Playing for Love

by Mel Curtis

  Amber held herself very still, eyes on her salad. “Yes,” she spoke carefully. “That and the 60 Minutes spot.”

  Personal DVD viewing may have accounted for some of Amber’s tension, but Evan’s money was still on Decklin. Evan wanted Amber for himself. It was irrational and would only complicate things. It had to be because they’d experienced orgasms together, but never together. Once their business was finished Evan would move on.

  A hint of coconut drifted his way. Evan fought the Neanderthal need to drag Amber out to his car and drive home. Once there he wouldn’t have to do more than point at a particular page in Senge’s book, one that involved him driving into her waist deep in water, before they were simpatico on the cliffs of heaven.

  “I’m going to try that,” Antoine said, flashing a gold toothed smile. “Not the voodoo thing, but creating my own play of the day reel.”

  “Whatever works for you.” Evan passed Amber another drippy fry, stopping short of feeding her by hand. Stopped in turn by the image of Amber laying in his bed, naked, while Evan suckled champagne from various nooks and crannies on her body.

  “You should try it,” Amber said, with a sideways glance at Evan. “Visualization is very freeing.”

  “I’m way ahead of you,” Evan said playfully, cocking an eyebrow in invitation. “My visualizations involve music and dim lights.”

  Antoine guffawed.

  Amber’s cheeks bloomed like a ripe peach, no doubt from remembering how Evan had plucked her at Tingle.

  “I don’t think visualization will help my game,” Amber said, trying to keep the conversation on track. “But I’m sure it’ll help yours, Evan.” She was giving up on Dooley’s Ground Rules today in favor of the more touchy-feely positive thinking aspects of his books.

  “She’s right. I’ve seen her dribble. No amount of dreamin’ is going to help her game.” From across the booth, Antoine laughed. “Girl, keep your day job.”

  “Explain to me,” Ren piped up. “What is a day job? How is that different from any job?”

  While Antoine explained American employment terminology to Ren, Evan continued his interrogation of Amber. “Tough seeing your ex?” He brushed his palm briefly over her jiggling leg.

  Evan was persistent today, making Amber’s hold on her resistance tenuous. “No. It’s the pressure from work.” Just a moment ago she’d believed that statement. Now she knew it wasn’t true. Certainly Blue’s betrayal and the thinly veiled attacks from Lyle and Cora contributed to her tension level. But it was the pressure from Evan, the need to give in to his touch that had her on edge.

  “You need to blow off steam.” Evan reached for her thigh again, but Amber fended him off.

  “Hence the desire to hit something.” Amber meant to discourage him, but it was too late for that. Evan let his gaze drift along the swell of her breasts and into her lap, giving her a half smile when their gazes re-connected, letting Amber know it was only a matter of time until she was in his bed.

  Traitor that it was, her body warmed to the idea. Amber forced her attention on his chili cheese fries. “Look. You want something from me? Get in line.”

  “You really want me jockeying for position in line?”

  “No.” If Amber had her druthers there would be no line. There would only be Evan. But she was in no position to answer the call of temptation.

  “Pity,” Evan said, capturing her knee with one hand, stroking her inner thigh with his fingers. “You should stop running.”

  Amber’s breathing became belabored, as if she was trapped on a treadmill.

  “I can not run as fast as you, Oliver,” Ren interrupted, his mug sagging into puppy dog sadness as he tapped his temple. “I have tried to make my basketball movie but I can not do it.”

  “Your wingspan is nearly two feet wider than mine.” Evan held out his hands to show the distance, simultaneously sliding closer to Amber until they were touching from shoulder to thigh.

  Not fair. His heat threatened to engulf her Amber elbowed him for some much needed space.

  Evan spared her a wry grin, but didn’t budge. “What do you need to go fast for, Ren? All you have to do is leap toward the basket, stretch those freakishly long arms of yours and put the ball in the hole.” His hand returned to her thigh, this time high up, near home plate.

  “Ahh, I would be like Superman.” Ren’s smile spread from ear to ear.

