It's Only Love

by Mel Curtis

  Together, they found Viv. She sat at Jack’s bedside, looking as pale as her husband.

  Cora almost didn’t recognize her former lover. Something had deflated the strong, angry, invincible man.

  “Thank you for coming.” If Jack seemed small, Viv looked smaller and more fragile, as if any more bad news would break her. “His parents are flying in from Cleveland. They’ll arrive tomorrow.”

  Blue brought a chair closer to Viv’s, gesturing for Cora to sit.

  “He’ll be okay, though. Right?” Cora felt young and in need of reassurance, when she knew it was Viv who needed someone to lean on.

  “The doctor said we won’t know for days.” Viv sniffed, never taking her eyes off her husband. Gone was the burning desire, the burning hatred, the burning love. Viv was a bundle of fearful insecurity.

  “I’ll stay with you.” Cora took Vivian’s cold hand in hers. “I’ll stay with you until you know.”

  ~*~

  Hospitals reminded Trent of Rachel.

  His ex-wife had stood vigil with every parent of every college player who’d ever been injured playing for Trent. It wasn’t as long a list as the media made it out to be, but it wasn’t short, either. It didn’t matter if they’d only broken their pinky. Rachel would show up, Bible in hand, with words of comfort.

  At first, Trent considered it endearing, a sign that his wife had a big heart. And then Trent overheard Rachel turn that comfort into a pitch for her father’s revival meetings, to attend her father’s church, to donate money to his causes. Trent believed in God. But he also believed in freedom of religion, and the right to be in a hospital bed without receiving God’s sales pitch. Partial conversations of Rachel’s he’d overheard started to piece themselves together, like one of his grandmother’s patchwork quilts. Except, instead of admiring the beauty of his wife and her goodness, the image of Rachel frayed.

  In all the years he’d been at Holy Southern Cross, he’d considered Rachel his secret weapon. She had a way of allaying parental concerns. But her message always came back to filling seats at her father’s events. Her sermons had never been delivered with his team’s best interests at heart.

  And so he walked the hospital halls with trepidation after receiving Evan’s text about Jack. Why had he felt compelled to come? He barely knew Jack Gordon. And what he knew didn’t compel him toward friendship. When it came to the game, Jack was like Trent’s father – heartless, ruthless, reckless. And despite having already clawed his way to the top of the dot com world, Jack wanted to claw his way higher in the NBA. Nothing and no one would be good enough for Jack. And yet, when Jack called with an intriguing idea for building a championship franchise, Trent couldn’t refuse.

  He was surprised to find Cora sitting with Jack’s wife. Surprised, but immediately relieved. He knew the lean feel of Cora’s body and the taste of her mouth. Didn’t mean he had to bang her, just that he wanted to. Cora would surely spout the Rules of Attraction, and when she did he’d file her in a drawer along with Rachel and put an end to his fascination with her.

  Cora still wore those tight jeans and heels. She’d twisted her dark hair until it cascaded over her shoulder. She didn’t look like the high class, arm-candy he’d taken her for at Jack’s party. She looked like somebody’s college sweetheart.

  His dick wanted a college do-over.

  Neither woman had seen him yet. He stepped into the room, eager to catch Cora murmuring erection-killing tripe into Vivian’s ear.

  Cora spoke softly. “Do you remember the game in Houston last season when Jack almost jumped on the court and argued a call with the ref?”

  “He gets fined more than Mark Cuban,” Vivian sniffed.

  Since he’d last seen Jack’s wife, she’d aged. Her make-up was smudged into lines of worry. Her jaw clenched as if tensing it was the only thing keeping her sane.

  “And he’ll continue to get fined.” Cora chuckled. “He fights for what he believes in.”

  “I wish he’d fight for me,” Viv whispered.

  Trent wished he could back out of the room.

  “Excuse me.” A scrawny male nurse brushed past Trent and into the room, giving away his presence.

  Trent cleared his throat. “I came to see how Jack’s doing.”

  “Come on over and greet him, honey,” the nurse cooed, checking Jack’s vitals. “Just because he’s unconscious doesn’t mean he can’t hear you.”

  If anything, Vivian grew paler.

