Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015

by Melinda Curtis

“I hadn’t realized you were so short.” With her heels on, she was almost as tall as he was. She forced out a laugh, managing not to sound like a cartoon villain – brouhaha. “Why is it I never saw your baby mama at the games last season? I bet your son would love to see you play.”

  Antoine rubbed a hand over his shaved head and flashed her a gold-toothed grin. “He’s two, ma’am. Anjawon enjoys watching the game from home.”

  She contained her jealousy that Antoine had a child and she didn’t. “Is he living with you now?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Then you don’t get to see him enough.” She smiled and squeezed his sculpted bicep. “I’ll make sure Anjawon and his mother get front row tickets to pre-season games. Your son should visit you in the locker room before the game, too.”

  “We aren’t allowed pre-game visitors in the locker room.” Antoine stiffened.

  “We can make an exception for family. It’s best to enjoy the spotlight while you can. There’ll be many changes this season.” Vivian glanced up to see Trent bearing down on her. “You better run along, Antoine.”

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Gordon.” Coach Parker’s Southern drawl made his greeting sound like a polite put-down. “We have limited practice time. I don’t mind if you sit on the sidelines, but please don’t interrupt practice.”

  “You’re a very attractive man.” Viv faced him, sidling into Trent’s space. “And that accent has a way of purring around the base of a woman’s spine.” She turned, letting her hand drift between them, the back of which nearly grazed his package beneath his basketball shorts. Any unwanted touch would be a lawsuit. She wasn’t that desperate. But she was on a mission to shake things up. “I can see why Cora tapped you the day you met.”

  “Mrs. Gordon.” He pulled back slowly, steelier than she’d thought he’d be based on his slow, deliberate way of speaking. “I’m still learning the ways of the big city. But my mama always taught me to be respectful of others and not to spread rumors.”

  Rumors? Ha! She’d seen the way Cora and Trent looked at each other. They’d done the dirty deed. “Thank you for the advice, Coach. And I’ll try not to interrupt your practice again.” Vivian hurried out.

  She had seven days to sink or swim.

  ~*~

  If Cora’s pink bedroom hadn’t made Trent feel sleazy, Vivian’s thinly veiled come-on would have. Not that he believed she wanted to screw him physically. She’d been on a voodoo mission to mess with his players’ heads, succeeding in two cases. And with the threat of a trade involving Evan, she was messing with Trent, too.

  Trent signaled for Ren to come off the court during the afternoon’s scrimmage. “You’re playing like someone took your doll away.”

  “My apologies, Coach.” The tall center wouldn’t look Trent in the eyes.

  “You’re my center. I need you to focus.”

  “I am just realizing I am old.”

  Trent did a double-take.

  “Excuse me.” Cora’d been sitting on the bleachers involved with her phone since Vivian left. “Can I have a word with Ren?”

  Trent wanted to deny the request, but Ren looked so relieved, he waved them both away. If Trent had a sensitive senior assistant coach or a sports psychologist on staff, he would’ve had them take Ren aside. He didn’t trust young Randy or Berto to restore his center’s confidence. And Archie didn’t show his soft side to players.

  “This is turning into a shit day, son.” Archie came to stand next to Trent. He tucked his clipboard beneath his arm. “Should I call my agent? He said he had a couple of job offers for me to review. I don’t want to leave you in a lurch, but sometimes you just have to cut bait and take your losses.”

  “Dad…” I need you. “Give it another week. The players respect you.” As did Randy and Berto. It surprised Trent how much advice Archie had to give – not about the mechanics of the game, but about playing with a cool head and being mentally prepared for your opponent.

  His father clapped him on the shoulder, making Trent feel guilty for not telling him all his plans for the team. “I’ll stick with you, son.” He moved further down the sideline to yell at Jablone for blowing defensive coverage.

  Antoine was playing distracted, too. Trent subbed him out of the game.

  “What gives? You’re second-guessing everything. I want you out there running the court and distributing the ball.” Trent tapped Antoine’s temple. “You’re thinking too much.”

  Antoine rubbed a hand over his head. “Yeah, I was thinking. Maybe I take too many risks. Turnovers…that’s a hard stat to erase.”

