Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015

by Melinda Curtis

  Cora spun, her lacy underwear fisted in one hand. “Did you or did you not enjoy having sex with me?”

  “You know I did.”

  “You can’t enjoy the experience of my body and then call me a whore.”

  “I wasn’t calling you – ”

  “You did. Maybe not in so many words.” She waved the lace in the air. “You’re good at putting people down with your lazy Southern drawl. It takes the sting out of your honesty.” The front of her blouse had wet circles beneath her nipples, so not helping her morality claims. “How many men would I need to have slept with to be called a whore? Ten? Twenty?”

  “I don’t judge like that.” He wanted to know for entirely different reasons. Possessive reasons. Sanity, can’t-sleep-at-night reasons.

  “You wouldn’t judge at all if I was a man.”

  He closed his eyes, blotting out the image of her with so many men. A basketball team of men. He bit back his temper. “You have a point. I’m old school. I want – ”

  “I can’t get my cherry back. Someone ate it a long time ago.” She slipped into her high heeled sandals.

  “I just…” He closed the distance between them, tipping her chin up so she’d look at him. “I don’t like the idea of you with someone else.”

  “If you want a virgin, go back to Holy Southern Cross.”

  She was so God-damn frustrating. “Forget about fucking virgins!”

  Cora smiled, but it was a sad sort of smile. She gently removed his hand from her chin. “If you can’t get over the fact that I’ve slept with other men, we’re done here. It’s best for the team. Dating’s a distraction. You said so yourself.”

  She was right. But there was something beyond sex between them. Something that made him feel like he wasn’t the man the media or Rachel made him out to be. He needed to try to set her past aside. God, help him. “I can’t see you if you’re not exclusive to me,” he said, when what he needed to say was, “I don’t care how many men you slept with. I over-reacted. Forgive me.” Even if he didn’t mean it.

  She took a step back. “I’m not your possession. I don’t have to answer to you.”

  “I’m not asking you to be.” He was whispering now, fighting for control of his words, wrestling them past his pride. “Call it a test drive. Call it you choosing a different kind of relationship.” He swallowed. “You don’t have to tell people we’re seeing each other if that makes you feel better. Whatever brackets you put around us to make you feel good, hold onto that positive feeling before you go to bed at night, feel it again before you get out of bed in the morning and when whatever this is between us scares you.” Because he damn well knew dating scared her.

  She didn’t date. The phrase took on a whole new meaning. Cora’s moral guideposts were far wider than Rachel’s had been, far wider than he was comfortable with. But within those limits they shared common values.

  She blinked. “You used the Rules of Attraction.” There was awe in her voice.

  Holy crap. He had.

  He’d sworn he wouldn’t tie himself down to another woman after Rachel, and certainly not a woman who lived by a code he didn’t buy into. He’d looked into the Dooley Foundation’s guideposts and filed them under bullshit. But something must have resonated. And hell, if the power of positive thinking helped him learn more about the woman standing before him, it was worth a shot.

  “Spend the weekend with me,” he blurted. “Here, at the hotel. Between team shootarounds, we’ll watch game film.” And make love. “And talk.”

  It was too much for her. The downstairs Cora was spooked. She backed toward the door.

  “We’ll find a new place to make love.” He purposefully chose a word she didn’t like, one that would make her nervous, one that implied he was different than all her friends with benefits.

  “I’ll choose.” She grabbed her purse and stuffed her panties and bra inside. Her eyes darted everywhere, never landing on him. “I’ll say when and where. I’ll choose if we...date.” She froze, her hand on the door handle, as if she’d just realized what she’d said.

  The ominous feeling in his chest was like a semi bearing down on him. It filled his lungs with cement. He couldn’t speak.

  She walked out on him.

  He suspected it wouldn’t be the last time.

  L.A. Happenings by Lyle Lincoln

  …There are rumors that rehearsals for the movie Rhetoricals are revealing the miscasting of stars Portia Francis and Lon Gallagher. Might I suggest to producer Cal Lazarus that he audition Mimi Sorbet and Kent Decklin?