  Cora patted Vivian’s hand. “He means in theory.”

  “No, I don’t,” the nurse refuted. “I’ve had patients wake up and tell their children they shouldn’t be planning their funerals. And certainly not with carnations instead of roses.” He raised his brows in Trent’s direction. “Well?”

  Obediently, Trent moved to Jack’s bedside. His boss looked like he was knocking at death’s door. It was hard to reconcile this man with the one he’d seen four days ago. That man had looked tired, but was driven by an inner fire. The fire had since gone out.

  “Hey, Jack,” Trent said self-consciously. “I worked out with the team today. You were right. Those guys may be second and third stringers, but they click together.” His gaze met Cora’s. He could feel her assessing the sincerity of his words. Did she suspect he was already weighing which players would bring the most value in trade? “I’ll make final decisions about players and staff this week.”

  “Pink slip them all,” Viv whispered. “Sell the team.”

  Jack’s belabored breathing didn’t change.

  “Viv, you have to be strong for Jack.” Cora’s clichéd words of comfort sounded too similar to Rachel’s. “That team means everything to him.”

  Vivian’s eyes shuttered, as if she was jealous of a basketball team.

  You love coaching more than you love me. Rachel’s words. She’d spoken matter-of-factly when he told her he wasn’t the Reverend and he wanted a divorce. Rachel hadn’t missed a beat as they separated their lives and their bank account.

  “It’s the end of visiting hours, lords and ladies,” the male nurse cooed. “Only immediate family after ten.” It was closer to eleven thirty.

  “I’m staying,” Cora said stubbornly.

  The nurse shook his head. “Honey bear, you can stay in the waiting room down the hall. But this room? Na-uh.”

  “It’s okay.” Vivian’s voice stretched thin. “I’m used to being alone.”

  Cora hadn’t let go of Vivian’s hand. “Is there anyone I can call? Your mom? A sister?”

  “No siblings. My parents are on an Alaskan cruise with my Aunt Winnie until next week.” Vivian attempted a smile. “Besides, my mother is the last person Jack wants to see. The last time she saw him, she told him what a screw-up he was for leaving me.”

  “Jack, you’re a fool to leave Viv.” Cora stood, patted Jack’s hand, and then hugged Vivian. “Call me if you need anything. Come on, Reverend.”

  Surprising himself, Trent gave the nurse a severe look and a business card. It was from Holy Southern Cross, but it had his cell number on it. “If Mrs. Gordon needs anything, you let me know. Day or night.”

  “Honey bear, you are too sweet,” the nurse cooed.

  Vivian didn’t seem to hear. She clutched Jack’s hand.

  Cora waited for Trent in the hallway. “That was nice.”

  They walked toward the waiting area. The hospital was depressingly quiet.

  “Don’t sound so surprised. I’m not in the habit of kissing women I just met.” Repeatedly. Despite them making nice, it was best to make things clear. Cora was still a part of the Dooley Foundation, and he still planned to clean house.

  “There’s something about L.A. that loosens people’s inhibitions.” Cora hitched her purse higher on her shoulder. Brutus had apparently been left at home. “Or maybe where you come from people are uptight.”

  “Where I come from you don’t kiss a woman on the first date.” And that was the rub. He was a small town, old school boy. Cora was an urban, se
x-in-the-city, babe.

  “We haven’t dated.” She didn’t quite smile. “And we won’t. According to Jack, you’re my client.”

  “You’re fired.”

  She laughed, leading him into the empty waiting room with that delicious hip sway of hers. A fluorescent light buzzed in the ceiling. “You don’t have the authority to do that. And the likelihood of Viv appointing someone to make decisions now is slim.”

  He’d been worried that was the case. Now he was worried following Cora was becoming a habit.

  She settled on an uncomfortable looking gray couch with wooden arms. The neckline of her blouse slid lower over her breast, putting his dick on boobage alert. “Let’s clear the air, Coach. The Coach Parker I’ve been dealing with isn’t the grim, career-ending-reaper for players the press has made him out to be. Or the pious Reverend.” Cora sat like a queen on a throne. She was an intriguing combination of sexy siren and old soul. “Why the ruse?”

