Cora continued to say nothing. Gemma gave up on conversation and stared out the window at the usual L.A. traffic. They’d left Brutus back at the office with Mr. Jiggles. The silence stretched uncomfortably between them.
Randy had chosen her as his Woman Crush Wednesday on Twitter. Gemma felt like flying. If Cora had slept with the Flash’s coach, she should be flying, too.
But she wasn’t. She was quiet and hadn’t said anything to Amber when she’d asked about the L.A. Happenings column except, “Mind your own business.”
Mimi opened her front door before they’d had a chance to knock. She scrutinized Cora’s face. “Are we in a happy mood or a punching bag mood?”
“I’m an idiot,” Cora said.
Instead of politely telling her she wasn’t, like any normal person would, Mimi hugged Cora.
What was going on here?
The two non-virgins went into the house, leaving clueless Gemma on the stoop. She followed them in, feeling let down. There’d be no shopping trips today. No makeovers. No updates to her Twitter feed with glamorous photos. Next Wednesday, Randy would choose some other lucky girl as his Woman Crush Wednesday.
“Oh, boy,” Mimi was saying. “Coach Parker must have amazing powers of sexual persuasion, because it seems like only recently you and I were making a pact about – ”
“Please.” Cora glanced at Gemma. “Not in front of the baby.”
“You can tell me.” Gemma lifted her chin. “I’m not going to tell anyone.”
Mimi regarded her, then turned to Cora. “As long as we feed her fan-girl addiction with Coach Farrell, she won’t say a word. She’ll do anything we say.”
“Not anything,” Gemma grumbled.
“Anything,” Mimi repeated without looking at her. “Now, tell me. Is Coach Parker someone you’d like to date exclusively, or just another boy toy?”
“He dumped me.”
Cora’s admission couldn’t have shocked Gemma more. Cora was smart and savvy and sexy. The Dooley Foundation version of Angelina Jolie. Ok, so maybe she could be a bitch, but what man in their right mind would dump her?
“He said I’m not ready for a relationship,” Cora was saying. “He said I have unresolved issues.”
For once, Gemma held her tongue. Cora’s personal life was a thing of myth. It had only been recently that L.A. Happenings had posted anything about her personal life at all. And to be dumped? Ouch.
Cora’s father, and Gemma’s old boss, Dooley, would have said all that emotion indicated she was in need of a teaching moment. Gemma had listened in on enough of Dooley’s phone call sessions to recognize the signs. The man had never been able to talk to anyone without putting them on speaker.
Mimi tapped her lips with one pink, manicured fingernail. “You’re either a rebound and the issue crap is an excuse to never see you again, or he cares about you…He’s older, right? By seven or eight years? Older dudes always have different expectations than guys our age. Did he say what he thought your issues were?”
Cora clammed up as tight as an airliner ready for take-off.
Could it be? Did this mean…? Cora needed a bit of her own life coaching medicine? Wait until Amber found out.
Gemma bit her lip. But what if she didn’t find out? At least, not yet. Not until Gemma had a chance to prove that she could be a life coach for the most difficult of clients – Cora Rule.
“Well then.” Mimi brought out her brightest smile. The one that said she had nothing going on upstairs. The one Gemma didn’t fall for any more. Mimi was one of the sweetest cupcakes in the display case and one of the few with a smart filling. “It must be time to make Gemma over and go shopping.”
The smile welling up inside of Gemma couldn’t be contained. Things were starting to look up.
~*~
After too many sleepless nights, Cora had finally drifted off early, only to be interrupted.
The text message from Antoine seemed desperate: Cops about to take me to jail.
Cora glanced at the clock. Two a.m.
It had been several days since she and Trent had spoken in the lobby of his hotel. She’d suffered a lecture from Amber, a sympathetic hug from Mimi, unexpected scrutiny from Gemma, and speculative looks from the Flash players.
Oh, and Portia had cancelled their life coaching appointment with a nasty text message about Cora being able to use sex to create buzz, but using a double-standard on her. Cora hoped that meant Portia hadn’t slept with Cal Lazarus. It’d be nice if someone learned from her mistakes.