  “Damn, Stimpy,” Antoine said. “You get close to the basket and I’ll pass you the ball. I’d love to see that.”

  Evan’s fingers crept closer to the seam of Amber’s jeans. She held her breath, wavering between do and don’t.

  Ren’s smile faded. “But Coach, he no like me do this. He want sky hook.” Ren bent his right arm up in the air.

  Although she had no idea what a sky hook was, Amber made sympathetic noises that sounded more like moans of pleasure.

  Evan caught her eye with a knowing glance and mouthed, “Alien.” And then his hand covered her mound, pressing his advantage.

  Her cheeks burning, Amber tugged at the neckline of her Jailbird T-shirt when she should have tugged herself free.

  “Coach never lets me shoot threes.” Antoine hung his head.

  “Can you shoot threes?” Evan asked, rational when all rational thought had fled Amber.

  “Hell, yeah. I’m a two-man. I shoot from the wing, like you. But Coach has me playing point guard because I’m so fast. But fast ain’t gonna keep me in the NBA. I need points in my stats. You feel me?”

  “Yep.” Evan grinned at his teammate, playing Amber like a piano.

  “Yes. What Antoine said.” Ren nodded enthusiastically.

  Just as Amber felt combustible, Evan held up his hands. “I’m not the coach.”

  “What about that Chaos thing Brock was asking you about the other day?” Amber butted in where she had no business, but damn it, other than fondling Evan beneath the table how else could she get back at him? “Would Chaos help you win?”

  Ren and Antoine looked at Evan expectantly. Amber couldn’t fully contain a triumphant grin.

  “I’m not the guy you should be talking to,” Evan protested.

  “Why not?” Amber asked. “You know how to win. And this team needs to win.” Her contract depended upon it. Hell, so did his.

  “Spinks doesn’t run anything like Chaos.” Evan cast his gaze coolly around the sub shop. “He’s predictable and so is his offense – old school all the way.”

  “You mean there’s a plan to what you do out there? I thought you just ran around until somebody shot the ball.” Amber sounded so shocked Evan had to see if she was joking.

  She wasn’t. Her slim brows were lowered in complete perplexity.

  “Sports are like going to a ballet. Everyone practices where to go and when,” Evan explained patiently, trying not to grind his teeth. If Amber kept talking like that eventually he’d forget this burning need he had for her. Christ, he’d tried to make her come in front of his teammates. Evan was lucky Ren and Antoine had distracted him. What kind of deranged sex addict was he becoming?

  “But you can take advantage of an opening if you see one and do your own thing,” Antoine was saying. “That’s Evan’s style. He’s a rule breaker.”

  “Of course,” Amber deadpanned, trying to nudge Evan further away from her. “And rule breaking works?”

  “When your shot drops…” Evan decided simpler terms were called for. “When your shot goes in, yes. It works.”

  Amber wouldn’t let it go. “So why don’t you use this Chaos thing?”

  “Spinks will never go for it.”

  “Does he have to? It sounds like you can do anything you want as long as you score.” Amber’s lips parted slightly and then she angled her head down as her cheeks pinkened at her double entendre. Her knee started to bounce again, albeit at a slower pace.

  Evan fought the urge to run. He was no coward, but the team concept hadn’t worked for him, not when he was the one expected to lead the team. The
Chaos system required reliance on someone else to create opportunities for him to score and doing the same for them. But Evan had always been the floor general at UCLA, directing the action. Evan wanted to play basketball, not complicate things on the court. He had to be in charge of his own NBA destiny, not everyone else’s.

  “Bro, she’s right,” Antoine said. “Let’s run Chaos. It’s just attacking the basket during the last ten seconds of the shot clock, right? Spinks’ offense isn’t working. Who’d know we’re running it when the clock is running out?”

  Something cold gripped Evan’s stomach. He reached for the first flimsy excuse that came to mind. “We need five players to run an offense, not three.” Three players moving out of sync spelled disaster.

  “I’ll text Bell and Jablone, see if they can meet us back at the practice facility.” Antoine whipped his phone out, his thumbs flying over the keys.