  Chapter 25

  If there was one thing Cora hated, it was a regret-filled morning after. Her body should have been humming. Her mind should have been clear.

  Instead, she was thinking about Trent. One minute with the oh-wow feeling in her belly that signified great sex and the idea of more. The next minute with the oh-no feeling in her chest that made it hard to breathe. Trent had seen her bedroom. Days ago, they’d hardly talked after that second round of sex on the stairs.

  And then she’d fallen into his arms again last night at his hotel and her worst fears had been realized. He considered her tainted goods, as if they lived back in the 1800s and she needed to wear a scarlet letter. How could he be so disapproving of her past and still claim to want to explore something with her?

  She hadn’t gone to bed last night. What was the point? She’d never be able to sleep.

  She’d texted Mimi at five a.m.: Made the same mistake with the same man.

  He’d called her Skipper, and himself Ken. He had it all wrong. Barbie was everything that was good in the world. Barbie would bail out a barely known sibling because it was the right thing to do. On some level, Cora wanted to be Barbie, but she wanted nothing to do with Ken.

  Mimi shot a text back: It must be love. J

  He wanted to know how many men I slept with.

  Bastard. Did you tell him?

  No.

  You need shopping therapy.

  Too early for that.

  At least, Cal hadn’t texted her last night. He wouldn’t have sat in a chair in a room his father shared with Jack. Hopefully, that meant he’d gone home and gotten a good night’s sleep. Perhaps his focus on work would improve and his thinly veiled propositions to Cora would end.

  Barely two hours later, she sat in Jack’s office with Viv waiting for Hugh Irving to arrive. She sucked down coffee as if she was a vampire, and caffeine was True Blood.

  ~*~

  “It’s like you’re putting together two teams,” Archie said after Trent explained his plans for the Flash’s roster.

  True to his word, Trent told his staff what he and Jack had been planning. They’d been quiet while he explained his strategy. He’d been unable to tell if they’d support him or not.

  “A team of bruisers, and a run-and-gun team,” Randy murmured, staring at the wall as if putting the pieces together in his head.

  “Won’t that make us vulnerable?” Berto pushed his glasses up his nose. “We carry a thirteen man roster. Divide them roughly in half and key injuries to either unit will hamstring us. No pun intended.”

  “It’s risky.” Archie clenched his hands. “We’re almost done with training camp and you’re asking guys to step into roles at the last minute, days away from our first game.”

  Punctured, Trent’s spirits sunk.

  “It’s brilliant,” Randy said, leaning forward in his chair. “Who knows which team we’ll put on the court? Evan running uptempo Chaos? Irving leading the bruisers? Or a combination of traditional ball?”

  Buoyed, Trent nodded at his protégé gratefully. “These guys are in the best shape of their lives. And they’ve been playing basketball under different systems since they were in grade school. If we come in with the right attitude and can convince them we can win a championship ring doing this, it’ll work.” It had to.

  ~*~

  “Here he comes,” Viv stood, smoothing her maroon skirt over her hips.

 
; The door opened. Cora looked up. And up some more.

  Hugh Irving was a monster of a man.

  Seven-foot one. Three hundred pounds. Not all of it hard muscle.

  Despite her five-inch python pumps, Cora felt as if she’d been transported to Munchkin Land.

  He’d been a brute at Duke, not Coach K’s typical player, more like someone you’d see playing for Kentucky. Dark hair, square jaw, a way of staring that made you feel you didn’t dare speak in his presence, although the effect was ruined by his bushy, Duck Dynasty beard.

  “We’re so happy you were available. The team is going to love you,” Viv was saying after she’d introduced herself and Cora. Viv licked her lips as she gazed up at Hugh, looking as if she was ready to do a lay back and spread on command.

  Cora attributed Viv’s attitude to the break-up blues. Although in Viv’s case, it was more like break-up rage.

  “He’s due in the workout room. Now.” Cora turned toward the door. “I’ll take you.” That way she could find out what kind of guy Hugh really was.