“You are so going to owe me, Antoine.” Cora threw on a pair of jeans, an old T-shirt, and casual-heeled sandals. She didn’t bother with make-up, and left Brutus sleeping in his bed upstairs.
Thirty minutes later, as she completed the paperwork for Antoine’s release, Trent’s sleep-roughened voice startled her. “What the hell, Cora?”
The last thing Antoine needed was his coach knowing he’d been busted.
She turned, feeling naked and vulnerable. “I’m helping out a friend. What are you doing here?”
Ren towered behind Trent, looking sheepish. “Antoine texted me, but I did not know how to make bail.”
Trent looked good, despite his frown and a slight case of bed-head. “You’re bailing Antoine out of the drunk tank?”
“Yep,” she said with false cheer.
His frown deepened. “Was it something the team needs to discipline him for?”
“His baby mama slugged him, but fled the scene.” When Trent’s eyebrows shot up, Cora was quick to explain. “He didn’t hit her. A bunch of wasted do-gooders felt it was their civic duty to support a woman, even after she left.”
Trent washed a hand over his face. “Thanks for bailing him out.”
“No problem.” But there was a problem. Unlike other men she’d slept with, being with Trent made her nervous. She couldn’t think of anything to say.
“He’s my half-brother,” the woman at the counter was saying. “I barely know him. He just got to town yesterday.” She backed away from the clerk. “I’m sorry. But I can’t bail him out. Not for fifty thousand dollars. I have to think about my kids.” The woman high-tailed it out the door.
What if that had been me? Called on to post bond for one of Daddy’s other children? Would she ignore them? Pay the bond out of obligation for family? Show up out of guilt because at least one of the tantrums she’d thrown as a child had forced Daddy to cancel plans he’d made with them?
She did a mental tally. Those posting bail out of obligation: Amber, Blue, the Reverend, Mimi, Gemma. Those ignoring: Portia, Cal. That left Cora and her guilt flying solo.
Ren paced in front of her. “Coach, may my Evening Star drive you and Antoine home? I need sleep before workout.”
Trent looked like he wanted nothing to do with Cora. She imagined she looked the same. They both nodded.
Ren left. She checked Facebook on her phone. It buzzed and she nearly dropped it. Another text from Cal: Thinking of you.
Antoine shuffled out a door and gave Cora a jaw-dropping look of disbelief. “You brought Coach?”
“Not me.” She held up her hands. “Ren.”
“My fault, then. I needed an insurance policy. I wasn’t sure Ren would get my message.” Antoine touched his black eye gingerly. “Sorry for the trouble, Coach.”
“It’s no excuse to slack off your workouts later,” Trent grumbled.
Cora led them to her car.
“Girl, you need a new ride.” Antoine eyed her vehicle dubiously. “A quality woman like you doesn’t need to be driving a near classic.”
“Shut up, Antoine.” Cora’s Mercedes was five years old. She hadn’t wanted to buy a new car since she’d been planning to move to Paris after graduating from the Fashion Institute. And then Daddy died. “You live in Westwood, right?”
“Yep.” While she drove, Antoine worked the windows up and down, checked out the arm rest, bumped his knees in the back of Trent’s seat. “Aren’t we going to pick up my wheels
? I left them at Tingle.”
“You can send one of your freeloading homeboys tomorrow,” Cora snapped. Why couldn’t he be grateful? She was the one who’d been put out. “Why didn’t you call one of them tonight?”
“I’ve dropped down to one assistant since Evan wouldn’t let my posse in during summer training.” Antoine continued with the attitude. “And Demarcus has some previous paperwork with the law he’s been avoiding.”
“You mean a warrant for his arrest?” Cora exited the freeway.
Trent swore. “My players don’t associate with law-breakers. If it’s not taken care of by Monday, I’ll cut you.”
“That’s harsh, man. He’s like my brother from another mother.”
“Monday,” Trent repeated. A conversation killer.