  “Chaos,” Ren bowed his head. “I am your student, Oliver. And if you change your mind for sex, I will help. Sometimes Senge’s advice can be confusing.”

  Antione gave both players an odd look, while Amber chuckled softly.

  “It’s not what it sounds like,” Evan grumbled.

  Antoine’s phone vibrated. “Got Jablone. Bell might be a little late. I’ll try Vickers. Come on, Ren. Let’s get back to the gym.”

  Evan waited while Ren and Antoine made their exit, trapping Amber in the booth. He crumpled his sandwich wrapper into a ball. “If I do this I’m gonna get my ass chewed out by Spinks for sure.”

  “And how would that be different than any other day?” Amber gathered up her trash.

  “Is it too much to hope that no one else will show up?”

  “Sometimes you have to take one for the team.” Amber poked his shoulder. “Move.”

  “I am. I’m going to come over tonight and run Chaos with you.”

  “We.” Amber pointed back and forth between them. “Are not a team.”

  “No. We’re not.” Evan lowered his voice as he leaned closer and wrapped one of Amber’s burnished tresses around his finger. Her hair smelled faintly of coconut. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t work out together.”

  Evan’s silver eyes lasered on Amber’s lips, his breath warmed her cheek. She wanted to angle her head to one side, allowing his breath to kiss the skin of her collarbone and fan the flames between them. If only she wasn’t a CEO. If only her future didn’t hinge on Evan. If only he’d stand down and revert to his original efforts to get rid of her. Something had changed since she’d seen Evan Monday.

  Understanding dawned. “You went to Wicked Tantric. What did Senge tell you?”

  She’d expected Evan to scowl and pull back. Instead, he gave her a Cheshire cat grin and whispered in her ear. “The key to great sex is knowing your partner in more than the physical sense.”

  “Hence your faux curiosity about me.”

  Evan laughed. He was so close the deep sound reverberated to the tips of her toes. “I have a very real interest in knowing what makes you tick.”

  “But knowing goes both ways. I know nothing about you. And we have nothing in common.”

  “You’re wrong.” Evan traced Amber’s cheek with one finger. He was so patient today, so deliberately on target in his seduction that her efforts to rebuke him were weak by comparison. “You watched your infomercials. You must have seen our similarities.”

  “They didn’t mention you,” Amber said stiffly. “What I really hated about them was that they made it look as though my dad and I had this great relationship.”

  Evan’s finger traced her jaw line, following the cords of her neck to the collar of her T-shirt. The backs of his fingers slid beneath the cotton to stroke her collarbone. “That’s probably how Dooley saw you. People tend to create their own reality and project it out for others to see.”

  “Oh.” Amber sat back, stunned. “That would explain why my sister, Cora, hates me. She always wanted to be the one Dad paid the most attention to, never realizing he wasn’t spoiling me. I was more like his prized employee.”

  Evan’s hand fell away. “Maybe your dad wanted that kind of relationship with you, but those infomercials were the only place he could make it reality.”

  Amber remembered the sentiments Dooley had written in the letter she’d received at the reading of his will. Perhaps Evan was right. But how did he know all this? “Were you close to your father?”

  “He died last year.” Evan eased back, ran a hand through his dark hair.

  “But were you close to him?” When he didn’t answer right away Amber prodded, “Remember what Senge said.” Amber still held fast to her commitment to keep her privates away from Evan’s privates. But the more she knew about Evan, the more likely she was to help his game.

  Now who was lying?

  “My father had me shooting baskets before I could walk.” There was a faraway, wistful look in Evan’s eye. “Growing up I always had some kind of miniature basketball hoop in our living room. I started shooting with a blue plastic ball. You know, the kind you get at the grocery store?”

  Amber could just see Evan, a lanky boy with a devilish grin, laughing joyously as he played the sport he loved.

  “My dad would come home from the garage and we’d play after dinner until my bedtime.” He tossed his crumpled sandwich wrapper into the trash can on the other side of the sub shop.

