by Mel Curtis
“Girl, I know of six. I send each one a bonus check every month.” He sighed. “You can’t turn your back on family. I just never know if my dad’s gonna surprise me one day and tell me about more. I’d feel guilty about not knowing sooner. It’s hard making in the world alone. Even if I didn’t share a bedroom with any of them, family should support one another, you know?”
No. She didn’t know. The concept was as new as Amber and Blue supporting her. She hadn’t been open to a closer relationship with her older siblings six months ago. It would be responsible and adult-like to keep an open mind. But what if they hated her?
Antoine directed Cora to his apartment. She pulled into his underground garage. Motion sensor lighting came on in sections, always twenty feet ahead of her. She parked near the elevator, and turned off the engine. “Send your baby mama flowers in the morning.”
“Girlfriend, did you not see my shiner?”
She tsked. How could he care so much for his blood ties and not his baby mama? “Destiny loves you, Antoine. She wouldn’t track you down if she didn’t. It’s hard to find a good woman who cares that much.” Take Viv, for example. She’d barely left Jack’s side since he’d fallen ill.
He huffed and got out of the car. Old habits and too many horror movies as a teen had Cora locking the doors. They watched him get in the elevator.
Cora turned the key. The Mercedes made a grumbling noise. The lights flashed, dimmed, and the car died.
“That’s weird,” Cora said, fighting a twinge of embarrassment.
Trent stared out the window. “Don’t flood the car trying to start it.”
“I know not to give it too much gas.” Without touching the gas pedal, Cora tried starting the car again. Nothing happened.
“How old is this car?”
“Not that old.”
“Your alternator is dead.” Trent tried to open the door. It was locked.
Cora hit the power door locks. Nothing happened. She tried opening her own door. It wouldn’t budge. This was more than embarrassing. It was annoying. She was locked in her own car. With a man who knew what she looked like naked, but didn’t want to refresh his memory.
“You had to lock the doors after Antoine got out.” Trent shook his head. “When the alternator goes, all the computer chips in the car stop working.”
“How was I to know the alternator was bad? Antoine jinxed it.”
Trent sighed. “Let’s just sit here for a few minutes and see if it decides to come back to life. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you flooded the engine.”
“Like that would explain the doors being locked?” Not.
Without motion, the power-saving lights in the garage went out, section by section, plunging them into darkness. It was so dark, Cora couldn’t see the outline of her steering wheel. Her heart scrambled up her throat.
Trent cussed. Quite loudly.
Cora couldn’t blame him. She tried the doors again. She tried not to panic. “The good news is if we fool around, no one will see.” Awkward ex-lover humor.
Trent played along. “If there’s a security guard on duty, with your luck he’d get curious about the time things between us got interesting.”
“I don’t like the dark.” Cora fumbled for her cell phone. She brought up the home screen and used the flashlight app to find her insurance card in her wallet. “Did you bring your cell phone?”
“I left it on the charger. We’re in a locked car. Don’t worry.”
“I don’t like the dark.” She called for a tow truck. “Twenty minutes,” she said, upon hanging up ten minutes later.
“An eternity of darkness,” he said when she blanked her screen because her cell phone battery was nearly dead.
“Glad we went our separate ways, are you?” Cora wrapped her arms around herself. There could be anything lurking in the darkness. Rats. Bats. Serial killers. There was a sound like scuttling feet outside the car to her left. “Crap, crap, crap. Talk to me, Reverend.”
“Can you forget the Reverend and just talk to Trent?”
“How could I forget the Reverend? He’s such a good kisser.” She couldn’t stop looking around, not that she could see anything, but she wasn’t going to be the horny, clueless chic who was stabbed because she didn’t see the killer coming.
“I’m Trent. And I’m good at other things.” That Southern twang. That deep voice.
She wanted to wrap his words around her like a blanket. “Have you crossed anything else off your I-made-it-big list?”
“Have you thought about why you don’t let men in your bedroom?” His warmth and humor dissipated faster than a fallen popsicle on hot pavement.
“I don’t need to think about it. My bedroom is my safe place.” She wished she was there now, with her pink night light on.
“Why do you need a safe place, Cora?” His voice, so soft, like a comforting caress on her spooked spirit. “Especially one that’s pink.”
“You don’t know what it’s like to be from a family of over-achievers, to always be compared to your older sister or your mom.” She hugged herself tighter. “And to always come up short.”
“You do realize who my dad is? Everyone expected me to be a stud on the football field.”
“Everyone expected me to be a supermodel like my mom or the good-natured girl, like Amber.” She swallowed thickly. “My room is pink because everyone loves Barbie and that bitch has everything.”
“But you said you were Skipper.”
