Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015

by Melinda Curtis

  “What are you playing at?” Evan fixed Trent with a hard look after Randy left the bar. “If you didn’t want the trade you’d be howling to the media. Are you behind this deal?”

  Cora hadn’t seemed to tell anyone he wanted Irving or that he’d been working a trade. Certainly not her brother-in-law, if Evan’s demeanor was any indication. Trent had wanted proof that he could trust her and here it was.

  Trent considered telling his team captain what he had planned, but he hesitated. “I like to leverage the hand I’m dealt, don’t you?” He excused himself and sought a seat in the back. Cora’s shock that he hadn’t told any of his coaching staff or players about his plans came back to him. There was a point where not knowing would impact his coaches’ contributions. Was he at that point? The Reverend thought not.

  He watched the team relax and downshift. They felt like his team now. Cora had been right. Team bonding had helped him fit in. He had a better feeling for each man and what he was capable of, which made it easier to test them on the court.

  Cora worked the room, massaging shoulders and handing out shots when an error was made. In the third quarter, she stood next to Payton Jablone, who placed a hand on the small of her back as he downed his shot.

  Trent tried to ignore how he wanted to break Jablone’s fingers, especially when the power forward flexed them deeper into Cora’s flesh.

  Cora moved on, seemingly without noticing Jablone’s pass.

  Trent was on the verge of a make or break season. And what occupied his mind? Cora.

  He wanted to look away. He couldn’t. He was so screwed.

  The coach from last season made an error.

  “Coach! Coach!” his players chanted. Cora had been right in having him drink for last season’s coach. They loved it when he participated along with them. The positive she brought to the team dynamic almost outweighed her lost gamble with Vivian. Almost.

  Cora wove her way through the maze of bodies to the bar, exchanging whiskey for tequila, which was Trent’s drink of choice for shots. She walked toward him, seduction in her every move until every nerve ending in Trent’s body yearned to surrender.

  She handed him a shot without quite looking him in the eyes. “Mentre viviam, vogliamo vivere.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “While we live, let’s live. My mother taught it to me.”

  “I like it.” He’d like it better if she put her hands on him. He’d settle for a shoulder massage. Or a foot massage. Or hell, holding her hand. What was wrong with him?

  He downed his shot. It burned its way to his gut, but didn’t burn away his desire to touch her.

  She took his glass and poured a shot for herself.

  “Cora.” Amber gestured for her sister to follow her into the kitchen.

  The rest of the team didn’t notice. They continued watching the game. Was this where Cora told someone he’d wanted to sign Irving? Or that Viv wanted to trade Evan? Trent got up and leaned against the kitchen wall, where he had a view of both the television and Cora, whose back was to him.

  “You shouldn’t let those guys touch you like that,” Amber was saying.

  You go, big sis.

  “Don’t start. They’re my friends.” Cora’s none-of-your-business attitude made him smile, even if he didn’t want her being manhandled by someone else.

  “When a man gets that close, he thinks you’re open to something more,” Amber persisted.

  Yep.

  “I had this talk with Daddy when I was, like, fourteen.”

  “Bonus points to Dad.” Amber’s tone was lecture-firm. She’d make a great mom someday. “It makes me uncomfortable to watch you.”

  Me, too.

  “Then don’t watch.” Cora turned around and caught Trent eavesdropping. “I suppose you have something to add.”

  Shit. “I agree with your sister, sugar.”

  “You would.” Two words. So much disappointment.

  Trent was used to identifying a player’s emotional weaknesses. He couldn’t demand the performances he did without knowing how and how far he could push a player. He’d had players like Cora before. They came from broken homes and the team was the only family they’d ever known. All Cora’s prickly independence contrasted against her need to be close to people, to create the semblance of family. With the team, with clients like Viv, and with him. And yet, the words that came out of her mouth always stressed her independence. Why hadn’t he seen it before?

  “If you were dating me, I’d be jealous and ask you to stop letting other men touch you.” Why Trent said it, he had no idea. It was the kind of statement Cora usually spit on.