  “Impressive,” Amber said. “I wish I had a dad who loved me like that.”

  “It didn’t last. My mom died in a car accident when I was eight. Her brakes went out coming down the Grapevine into Bakersfield.” Evan’s gaze cooled. “Dad blamed himself. He started drinking.”

  “And stopped playing with you,” Amber guessed, hurting for the boy Evan had been.

  “No. That’s when my training became serious.”

  “You were eight!” Amber was appalled. His story was just as bad as many of the things her father had put her through.

  “My dad had been recruited to play at UCLA, but blew out his knee in the last game of his high school career while playing for the state championship. I think when my mom was alive she helped him forget he’d ever had those dreams. When he lost her – ”

  “You weren’t enough.” Amber squeezed his arm. She knew what it was like to expect unconditional love and get something else entirely.

  Evan sighed heavily. “My dad had this vision of us, right up to the time I stopped talking to him, that we were an inseparable team. The perfect father-son bond. But his drinking…”

  “I’m so sorry.” Now Evan’s Lone Ranger attitude made sense.

  “Well, I’m not.” Evan’s voice was drenched in bitterness. “My dad taught me the danger of dreams, along with some hard lessons about trusting others.”

  “Everybody needs dreams and people to share them with.”

  “Dreams can be crushed like that.” Evan snapped. “If you trust somebody with your dream, you give them the power to end it.”

  “That’s not true,” Amber said stubbornly. “You have to give dreams voice to validate their existence, to let your friends and family help you get there.”

  “That’s your father talking.”

  Amber opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Is that what she believed? That a richer, happier life could be achieved with the principles of choose, voice, trust and welcome? “Maybe my dad was right,” she said slowly.

  Evan stood, a closed expression on his face. “I’ve got to go.”

  Amber was no longer in his sights. She should have been grateful. Instead there was an ache in her chest that had nothing to do with physical attraction and everything to do with the fall that came before love.

  “Let me know how Chaos works out,” Amber called to his retreating back.

  If Amber could have it both ways – being Evan’s life coach and his lover – she would. But she had a company to run, obligations to keep and a shredded reputation to rebuild. None of which was going to be accomplished if Amber resented everyone around her for
trying to take advantage of her. It was time Amber stopped whining and started acting like a CEO.

  Chapter 31

  “It’s a simple assignment, Cora.” Amber tried very hard to hold her temper in check a few hours later. Her patience was frayed after having lunch with Evan, after the revelation that she did, indeed, believe in the Rules and that she could very well be falling in love with the tall, headstrong basketball player. She needed time alone to think and accept and put up protection around her heart. She needed time to figure out how to be a good CEO and how to apply the Rules. Instead she was trying not to burn up in a trial by fire moment.

  Cora and Blue sat across from Amber in her office. Cora held herself as rigidly as an ice queen. Blue sported a private smile.

  “What’s not to like about coaching Mimi Sorbet?” Amber demanded. “You hang out with a popular starlet, tell her how great she is, toss in a little Choose, Voice, Trust, Welcome.”

  Cora stared out the window.

  “All Mimi wants is a sidekick and maybe some extra photo opps. At least give me a reason why you won’t do it.” Although Amber had her suspicions, she was willing to give her half-sister the benefit of the doubt, but not for much longer.

  “I’ll take her,” Blue said. “I’ve studied up on the Rules.”

  Amber put her hand over her mouth to hold back what would have been an unladylike reaction, drew a deep breath and dropped her hand. “No. You haven’t, Blue,” she managed calmly. “You’ve been lying to me about that. I have no idea what you’re doing with the few clients you’ve been servicing, but I thought the last thing you aspired to be was a man-whore.”

  Blue was uncharacteristically speechless, leaving Amber feeling guilty that she hadn’t been more sensitive. But she had no time to be a cream-puff.

  “And you.” Amber faced Cora head on. “You don’t want to help Mimi because you’re wearing a dress that’s, like, a month old. Get over it. People don’t think about you nearly as much as you think they do.” That came directly from one of Dooley’s books.