“Exactly. In reality, I’m Skipper to my sister’s Barbie, Robin to her Batman. Except I’m not even Robin, I’m more like Alfred.” A dangerously truthful secret, one she’d never shared before. She was glad he couldn’t see the blush heating her cheeks.
“My dad thinks if I’m in the room there should be a way to prove I’m not perfect.” His hand found her shoulder and trailed down her arm to claim her fingers. “Those times he was sober after my mother died? I sometimes wished he’d get drunk, because then he left me alone. When I was in high school, he forced me to play on his college practice squad one summer. I think I hold the record for sacks taken.”
She squeezed his fingers supportively. “I bet you were like the Energizer Bunny. You took those lickings and kept on ticking.”
“And I bet you always made sure you were in the running for Barbie’s crown.” She could hear the smile in his voice.
She liked him.
It was a damn shame.
He brought her hand across the center console into his territory, bringing it against his chest. She’d expected him to guide her hand to his crotch.
Trent Parker was a good guy. She wasn’t used to good guys. She was the girl all the bad boys lusted after and the choir boys didn’t have the guts to talk to.
“I haven’t made out in a car since high school,” he was saying. “Even then, my dad caught us just as I was about to unwrap a condom.”
They were back to teasing, which suited her. Emotional baggage should remain closed. “I could sit in your lap, just to remind you of old times.”
“I could unzip those jeans and make you really wet. That sound you make when I finger you turns me on.”
Forget teasing. This was almost as good as phone sex. He didn’t have to touch her to make her juices flow. “I’ve always wanted to give a celebrity a hickey. Not a big one, mind, but something about the size of a quarter on your collarbone.” Right next to the V of his polo. Something to tell other women her celebrity was taken.
“I could unhook your bra.” He lowered his voice. “I’ve been hoping it was black.”
“I’m not wearing a bra.” Her nipples strained against the thin cotton of her tee, hoping for more than teasing words from him.
The creak of leather and roll of his chest indicated he was shifting in his seat.
Good. She didn’t want to be the only one in the car turned on. “There’s just enough room to ride you sidesaddle.”
He swore. “It’s too easy to imagine being inside you.”
&n
bsp; Cora was throbbing in all the right places. “We need to talk about boundaries.”
“A woman with a book like you had on your bed doesn’t have boundaries.”
“I mean expectations.” She flinched when something scuttled outside her door.
He enclosed her hand in both of his. “You said you don’t date.” The frustration in his voice was palpable.
“I don’t.”
“Barbie dates.”
“Barbie is a powerful, single woman, playing the field.” He didn’t get it. She wasn’t Barbie.
“Barbie has one man. Ken. They date. She’s not the kind of girl who dates both Ken and G.I. Joe.”
“G.I. Joe is hot.”
“Barbie’s got higher standards.”
And that would be why I’m Skipper. Skipper got all of Barbie’s cast-offs.
A flash of headlights and the roar of a big engine brought all the garage lights on.
Squinting, Cora couldn’t prevent a shudder of relief. “That was quick.”
“Would you invite me to your pink bedroom later, Cora?” His eyes, soft brown. His grip, so comforting. His smile, tender rather than crookedly-wicked.
Cora’s heart pounded. His wasn’t the smile of a man looking for uncomplicated sex. He was looking for something else, something she didn’t want to define and wasn’t ready to give.
When she didn’t answer, Trent released her and stared straight ahead. “I’ll have the tow truck drop me at my hotel. It’s just a few blocks away.”
Cora opened her mouth to argue, then shut it again. On the one hand, the one that was still warm from being clasped in his, she appreciated his sensitivity toward her pinkness. On the other hand, he’d never understand how Skipper could only be right for G.I. Joe.
Chapter 19
“You’re not coming in,” Cora said when Gemma parked in the driveway of Cora’s condo. It was close to five a.m. Cora was exhausted.
“I’m not one of your bad dates.” Gemma turned off her dated Camry. “I’m unlocking your door and taking my key. Next time, don’t give your house key to the tow truck driver.”
“I didn’t give the key to the tow truck driver. I put my key ring in the service envelope at the Mercedes dealership and dropped it into the early registration slot.” Trent’s continued rejections put Cora off her game. Why had she told him about her bedroom while they were stranded in the car?
When she’d realized the cab she called wasn’t coming and she didn’t have her house keys, Cora had a decision to make. She hadn’t wanted to wake Evan, so she hadn’t called Amber for a ride. She hadn’t wanted to disturb Blue, because he was filming today. Which left Gemma, keeper of all their spare house and car keys.
As promised, Gemma unlocked the door and pushed it open. “Okay, I’ll see you later.”
“Wait.” Cora grabbed her arm. “Brutus isn’t here.”
“Maybe he’s sleeping.”
A rush of fear-fueled adrenaline had Cora opening the door wider. “He always greets me at the door.”
