have three million dollars to open a bank account in Paris, more than enough to live comfortably on a fashion-apprenticeship salary and finance the launching of her own fashion line. She wouldn’t have to acknowledge her other siblings. And she’d never have to see Trent Parker again.

  So why wasn’t she happy?

  L.A. Happenings by Lyle Lincoln

  …Jack Gordon felled by a mysterious virus? Say it ain’t so. My sources say he’s got two beautiful ladies at his bedside – his wife, Viv, and that rule-breaker, Cora Rule. What an interesting threesome.

  …Greg Bingham, notorious international bad-boy, escorted Isabelle Chavez, Disney Channel star, to Xuri Fashions on Rodeo Drive yesterday. Apparently, Greg didn’t have permission to take Isabelle anywhere. Mama Chavez dragged her little darling out of the couples-only dressing room, half-dressed and disheveled. How does one put your little meal-ticket in time out?

  Chapter 15

  “Gemma, I wasn’t expecting you.” Mimi held onto the door as if it was the only thing holding her up. Everything about Mimi drooped. “I was just getting ready to go out…Oh, not really. I did try, but then…”

  Gemma’s jaw nearly fell open. The actress’ famously bright smile? Gone.

  Her bright blond hair? Flat.

  Her trademark cleavage? Hidden beneath a boxy T-shirt.

  “Cora sent me to check on you and Coco,” Gemma lied. She was supposed to be at the Dooley Foundation, but she’d told Amber that she was meeting Cora here. She knew Cora was having coffee with Portia Francis. Her heart was pounding and not just because of the lie. She wanted to prove she could help Mimi regain her confidence, but she had her own personal agenda as well. “Can I come in?”

  Mimi stepped aside to let her into the den of sin.

  Not that Gemma should judge. After all, her mother had been living in a commune for the past twenty-five years. A nudist commune. In Oregon. Where they raised organic livestock, sang psychedelic songs around the campfire, and knotted macramé owl towel racks to sell in a local gift shop. They also participated in group sex and spouse swapping. It made retirement homes in Phoenix with bingo and ballroom dancing look boring.

  “I was…We were wondering if you wanted to go out shopping again. I’m at your disposal if you do.” Please, please, please.

  When Cora had tweeted the picture of Gemma with Mimi at the pet supply store, the strangest thing happened. Flash Coach Randy Farrell had retweeted her picture on Women Crush Wednesday: Mimi’s bestie is my new #WCW!

  Gemma thought she might die. She’d been unable to do more than log onto her Twitter account and compose short, dorky replies that she deleted before posting.

  “Coco could use an outing.” Mimi took inventory of Gemma’s appearance and frowned. “You wouldn’t mind a little makeover before we go, would you?”

  “It was fun last time, wasn’t it?” Not until Randy chose her as his #WCW.

  Mimi picked up Coco, then turned down the hall. She wasn’t excited, but she wasn’t dismissing the idea either. “Come on then. I have the coolest Ferragamo’s you can borrow. Our feet are about the same size.”

  “The army boots stay.”

  Mimi glanced over her shoulder at the offending footwear. “I suppose we’ll have to work with that.”

  Gemma almost skipped down the hall after her. Army boots and all.

  ~*~

  “The dog isn’t working.” Portia picked at a vanilla scone, glancing across the street at a small group of photographers casually snapping shots of them. Her short, blond hair was as artfully draped as her chartreuse blouse, one Cora’d seen in the window of Aloysha’s boutique. “If anything, my buzz factor has decreased.”

  Cora could relate to being miscast. The only reason Trent seemed to resent her presence around the Flash was the attraction between them. Instead of toning down her heat-seeking non-verbals, Cora’s inner bitch planned to play it up. That man was going to suffer.

  They sat outside the Gilded Bean, a trendy coffee shop off Rodeo Drive. Dottie, the hairless Chihuahua, sat near Portia’s feet. Brutus was back at the office with his best bud, Mr. Jiggles.

  “Dottie is fabulous.” To prove it, Cora reached down to pet her. “You’re not capitalizing on your sweetie. Where’s the cute purple bag I gave you?”