  The Incredible Hulk followed her, carrying a bag with his gear. “Thanks.” It was the only word he’d said during this brief morning introductions.

  Cora led him out of the office, feeling his eyes upon her.

  “Are you Mrs. Gordon’s secretary?” His voice boomed like a drum-beat in the empty hallway. “Or the team shrink?”

  She had to crane her neck to look up at him. Unlike Trent, Hugh walked slowly, without urgency or purpose. His beard and mustache hid his lips, making it hard to read his expression. “I’m the one who helps you achieve maximum performance.”

  He chuckled. “I’m free tonight.”

  When he was in shape and clean-shaven, he’d been hot. Now, not so much. “With confidence like that, you won’t have a problem out on the court.” If anyone passes you the ball, dickhead.

  “I treat my women well.”

  “Save it for someone who’ll spread for you.” Viv’s face came to mind, desperate for someone to love her. “And make sure you wear a condom.” And be gentle, if it’s Viv.

  Please, don’t let it be Viv.

  “Aren’t you supposed to help fit me in?”

  Hugh made her feel dirty. And not sexy dirty. He was an adolescent in a man’s body. “A big man like you needs to be careful. You might force it in when finesse is called for.”

  He chuckled.

  At least he wasn’t a total dunderhead. Just a big dick.

  “It must be hard getting passed from team to team.” Cora fished. “Always having to prove something. You’re getting quite the reputation as a non-starter.”

  “Meet me later and we’ll see who can’t start.” There was a different rumble to his voice. The growl of a barely contained beast.

  “Other teams don’t respect the Flash, despite them qualifying for the playoffs two seasons in a row. If you can’t make it here, big man, you won’t make it anywhere.”

  The fitness center door opened. Trent stood in the doorway, looking sexy, despite his scowl and the way they’d parted.

  What the hell? his jealous look said.

  The world slowed. Jealousy didn’t fit into Cora’s relationship equation. It implied belonging to someone – a concept she didn’t believe in, having never seen her parents successfully make marriage work and having been hurt in the process. Over and over again.

  “I’ll be free for dinner.” Hugh was nothing if not determined, snapping her back into the present.

  “Actually, you won’t. But I’ll let Coach Parker clue you in.” Cora spun away. Not that she was running away from Hugh or Trent. She had a busy day ahead of her.

  A low wolf whistle had her looking back.

  Trent smiled. “Have a good day, sugar.”

  She couldn’t resist smiling at him and wishing him the same.

  What the hell was wrong with her?

  ~*~

  “Welcome to the Flash, Irving.” Trent tucked away the smile Cora gave him, and turned to find the monster he’d been waiting for watching him. “Make a pass at her again and I’ll down you quicker than a water moccasin strike.”

  He’d known by the slinky smile on his new player’s face that he’d been making a pass at Cora. He could also tell by the extra padding around every inch of Irving’s body that there was no way the big man was in shape to run the Chaos offense, much less run up and down the court at full speed for the Carolina Break.

  Poor bastard doesn’t know what he’s got himself into.

  The poor bastard was Trent, betting the farm on a bunch of has-beens and almost made-its, and on the power of positive thinking the Dooley Foundation brought to his team.

  “You’ve got a shot at this team, Irving, but if you slack off, if I so much as see you whining about the drills or the pace, we’ll cut you. I don’t care if Mrs. Gordon has to pay you to sit on your ass at home, because I won’t let you warm a bench unless you earn it.”

  “I’m here to play, Coach.” There was bravado behind the submissive words. A cocky attitude begging Trent to try and break him.

  “If you make it through the next hour, I’ll think about it.” Trent pointed to a treadmill. “Get your ass on there and do as you’re told.” And then Trent took the machine next to his.

  Evan led the team in warm-ups and sprints. Trent felt oddly energized.

  Despite wanting to kick Irving’s ass for making a pass at Cora, Trent wanted Irving to succeed. To his credit, Hugh didn’t stop once. Not that he went very fast during sprints. His footfalls were heavy. It was a wonder the treadmill didn’t break.