  “You let me be the judge of that.”

  Antoine rocked side-to-side and made a non-committal noise.

  “Watson!”

  Antoine’s shoulders tensed. “Coach, I’ve been in the league five years. That’s the average career span in the NBA. If Mrs. Gordon puts me up for trade, coaches will look at my stats, including my turnovers. I have my family and a son to support. And – ”

  “Flippin’ hell!” Everyone who heard Trent swear did a double-take, except his dad, who was smiling. The Reverend had cussed twice in one day. They probably thought he was losing it. “If I have a problem with the risks you take and the turnovers you make, I’ll let you know. Until then, it’s balls-to-the-wall speed with a good pass to the first open man or a shot if you see one, got me?”

  “Yes, sir.” But Antoine had that faraway look in his eye.

  “Do you want to sub, Coach?” Berto said.

  “Yeah.” Trent pushed Antoine toward the court, then at the last second, pulled him back. “Wait. You go talk to Cora before you step back out there.” God, make Jack Gordon healthy soon. Trent was going to need a miracle to keep the team mentally strong.

  ~*~

  “The wife of Jack said I was old!” Ren paced the corner of the practice gym.

  Cora followed, trying to laugh, but finding nothing humorous in Viv’s tampering. “Ren, you’re not old. What are you? Twenty-seven?”

  “I am twenty-nine. Almost off the cliff.”

  “Hill,” Cora gently corrected. “Almost over the hill.”

  “You agree I am old.” Ren’s forearms wheeled about as if seeking a target. “Old! A woman at a bar last weekend called me this.”

  “Ren.” Cora captured both of the big man’s hands. His were twice the size of Trent’s. “I don’t think you’re old. You’re the pride of South Korea. Women send you marriage proposals on Twitter and Facebook.”

  “My upset is not about women.” He looked over her head, clearly lying to himself.

  “Hey,” Cora shook his hands gently. “What’s the problem?”

  His dark eyes met hers. “Hugh Irving is coming tomorrow. He wants my position. Mrs. Gordon wants him to play center.” He hung his head. “I will no longer be the pride of South Korea. I will be forgotten and without a championship ring to make me live forever.” Before Cora could say anything else, Ren added softly, “And no woman will want to marry a man who is off the cliff…hill.”

  “Ren, you need to listen to me. You hold your basketball future in these big hands.” She put his hands together and tried to cradle them in her much smaller ones. “You trust Evan, don’t you?”

  He nodded.

  “Evan has put you in the best shape of your life. Your shot is fluid and powerful. You fit with this team.” With each argument she shook his hands. “Remember the last game against Houston? You had a triple-double.” Three key stats – points, assists, rebounds – in double digits. “Do you remember how that felt? In here?” She rubbed a spot on his chest over his heart. “Remember that feeling every morning when you wake up and every night before you go to bed. It’s why you’re the pride of South Korea.”

  Ren closed his eyes. “I will remember.”

  “Hugh Irving hasn’t played in the NBA in nearly a year,” she told him. “He’s out of shape. And when he gets here no one’s going to give him the ball. It’s hard to score if you don’t get the ball.”


  Ren opened his eyes and perked up.

  “And if you really want a steady girlfriend, stop going to nightclubs. Blue can fix you up.” With one of his really hot ex-girlfriends. Cora paused, considering the bitchy, high maintenance caliber of Blue’s ex-girlfriends. “On second thought, I’ll fix you up with someone really great.” Who that was, she had no idea.

  “I would choose you as my Evening Star.” Ren pulled her into a bear hug that put his crotch nearly at boob level.

  “Ren!” Trent called, sending Antoine and a dark look Cora’s way.

  Ren trotted over to Trent. “I am going to marry Cora Rule.”

  Trent leaned around his center to scowl at Cora.

  “Don’t tell me. Let me guess,” Cora said when Antoine stood next to her. “Vivian said something to upset you.”

  “She said she was trading me.”

  “Really?” This was news that punctured Cora’s spirits, sinking them even deeper.

  “Okay, she didn’t use the word trade. She said something about me enjoying the spotlight while I could.” Antoine pointed at himself with his thumbs and pinkies. “I can’t be traded. I have a life here. My kid is here.”