  Cora’s dark eyes widened. “There stands Exhibit A, the reason why I don’t date. I’m no one’s possession.” But her protest lacked her usual punch.

  Trent smiled. “Dating isn’t about ownership. It’s about finding someone to trust with your innermost secrets, your private dreams, and, yes, your body.” The position in the book on her pink bed came to mind.

  Someone called for a shot. Cora flounced past him.

  “Sorry about exposing you to family drama.” Amber twisted her red hair over one shoulder, the same way Cora did. “She’s smart. I don’t want people to think she’s that kind of girl.”

  He’d thought that from the moment he’d laid eyes on Cora. It hadn’t taken long for him to realize there was more to her than met the eye. Cora was exciting sexually and a part of him reveled in it. For a short time, her body had been his. But he’d overstepped whatever boundaries she set for relationships.

  Downstairs, Cora’s condo was tastefully decorated – big, powerful, black leather sofas, with colorful accents on the walls. That mirrored the woman she presented to the world – I can play with the big boys.

  It was the pink bedroom that confounded the impression. The pink screamed fragile princess, and longed for happily-ever-afters. The woman expressed upstairs was soft and vulnerable, the kind of woman you curled up in bed with on lazy Sunday mornings. She was as afraid to show that side of herself to the world as a swamp turtle was to sun himself next to an alligator.

  “How’s Cora doing with the team?” Amber checked pizza boxes, consolidating slices.

  Trent chose his words carefully. “Contrary to what you see, they treat her like their little sister. And she fights like a tiger to protect them.”

  “I’m glad.” Amber’s green gaze delved for more truths. “And what do you think of her?”

  The Reverend offered up an answer. “She’s a good kid, but don’t kid yourself. I don’t want my players to come under the influence of an organization that might brainwash them into walking on coals. I want your company out of the picture.”

  “That’s not an answer. Cora isn’t a child.” Despite her words, Amber smiled as if she’d gotten the answer she’d been looking for. “And coal-walking is Tony Robbins’ territory. Relax, Coach. If we wanted to turn the team against you, we would have done that on day one.”

  Trent was surprised to find he believed her.

  Evan called for his wife.

  “We don’t need to be frenemies.” Amber hooked her arm through Trent’s and led him out of the kitchen. “I used to worry about Cora. She seems so hard and uncaring on the outside. But these last few months I’ve come to realize she’s got a soft side she doesn’t like to show. Hurt her soft side, and you may as well kiss her goodbye.”

  So he wasn’t the only one who saw more to Cora. “Is that a warning?”

  She released him, patting his cheek. “It’s whatever you want it to be.”

  Trent was left watching the rest of the game from the back of the living room. He paid more attention to Cora. Her soft side was tied to her pink bedroom. Her soft side was what she showed the team. But when it came to sex, she hid in that hard outer shell.

  What would it be like to make love to Cora? Slow and sensual lovemaking, not fast and hard sex. The desire for her soft, pink side grew.

  The game film ended. Randy d
rove a tipsy Antoine home in the speedy guard’s car. Evan and Cora made sure everyone else who needed a ride had one. Trent lingered on the pretext of the same thing, but his dick wanted to walk Cora out.

  When it became clear that Cora wasn’t going to leave soon, Trent headed for the door. It was his own fault. They’d had sex and he hadn’t even sent flowers. In his lust, he hadn’t thought enough about her personality and what her contradictions meant. The upstairs Cora would have appreciated flowers.

  On the couch, Amber was involved with her cell phone. She gasped and glanced up at her sister. “Cora, is this true?” She handed the phone to her.

  Cora read, “Coming to the Flash: the ultimate bad boy, Hugh Irving. Rumor has it this acquisition will cost the team Evan Oliver.” She didn’t look at Trent. “It’s another plant from Viv, like the one about Trent and I being an item. Jack isn’t trading Evan.”

  “Ignore Viv.” Evan wrapped his arms around his wife and pressed a kiss on top of her head. “She’s a bitter woman looking for targets.”

  “A bitter woman who wants to trade you! This was supposed to be your big year.” Amber sniffed.