  Archie walked by with his clipboard, gave Irving a once-over and frowned. “Let yourself go, haven’t you, boy?”

  There were chuckles and quickly suppressed grins. Amusement dissipated when Evan shouted for an extra set of sprints.

  After Hugh managed not to vomit or collapse of a heart attack during interval training, Trent introduced him to the team. The reception was cool, as if everyone wanted to hate the man and yet he’d earned some grudging respect in the first hour.

  Irving sat on a weight bench while the team streamed out to the court. Like the rest of the players, he was drenched in sweat. Only Irving was sweating buckets.

  Trent stood in front of him. “What’re you doing?”

  “Catching my breath.”

  “Not today, you’re not. We break at lunch.”

  Irving looked at the clock on the wall and opened his mouth, probably to say something stupid, like, “But it’s only eight o’clock.”

  Cora and Vivian came into the fitness center, saving him the humiliation of Trent’s response.

  “He’s still alive.” Cora sounded surprised. Her gaze connected with Trent’s. Her cheeks turned a soft shade of pink.

  “Go easy on him, Coach.” Vivian smiled at Irving as if she’d developed a fondness for big men.

  “So not happening,” Trent muttered. He turned to Irving. “You have thirty seconds to get in that gym and get in line.”

  “Don’t be so tough on him,” Vivian said. “It’s his first day.”

  “This is Hugh’s last chance, Viv.” Cora backed toward the door. “Babying him won’t help anyone.”

  “It’ll help me if Irving fails,” Vivian purred.

  Irving stared at the Flash co-owner as if she’d spoken with a forked tongue. Then he heaved himself to his feet and started walking.

  “Move your ass, Irving! Show me you want to be here!” Trent ran past the big man and the two women. He winked at Cora, meeting her gaze just long enough to elicit a tentative smile. He had to remember where she was concerned to go slow and not spook her. He crossed the lobby and entered the gym with one last shout over his shoulder. “Twenty seconds!”

  The big man lumbered through the eight different scoring approaches to the basket on the right side of the court. Randy, with his knee brace and taped Achilles, could have run the drills quicker than Irving. Randy and Berto took turns mopping up the court after Irving jogged b
y, raining sweat everywhere. When Evan led the team through the drills on the left, Irving shifted into a lower, slower gear, despite him being a lefty.

  Watching his new player upset Trent. He’d met with Irving last month. The big man had been quiet, but positive. Now he was just sullen. He’d ruin the team dynamic.

  Cora came to stand next to Trent. “Except for the new guy, I haven’t seen this much speed from the team since the regular season.”

  Vanilla and the memory of slow sex threatened to pull Trent’s focus from the court. “They’re testing him.”

  “He’s just a kid,” Cora said. “A spoiled, angry boy who needs someone to step in and say, ‘Cut that shit out, and act like a man.’ He’s probably been big all his life, and coaches have fallen all over themselves to keep him on the team.”

  “He’s a bully.”

  “Coach K at Duke doesn’t put up with bullies.”

  Trent refrained from sharing that he’d received a call from Coach K this morning congratulating him on signing Irving. They could talk about that later, over dinner, when Trent didn’t feel like punching somebody. All his plans were falling apart on a day when they should have been solidifying. “Irving didn’t graduate from Duke.”

  “He wasn’t kicked off the team,” Cora pointed out. “He took the easy way out, following the money. I’m telling you, this guy won’t work hard unless you find a way to motivate him.”

  Trent glanced at Cora. “How do you know so much about Irving?” He hadn’t formulated his opinion yet.

  “Studying men is my hobby.” It was a flirty comment. And if made by another woman, he wouldn’t have paid it any mind.

  He turned back to the court, suddenly angry. “Don’t talk like that. You’ve been studying men for all the wrong reasons.”

  She fidgeted and made small noises as if she wanted to say something, but then decided against it. Several times. Until she said, “Irving’s sandbagging the drill.”

  “He’s tired.”