  He shouldn’t have been surprised at her insight. Those dark eyes saw more than most men probably gave her credit for. But he couldn’t trust her with his secrets, and so he turned the tables. “And you? I expected you to be asserting mind control over each player.” He waggled his fingers as if casting a spell. “Why aren’t you having players chant your choose-trust rosary?”

  “You really do believe we’re a cult.” She tsked. “None of our clients worshipped my dad. Hell, I didn’t worship my dad.” The way she said it made it sound as if she didn’t care much for her father.

  Trent was confused. “But you said my dad was like yours.” She’d said she liked him.

  “All true.” She nodded sadly. “You know the trouble with our dads?” She leaned in conspiratorially close, but her expression was somber. “They’re well-meaning bad boys. Hollywood loved my dad. Once Mary Sue Ellen becomes your step-mama, the world will love Archie again.”

  “For how long?” Something that had been balled in his gut unraveled and his fears tumbled out. “Mary Sue Ellen can’t handle him. She won’t be able to hold Dad’s attention for long. None of them ever do. If she hadn’t gotten pregnant, he’d be on to another woman by now.” Back home in the South. None of Trent’s responsibility. “May-December romances are doomed from the start.” A hint toward his and Cora’s age differences. “And a baby? At his age?”

  “There’s that glass half empty attitude again. I’d expect it from a heartbroken sixty-year old, but you?” She twisted her hair until it cascaded over her shoulder in a thick wave a man could hang onto. “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-two.” He felt ancient.

  “I’m almost twenty-six,” Cora said pertly, as if she was a teenager trying to convince Trent that she was almost eighteen and legal. “We’re both too old for a new set of siblings. I don’t blame you for wanting to distance yourself from Archie’s indiscretion.” She clenched her fingers.

  Trent blinked. “I’d never turn my back on family. My mother once told me you don’t have to like everyone you’re related to, but you have to love them and watch out for them.”

  “Even when they betray your trust?” She leaned forward, hanging onto his every word, blouse gaping to show…Her nipples?

  Trent had to drag his gaze to the orbs on her face and swallow twice before he could speak. “I’m not going to punish that baby for something stupid my dad did.”

  “So you won’t be jealous comparing how Archie raised you to how this child is going to be raised? You won’t go nuts when Archie applies a different set of rules about hanging out and curfew? You won’t wonder which of you he loves more?”

  “No.” He’d found her emotional hot button – family – and he wished he hadn’t. “It’s getting late.” But he still had one more topic to broach and it didn’t involve handfuls of hair or exploration of nipples, more’s the pity. “About that kiss – ”

  “Dude, I’m not some starry-eyed, Flash groupie.” Her voice seemed brittle, but her eyes...They dared him to resist her. “I kissed you the other day. You kissed me tonight. Call it even.” She licked her lips.

  He ignored the ache between his legs. “It won’t happen again.”

  “You’re funny.” Her slow perusal turned his aching balls into a throbbing bundle of need. “So we occasionally kiss? I’m not asking you to go steady.”

  “You’re a distraction.” A test of his resolve for success. “I’m not interested in starting anything with you.”

  “We both know you’re lying.” She laughed, but it sounded oddly hollow.

  “But, sugar, we both know it’s for the best.”

  ~*~

  When Cora was a little girl and her temper welled up inside of her like a pot of water threatening to boil over, her father used to shuttle her to the bathroom, close her in and say, “Just let it out.”

  And she would. She’d release a primal scream that would’ve sent King Kong scuttling back to his skeletal cave.

  As an adult, screaming wasn’t an option, which may have explained why she’d turned to kissing. And in some cases, sex. She stared at Trent and tried to squelch the stirrings that led to imprudent kisses and fast, hot sex.

  “I have a lot on my plate,” Trent was saying in his good ol’ boy twang. “If I’m seen with you, someone will make the leap from my dad’s preference for young women and apply it to me.”

  Her heart and her stomach switched places, agitating her anger. “I didn’t say I wanted to be seen with you.”

  Trent ignored her implication that she was open to polishing more than the Reverend’s reputation. “You have to see that on paper, because of our age differences and because of the way you look, you undermine my goals in too many ways to count.”