  Cora practically launched herself at the couple, creating a group hug.

  Trent had never been hugged like that. He felt uncomfortable with all the hugging going on. But it was the left-out discomfort, not the gag-me with your PDA embarrassment. He half expected Cora to spill Vivian’s trade wish, but she said nothing.

  From the shelter of Evan’s arms, Amber glared at Trent. “You’re not going to trade him, are you?”

  “No. I think he’s a franchise player.” He retrieved his car keys from his pocket. “According to Cora, Jack should be healthy and able to go home in a few days. The legal department is delaying decisions until Jack returns.”

  “I don’t want you to be traded.” Amber hugged Cora and Evan tighter.

  The Flash star looked at Trent with a wry grin that seemed to say, “Yeah, this is what love’s like, you poor bastard.”

  Envy wrapped its cold fingers around Trent’s heart. More and more, his failed marriage seemed like a contract between friends. “Vivian doesn’t have the contacts or the time to put together a trade before Jack returns.” He edged closer to the door.

  “Don’t underestimate her,” Amber warned.

  Trent couldn’t resist. “Is it bad form to remind you that the Dooley Foundation created this monster?”

  “Yes,” the hugging occupants of the room chorused.

  Cora broke free and said her goodbyes. She grabbed her purse, and led Trent out the door.

  Warm, dusky twilight was giving way to the cooler, summer night. He needed to look for a place to live and a new vehicle, both of which he could do online at the hotel. It was only his mama’s ingraining of good manners that had him walking Cora to her car. And his dick. His dick was always hopeful.

  “Is that a new Mercedes?”

  “It’s a loaner from the dealership.” Cora dug in her purse, presumably for her keys. “We can’t let Viv trade Evan. We have to stop her.” She paused in her search and met his gaze. “We can stop her. Together.”

  “Cora – ”

  “Oh, I forgot.” She tossed her hair over one shoulder. “You can’t trust me. I might work some mind control over you and your players. Take advantage for my own personal gain.”

  His team. His goals. His territorial nature warred with his need to tread carefully with her. “Thank you for not telling everyone I was behind the Irving acquisition.”

  “You have got to work on your people skills.” She huffed. “It’s hard to have a relationship – coach to coach, coach to player, father to son – without honesty.”

  All thoughts of pink rooms and slow sex evaporated like water poured on a hot, dry beach. “Like you tell your sister everything.”

  “I tell her what she needs to know when she needs to know it. She may be my boss, but I say what’s best for my clients.”

  It struck him then how alike they were. The independence, the circumspection, the drive to be the best.

  “If you’re in competition with your dad to see who can leave the bitter legacy, stop.” Her voice rang with certainty. Illuminated by a streetlight, it was her eyes that gave away past hurts. She hid her soft center as well as she did her pink room. “Family rivalries? That’s a race no one wins. That’s a race that’ll drive you to drink.”

  “Thanks for the advice.” It was just the opening he needed. “Hey, Skipper, would you like to get a drink with Ken?”

  “Was that a pick-up line? If so, it sucked.” She wasn’t smiling.

  “I haven’t dated in so long, I don’t have pick-up lines, sugar.” He held up a hand when she would have spoken. “I know I’m going to regret this in the morning, but I’d like to call a truce. If you promise not to practice any Rules of Attraction on me, I’ll promise – ”

  “Not to text me for sex later. Because sex ain’t happening here.” She gestured back and forth between them. “So you can stop calling me sugar. I’m too worried about Evan and Amber. I’m too worried about the team. And I’m too worried that I’ve already let too many people down.”

  She’d given all the wrong reasons for not making love.

  He leaned against her rental car, looking across the road at his mother’s Fairlane. He never knew why she’d loved that car so much. She’d been a rational, conservative woman, until she sat behind the wheel of that classic roadster. His gaze drifted back to Cora. He couldn’t explain his attraction to her either. It went beyond the physical to the contradictions, encompassed by her compassion for others. Even compassion for him. “Convince me you’re good for the team.” A ploy. He already knew she was. “If you have a drink with me tonight at my hotel, I’ll come clean on my plans for the team with my coaching staff tomorrow.”