  On a bright note, Antoine was thinking he was stock the Flash could trade. Cora wasn’t going to point out she didn’t think his market value was high. His turnovers killed his on-court value rating. “Your kid is a toddler. It’s not like he’s in high school and doesn’t want to move.”

  “I just made arrangements with Destiny. I bought her a new house, a new car, and we settled on child support.”

  She wished he’d have bought an engagement ring, too. “Did Coach Parker tell you to step up your game?”

  “He told me not to over-think.” He did the disappointment shuffle, a nervous side-to-side. “But I need to slow down and make fewer turnovers or I’m screwed.”

  Props to Antoine for being smart, but, “Didn’t Coach Parker tell you not to over-think yesterday? Didn’t he tell you not to worry about turnovers?”

  “Yeah.” A reluctant admission.

  “You need to play the way Coach Parker tells you,” she said. “Remember what I told you last week? About believing in yourself and trusting in Evan?”

  He nodded.

  “You have to keep believing. You know there’s never a guarantee in professional sports. If you get traded, you’ll be treated well. It’s better to be seen helping a team win than holding a team back.” But it would break her heart to see him go.

  Antoine laughed and pointed his finger guns at her. “Girl, when you’re right, you’re right.”

  “Watson!” Trent yelled.

  “See you at Evan’s later?” He trotted backwards.

  “Wouldn’t miss it.” Besides, the way Viv was going, she’d have more Dooley Foundation damage control to perform.

  ~*~

  Jack Gordon blinked his eyes open to blinding light.

  I’ve died and gone to heaven.

  Someone made a mistake.

  Now there’ll be hell to pay.

  “Breathe deeply, Mr. Gordon.” A face jittered into focus. Gentle eyes. Round features.

  The light was too bright. He squinted. His head felt as if someone had put it in the washer on spin. He was dizzy. And his limbs were heavy. He couldn’t move, not even to scratch his nose, which itched.

  “It’s time to wake up.” The kind-eyed voice again. “The doctor wants you to try eating something.”

  Doctor. Not heaven. Not hell.

  Where was he? He cracked open his eyes and swallowed past searing pain. His throat was on fire. And the room? He opened his eyes wider, adjusting to the light. Wherever he was, it was made to look like an institutionalized home.

  “Don’t eat the prunes.” A smoker’s voice. Somewhere to his left. “Bad enough the soup gives you the runs, but the prunes will do you in for sure.”

  “Mr. Lazarus, you should be grateful you don’t need an enema.” Medical humor.

  He was in a hospital. Snatches of memory flitted past – Viv looking like his idea of a dream at a restaurant, Viv holding his hand and begging him to come back to her, Viv…

  “How long?” His words grated over his vocal chords. He sounded worse than Lazarus.

  The round, friendly nurse wore baby blue scrubs with Disney princesses on them. She wheeled a tray over to his bed and operated the controls to elevate Jack’s head. “You’ve been in the hospital for about ten days.”

  Fuck me.

  The negotiations he’d been involved in would have fallen through. Everything he’d worked for was in jeopardy. His fortunes once more on thirteen black. The roulette wheel spinning as quickly as his head.

  “You must be doing a tango on death’s doorstep if they put you down here with me,” said smoker-man Lazarus.

  Jack inched his head to the left.

  The old man sat on top of his hospital bed in a purple velvet bathrobe, chewing on the end of an unlit cigar. Wrinkles rippled down his jaw-line like a Shar-Pei. His skin tone matched the white pillowcases behind his back. “They put terminals down here closer to the morgue.”

  “I’m not dying.” Jack’s words shredded his sore throat. He had too much left to prove before he died, millions to make up to Vivian for. “Where’s my wife?”

  “Haven’t seen her.” The nurse dipped a plastic spoon into something puke-brown and brought it toward Jack’s mouth as if he was a baby. “Open up.”

  “Don’t eat the prunes,” Lazarus advised again.

  “He needs the prunes to get his bowels moving again,” argued Nurse Disney.