“Antoine, how many kids do you have?” Cora asked when she couldn’t stand the silence any longer.
“One. What kind of a man do you think I am?”
“Well, I – ”
“Anjawon is one of those birth control pill babies.” Antoine’s voice had lost all its bluster. “My dad had a string of baby mamas. At last count, I have six brothers and sisters.”
“You don’t know?” Cora felt immensely better for not wanting to know about her siblings.
“Girl, I know of six. I send each one a bonus check every month.” He sighed. “You can’t turn your back on family. I just never know if my dad’s gonna surprise me one day and tell me about more. I’d feel guilty about not knowing sooner. It’s hard making in the world alone. Even if I didn’t share a bedroom with any of them, family should support one another, you know?”
No. She didn’t know. The concept was as new as Amber and Blue supporting her. She hadn’t been open to a closer relationship with her older siblings six months ago. It would be responsible and adult-like to keep an open mind. But what if they hated her?
Antoine directed Cora to his apartment. She pulled into his underground garage. Motion sensor lighting came on in sections, always twenty feet ahead of her. She parked near the elevator, and turned off the engine. “Send your baby mama flowers in the morning.”
“Girlfriend, did you not see my shiner?”
She tsked. How could he care so much for his blood ties and not his baby mama? “Destiny loves you, Antoine. She wouldn’t track you down if she didn’t. It’s hard to find a good woman who cares that much.” Take Viv, for example. She’d barely left Jack’s side since he’d fallen ill.
He huffed and got out of the car. Old habits and too many horror movies as a teen had Cora locking the doors. They watched him get in the elevator.
Cora turned the key. The Mercedes made a grumbling noise. The lights flashed, dimmed, and the car died.
“That’s weird,” Cora said, fighting a twinge of embarrassment.
Trent stared out the window. “Don’t flood the car trying to start it.”
“I know not to give it too much gas.” Without touching the gas pedal, Cora tried starting the car again. Nothing happened.
“How old is this car?”
“Not that old.”
“Your alternator is dead.” Trent tried to open the door. It was locked.
Cora hit the power door locks. Nothing happened. She tried opening her own door. It wouldn’t budge. This was more than embarrassing. It was annoying. She was locked in her own car. With a man who knew what she looked like naked, but didn’t want to refresh his memory.
“You had to lock the doors after Antoine got out.” Trent shook his head. “When the alternator goes, all the computer chips in the car stop working.”
“How was I to know the alternator was bad? Antoine jinxed it.”
Trent sighed. “Let’s just sit here for a few minutes and see if it decides to come back to life. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you flooded the engine.”
“Like that would explain the doors being locked?” Not.
Without motion, the power-saving lights in the garage went out, section by section, plunging them into darkness. It was so dark, Cora couldn’t see the outline of her steering wheel. Her heart scrambled up her throat.
Trent cussed. Quite loudly.
Cora couldn’t blame him. She tried the doors again. She tried not to panic. “The good news is if we fool around, no one will see.” Awkward ex-lover humor.
Trent played along. “If there’s a security guard on duty, with your luck he’d get curious about the time things between us got interesting.”
“I don’t like the dark.” Cora fumbled for her cell phone. She brought up the home screen and used the flashlight app to find her insurance card in her wallet. “Did you bring your cell phone?”
“I left it on the charger. We’re in a locked car. Don’t worry.”
“I don’t like the dark.” She called for a tow truck. “Twenty minutes,” she said, upon hanging up ten minutes later.
“An eternity of darkness,” he said when she blanked her screen because her cell phone battery was nearly dead.
“Glad we went our separate ways, are you?” Cora wrapped her arms around herself. There could be anything lurking in the darkness. Rats. Bats. Serial killers.
“You chose to break things off,” Trent pointed out.
And he’d let her. There was a sound like scuttling feet outside the car to her left. “Crap, crap, crap. Talk to me, Reverend.”
“Can you forget the Reverend and just talk to Trent?”