  “Reverend. It was just a couple kisses.” Despite her words, the heat of anger suddenly drained, leaving her cold, chilled by everything Amber had been telling Cora about playing fast and loose with her body. Frosted by Archie’s first impression of her as a bimbo, and Gemma’s calling her a whore. And by the final, frozen realization that she was the kind of woman guys dated but never married.

  Loneliness gripped her chest like a too small Wonderbra.

  Who could have known she still held onto the desire for a white wedding? She didn’t even believe in love. Did she?

  She must. Cora studied Trent with more than sex in mind. She wasn’t sure how to judge a guy on attributes other than his ability to provide her with hot, uncomplicated sex. But on some level, Cora must have known her life needed a course correction. After all, she’d gone cold turkey on men recently.

  The fluorescent light above her flickered and buzzed louder.

  “Well…” She’d been silent too long and he was too polite to walk out while she wrestled with issues she wasn’t going to solve tonight. “Thanks for telling me your opinion, Reverend.” That came out like a big bite of a sour lemon.

  “I didn’t phrase that right.” He sounded exasperated. “I just feel that other people would judge – ”

  “You’re only making it worse.” She waved him off. “Go.”

  Surprisingly, he did as she asked, without a trace of regret or one last look at her cleavage.

  She shouldn’t care. She shouldn’t feel like she was missing out on something good. She shouldn’t sit here as if he’d hurt her feelings.

  Daddy would have said tomorrow was a new day. That tomorrow held no regrets, only promise. He’d tell her to focus on the good things – her health, her friends, her family.

  Well, she had her health. And if Luck played nice over the next few weeks, she’d reach her sales quota. She’d have three million dollars a year in Paris, more than enough to live comfortably on a fashion-apprenticeship salary and finance the launching of her own fashion line. She wouldn’t have to acknowledge her other, unnamed siblings. And she’d never have to see Trent Parker again.

  So why wasn’t she happy?

  Chapter 15

  L.A. Happenings by Lyle Lincoln

  …Jack Gordon felled by a mysterious virus? Say
it ain’t so. My sources say he’s got two beautiful ladies at his bedside – his wife, Viv, and that rule-breaker, Cora Rule. What an interesting threesome.

  …Greg Bingham, notorious international bad-boy, escorted Isabelle Chavez, Disney Channel star, to Xuri Fashions on Rodeo Drive yesterday. Apparently, Greg didn’t have permission to take Isabelle anywhere. Mama Chavez dragged her little darling out of the couples-only dressing room, half-dressed and disheveled. How does one put your little meal-ticket in time out?

  “Gemma, I wasn’t expecting you.” Everything about Mimi drooped. She held onto the door as if it was the only thing holding her up. “I was just getting ready to go out…Oh, not really. I did try, but then…”

  Gemma’s jaw nearly fell open. The actress’ famously bright smile? Gone.

  Her bright blond hair? Flat.

  Her trademark cleavage? Hidden beneath a boxy T-shirt.

  “Cora sent me to check on you and Coco,” Gemma lied. She was supposed to be at the Dooley Foundation, but she’d told Amber that she was meeting Cora here. She knew Cora was having coffee with Portia Francis. Her heart was pounding and not just because of the lie. She wanted to prove she could help Mimi regain her confidence, but she had her own personal agenda as well. “Can I come in?”

  Mimi stepped aside to let her into the den of sin.

  Not that Gemma should judge. After all, her mother had been living in a commune for the past twenty-five years. A nudist commune. In Oregon. Where they raised organic livestock, sang psychedelic songs around the campfire, and knotted macramé owl towel racks to sell in a local gift shop. They also participated in group sex and spouse swapping. It made retirement homes in Phoenix with bingo and ballroom dancing look boring.

  “I was…We were wondering if you wanted to go out shopping again. I’m at your disposal if you do.” Please, please, please.

  When Cora had tweeted the picture of Gemma with Mimi at the pet supply store, the strangest thing happened. Flash Coach Randy Farrell had retweeted her picture on Women Crush Wednesday: Mimi’s bestie is my new #WCW!