  “No prunes.” Jack lifted a hand to swat her away. Or he would have, if his hand hadn’t been strapped to the bed. He jerked his body weakly, but all four limbs were tied. Helplessness burned through his veins hotter than any junkie’s drug hit. He tugged at the straps harder, rocking the bed. “What the hell is this?”

  “The doctor wants you confined to bed until your equilibrium returns.” While he was distracted, she slipped her spoon in his mouth.

  The prunes were tasteless, unsweetened, and cool on his throat. He considered spitting them back in her face, along with a string of obscenities. But his unbalanced brain stopped him with a plan to tempt Nurse Disney with honey.

  “I feel fine. I can feed myself.” If she freed him, he’d break out of this prison. He’d crawl if he had to. Or maybe he could convince the old man to get him out.

  Lazarus cackled. “Nice try.”

  “You need to be in bed for the next few days until your equilibrium returns,” she said. “Wouldn’t want you falling out with a cup of prunes in your hand.”

  “He’ll be dead before those straps come off.” Lazarus sucked on his cigar as if it was lit. “Georgia, I’ll buy you a diamond ring if you bring me a match.”

  “No, Mr. Lazarus.”

  Jack wanted a phone, preferably his cell, but a quick glance about the room revealed there were no phones and looking made the room spin. The prunes gurgled back up his throat, threatening to spew. Jack swallowed them down.

  “She’ll feed you and wipe your ass later,” Lazarus was saying.

  The nurse’s round features drew downward. “Mr. Lazarus, if you don’t behave, I’ll take away that cigar and make sure no one else sneaks you one. Don’t let him get to you, Mr. Gordon.” She patted Jack’s hand.

  The same hand he imagined Viv holding. But when?

  “You’re not going to die.” She dipped the spoon in the plastic container of prunes.

  Lazarus cackled again.

  Neither of which comforted Jack.

  Chapter 23

  “We should have tried harder to get Archie to come along,” Randy said.

  Trent walked toward Evan’s front door. “Mary Sue Ellen needs her alone time with Archie.” They’d left Archie at the hotel, Skyping with his young true love.

  Evan’s home was high up in Beverly Hills. The view of the valley was awesome and reminded Trent that he had to find a place to live soon. The hotel wa
s fine, but he was living out of a suitcase and the Flash had only agreed to put him up for ninety days. What few things he’d taken from Louisiana were in storage.

  Vivian had done her damage. The mood of the team was grim. You could feel the oppressiveness when you crossed Evan’s slate threshold. Trent could’ve explained the reasons for acquiring Irving, but he didn’t have all the pieces yet. He’d like to open the season with his planned roster in place, but that was looking like a pipe dream given Jack’s condition, unless Cora could work a miracle with Viv.

  “What’s Viv up to next?” Evan handed Trent a beer from behind his custom-built wet bar.

  The small forward’s house would have been doom and gloom – dark hardwood floors, gray walls, black marble fireplace and countertops – had it not been for the feminine touches – cream-colored couches, flowered pillows, live plants. Amber had clearly put her stamp on the place, although the bar, seating for twenty, and the ten foot wide television mounted on the wall still screamed man-cave.

  “All we can do is hang together as a team.” Trent stepped aside so Randy could get a drink.

  Cora entered, wearing black leggings, a fluttery beige blouse, and heeled sandals. She always wore heels, never flip-flops.

  Players hugged and kissed her. He bet they’d still treat her with affection if they knew she’d given Vivian the emotional tools to screw them all. Somehow, she’d become one of the hearts of the team. Damn.

  “Hugh Irving is a beast, on and off the court,” Randy was saying, surprising Trent with their shared vision. “In an age when Championship teams, like the Heat, don’t crash the offensive boards for a rebound, he does.”

  Evan smiled ruefully. “You’re a fan.”

  “I’m open.” Randy shrugged. “He’s the perfect enforcer, a modern day Charles Barkley, able to do all the dirty work inside. But he’s one of the slowest big men out there. He won’t be able to keep up with us.”

  “A versatile team is a dangerous team, fast or slow,” Trent said almost absently as he watched Cora.

  Antoine called Randy over to referee a dispute about who had a prettier jump shot.