  Portia wanted to frown. Cora could tell by the way the actress held her lips very still until she spoke. “I haven’t been in the L.A. Happenings column once since you gave her to me. And you’ve been in there twice. Twice. And that slut, Mimi Sorbet, made the cover of People magazine with her dog today.”

  Forget that Cora hadn’t heard that Mimi had made the cover of People. She wanted to shake her former best friend. But there were cameras and sales quotas to be considered. She gripped her coffee cup and forced herself to smile. “Portia, your image is as clean as it was when you were a Disney Channel star. If you aren’t going to get arrested or sleep with a dangerous man, Dottie will have to do.”

  Expensive cars drove by. A woman with oversized Gucci sunglasses and a Dalmatian walked by. Paparazzo shutters fell silent.

  Cora considered picking up Dottie and leaving Portia to whine alone. It was one thing to be paid to help someone on the path to their dreams. It was another to be paid and shit on.

  “Help me out here, Portia. At least consider doing something your mother wouldn’t approve of. Doesn’t your character in this film have an affair with a con man? Be bold. Take risks off-screen.”

  “Well…There is someone I could be bad with.” Portia peeked at Cora over the rim of her tea cup, a hint of a smile on her lips. “But I’d want it to be a secret.”

  “That’s not going to help your career. Aren’t you still dating Xavier?” The hottest Argentinean on the pro golf tour.

  “Who knows?” Portia’s smile moved toward a pout. “He’s out of the country all the time. You know how those Latin men are. I’m assuming he has a lover at every golf course. In an ideal world, I’d have a different lover for every occasion. Attentive hotness for charity events. Exotic hotness for industry events. Dangerous hotness for around town.”

  “I like the way you’re thinking.” There was something about Portia that Cora appreciated, a bitchiness that made her own razor-edged temper seem okay.

  “It’ll never happen. My fan base is age fifteen to fifty. I’m not pulling a Miley Cyrus and limiting my demographic appeal. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be bad in private.” Portia leaned forward. “What was it like? Dating Cal Lazarus?”

  “I didn’t date him.” Cora had learned long ago not to kiss and tell, but there was that sly look in Portia’s eyes. “Damn it, don’t sleep with Cal.” He was dangerous, but not media dangerous.

  “Jealous?”

  Cora didn’t dignify that with an answer.
Instead, she leaned in and lowered her voice in case anyone walked by. “You need to think about three things.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “One, he’s your boss and until you get deep into filming this movie, he could still fire you. Two, Xavier’s a hunk-and-a-half. Don’t blow it with him. And three, Cal won’t stop texting me late at night asking for a hook-up.”

  Cal’s father was dying. And instead of dropping everything to be with him, Cal was burning the candle at both ends, working all day and holding vigil each night in a chair next to his father’s bed, trying to sleep. And failing, if the timing of his texts were any indication. Cora believed his offers to hook-up were ill-chosen stress relief.

  “You’re such a hypocrite. You didn’t used to care if a hot guy was your boss.” Portia picked up Dottie, then stood, pulling her haughtiest look. “Did Cal text you last night?”

  “Yes.” A white lie. He’d texted her after midnight the night before.

  Portia swore and left to the soundtrack of shouting cameramen trying to get her to look at them.

  Cora made her way to her own car, ignoring the cat-calls of the paparazzi. She was already switching gears to the needs of the Flash players and staff.

  ~*~

  Jack Gordon had been in the hospital for a week. Other than the frustration that trades and new contracts for players were on hold, things were moving along nicely. Training camp started today. Trent and his staff were officially on the payroll. And Trent had finally found something to pull his father out of the doldrums – evaluating the Flash coaching staff. While the team did their strength training, Trent, Archie, and Randy were going to give each of the previous staff a chance to make a case for staying.

  The offensive coordinator walked into Trent’s office with a chip on his very tall shoulder. “You can’t fire anyone until Jack is out of the hospital.”

  “Consider this week your paid vacation.” Archie bared his teeth in a poor imitation of a smile. “Next.”