  She eyed him suspiciously.

  “I’m giving you the opportunity to explain your philosophies to me. And if I lay out my plans to my coaches, I’ll be building stronger relationships. Isn’t that what the Dooley Foundation is all about?” And after they got to know each other better, if he was lucky, they’d share a long, slow, wet kiss that might last a couple of hours. And if he was really lucky, that might lead to some long, slow, wet lovemaking that might last a couple hours more. “I’ll meet you in the lobby.” He didn’t wait for her to decide.

  ~*~

  “You got kids, Gordon?” The smoker’s voice rattled around Jack’s head, waking him.

  “No,” he mumbled, trying to open his eyes, battling prune-nausea and whatever-was-ailing-him dizziness.

  “Any ex-wives?” Lazarus coughed. And coughed. And hocked up a loogie.

  Jack suppressed a heave.

  “That sounded like a no.” More hacking. “When the end is near, you need family around you. My son is some big shot movie producer. He only comes to see me at night when I’m sleeping. Death unnerves him. He’s letting my death kill his career, too.”

  Jack squeezed his eyes shut against the dizziness.

  “My son, Cal, he paid to put me here. Gotta wonder who paid to put you here. Hopefully, you’re not like me. Hopefully, you’ve got someone who can get you out. Seems a shame to spend your last days in the basement.”

  “Dinner.” Princess Scrubs carried in a tray.

  Jack was wrong. This was hell. Maybe he was going to die.

  His weak and empty innards cringed.

  “I hope you have more of an appetite than you had at lunch,” Nurse Disney said.

  “I want a phone call. Even inmates get a phone call.” Jack’s voice was still hoarse, strained further by his effort not to shout. “I want my wife. And my parents should be here. Somewhere.”

  “Your mom called.” Nurse Disney began removing lids from his dinner tray. “The hot water heater burst at your house. They’re waiting for a plumber. They’ll be by tomorrow.”

  The theme song from ESPN’s Sports Center filled the room before he could ask about Viv. There was a television in the corner b
y the old man. “The NBA is buzzing tonight about the L.A. Flash’s acquisition of Hugh Irving.”

  Thank you, Viv. She must be pushing some of his initiatives through.

  A spoon pressed on his lips and he dutifully opened his mouth. Prune pudding. His stomach spasmed.

  The announcer’s voice turned serious. “But there are rumors of more changes coming at the Flash. Some say in order to pay for Irving they’ll have to trade Evan Oliver.”

  Jack spit prunes and shouted.

  Nurse Disney shouted.

  Jack strained against the bed ties and shouted some more.

  She cranked a dial on his I.V.

  The last thing Jack remembered was Lazarus cackling.

  Chapter 24

  Trent led Cora to his suite on the cabana level of the Beverly Hilton, then through his bedroom to a pair of chairs on the patio overlooking the now empty pool. Soft lighting glimmered off the water.

  It was intimate. It was sexy. Cora tamped down her body’s trill of enthusiasm. It was enticement Cora didn’t need.

  No sex, my ass.

  “I assumed we’d be having this discussion in the hotel bar.” Those weren’t nerves skittering in Cora’s belly. Or desire. It was annoyance. It had to be annoyance.

  Trent produced two bottles of beer from his mini-fridge and a small canister of Pringles potato chips. He turned off the lights in his hotel room, casting their table in semi-darkness.

  Another skirmish with desire ensued.

  “I don’t like bars. Growing up, my dad conducted all his coaching business after hours in our living room.” He twisted the cap off a beer and handed it to her.

  What was he up to? Much as she hated beer, she took a sip. “I bet you were a great recruiter.”

  “I was, but my wife was the real closer. She understood what parents were worried about. She reassured them that we’d treat them like family.”

  Cora didn’t want to talk about his wife. “She sounds like a saint.”

  A couple walked hand-in-hand on the far side of the pool, their voices a soft murmur. They disappeared through a hotel room slider.