“How could I forget the Reverend? He’s such a good kisser.” She couldn’t stop looking around, not that she could see anything, but she wasn’t going to be the horny, clueless chic who was stabbed because she didn’t see the killer coming.
“I’m Trent. And I’m good at other things.” That Southern twang. That deep voice. She wanted to wrap his words around her like a blanket.
But she was still smarting from the way they’d parted this morning. “Have you crossed anything else off your I-made-it-big list?”
“Have you thought about why you don’t let men in your bedroom?” His warmth and humor dissipated faster than a dropped popsicle on hot pavement.
“I don’t need to think about it. My bedroom is my safe place.” She wished she was there now, with her pink night light on.
“Why do you need a safe place, Cora?” His voice, so soft, like a comforting caress on her spooked spirit. “Especially one that’s pink.”
“You don’t know what it’s like to be from a family of over-achievers, to always be compared to your older sister or your mom.” She hugged herself tighter. “And to always come up short.”
“You do realize who my dad is? Everyone expected me to be a stud on the football field.”
“Everyone expected me to be a supermodel like my mom or the good-natured girl, like Amber.” She swallowed thickly. “My room is pink because everyone loves Barbie and that bitch has everything.”
“But you said you were Skipper.”
“Exactly. In reality, I’m Skipper to my sister’s Barbie, Robin to her Batman. Except I’m not even Robin, I’m more like Alfred.” A dangerously truthful secret, one she’d never shared before. She was glad he couldn’t see the blush heating her cheeks.
“My dad thinks if I’m in the room there should be a way to prove I’m not perfect.” His hand found her shoulder and trailed down her arm to claim her fingers. “Those times he was sober after my mother died? I sometimes wished he’d get drunk, because then he left me alone. When I was in high school, he forced me to play on his college practice squad one summer. I think I hold the record for sacks taken.”
She squeezed his fingers supportively. “I bet you were like the Energizer Bunny. You took those lickings and kept on ticking.”
“And I bet you always made sure you were in the running for Barbie’s crown.” She could hear the smile in his voice.
She liked him.
It was a damn shame.
He brought her hand across the center console into his territory, bringing it against his chest. She’d expected him to guide her hand to
his crotch.
Trent Parker was a good guy. She wasn’t used to good guys. She was the girl all the bad boys lusted after and the choir boys didn’t have the guts to talk to.
“I haven’t made out in a car since high school,” he was saying. “Even then, my dad caught us just as I was about to unwrap a condom.”
They were back to teasing, which suited her. Emotional baggage should remain closed. “I could sit in your lap, just to remind you of old times.”
“I could unzip those jeans and make you really wet. That sound you make when I finger you turns me on.”
Forget teasing. This was almost as good as phone sex. He didn’t have to touch her to make her juices flow. “I’ve always wanted to give a celebrity a hickey. Not a big one, mind, but something about the size of a quarter on your collarbone.” Right next to the V of his polo. Something to tell other women her celebrity was taken.
“I could unhook your bra.” He lowered his voice. “I’ve been hoping it was black.”
“I’m not wearing a bra.” Her nipples strained against the thin cotton of her tee, hoping for more than teasing words from him.
The creak of leather and roll of his chest indicated he was shifting in his seat.
Good. She didn’t want to be the only one in the car turned on. “There’s just enough room to ride you sidesaddle.”
He swore. “It’s too easy to imagine being inside you.”
Cora was throbbing in all the right places. “We need to talk about boundaries.”
“A woman with a book like you had on your bed doesn’t have boundaries.”
“I mean expectations.” She flinched when something scuttled outside her door.
He enclosed her hand in both of his. “I thought we agreed we weren’t dating.” The frustration in his voice was palpable.
“We’re not.”
“Barbie dates.”
“Barbie is a powerful, single woman, playing the field.” He didn’t get it. She wasn’t Barbie.
“Barbie has one man. Ken. They date. She’s not the kind of girl who dates both Ken and G.I. Joe.”
“G.I. Joe is hot.”
“Barbie’s got higher standards.”
Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015 Page 18