“Maybe you should have taken him.” Gemma spoke loudly enough to wake the dead. Or in this case, alert the burglar who’d broken in.
“To county jail?” Cora whispered.
“Don’t you have a doggy door?”
“No.” Brutus was in there somewhere, unable to get to her. She couldn’t just leave him or his lifeless body. Cora whispered instructions. “Stay outside with your cell ready to dial 911.” Using her flashlight app, Cora retrieved a bat from the hall closet.
“If you’re going in, I’m going in.” Gemma turned the entry light on, revealing them to any burglars and shedding light on a baggy pair of gray sweats and a holey, slept-in T-shirt.
“Gemma!” Cora turned the light back off.
Gemma stomped one of her booted feet, but kept quiet.
Still using her flashlight app, Cora checked the patio slider. Locked. She looked behind every couch and curtain. Nothing. And then her cell phone died. Darkness.
A noise upstairs had her blood running cold.
“What was that?” Gemma whispered right behind her, sending Cora nearly jumping out of her skin.
“Go back by the door.”
“Not on your life. You give me the bat. I’ll give you my cell phone. I played softball in high school. The kind with cleats and rules and bases.”
“I played ball with bases, too,” Cora quipped.
She could almost feel Gemma rolling her eyes. Light emitted from Gemma’s cell. She handed it to Cora and hefted the bat.
They crept upstairs, Gemma a step ahead of her the entire way. Another noise came from the second floor.
Someone had invaded Cora’s personal space, possibly hurt her precious dog. Fear dissolved into anger. Cora charged past Gemma up the stairs with a primal yell, flicking on her bedroom light.
Her bedroom was a mess. Ransacked. The culprit was sprawled on the floor on his back, snoring.
“Brutus.” Cora’s legs nearly gave out.
“Is this Barbie’s room?” Gemma stared around in wonder. “Her shoes are everywhere.”
“Those are my shoes.” Irreplaceable shoes until she earned her inheritance and could update her shoe wardrobe. In her haste to get to jail, she’d left the closet door partially open and Brutus had punished her for it, taking out four different shoes, ripping off ribbons, shredding leather, mangling heels. “Brutus, I only left you for a couple of hours.”
“Separation anxiety,” Gemma diagnosed unhelpfully. “That’s why Blue continues to take Mr. Jiggles everywhere.”
Cora bent and rubbed her dog’s full tummy. Brutus burped.
“Is this why Coach Parker dumped you?” Gemma gazed around the room. “I think it’s an awesome room. Girl Power.” She punched a fist in the air.
A stab of regret pierced Cora’s heart. “It doesn’t matter.”
“I wanted to paint my room pink when I was a kid. But my mom said pink was a gender stereotype she didn’t want to reinforce.”
“That sucks.”
Gemma shrugged. “I painted a mural of the zombie apocalypse on my wall instead.”
“That explains the combat boots,” Cora deadpanned.
“Not really,” Gemma said enigmatically. She gazed around again. “If you like pink so much, how come you never wear pink?”
“I guess I…uh…didn’t realize I never did?” She hadn’t thought about it. But now that she did, she realized she associated the color with Amber, who wore pink often.
Gemma stared at her. “You’d look good in pink.”
The day I take fashion advice from Gemma is the first day of the zombie apocalypse.
In the ensuing silence, Gemma looked more closely at the baseball bat. “Oh, my God. This bat is signed by Rafael Wozniak.” She held it reverently. “This must have cost you a fortune.”
Cora sent Gemma a look that said exactly how she’d paid for that bat.
“Oh,” Gemma said in a small voice. “I’m going home now. To my single, empty bed.”
“Don’t sound so sorry for yourself. If you want to meet Rafe, I’ll introduce you.”
Gemma turned on the stairs and looked at her with wide eyes. “I’d die.”
“You wouldn’t die.”
Gemma nodded. “He wouldn’t know I existed if I stood in front of him.” She clutched the railing tighter. “No one knows I exist.”
“That’s not true.” Cora cradled Brutus. “You were on the cover of People magazine. Your picture’s posted on the L.A. Happenings blog. You hang out with Mimi Sorbet.”
Gemma’s lips soured. “No one knows my name.”
“Sometimes it’s better to only be known by your Twitter handle, especially when you make it in the gossip columns.”
“I suggest you hide a spare house key.” Gemma turned and marched down the stairs, making Cora wonder what she’d said wrong. “Because the next time your car breaks down and you need a ride home, I won’t come save you.”
“You can keep the bat,�
� Cora taunted. “It’ll be a conversation starter when I introduce you to Rafe.”
She heard the closet door downstairs open, the bat bang against the wall, and then the front door opened and closed.
She mourned her ruined heels with a moment of silence, stroking the small shoe-killer’s fur. “Brutus, your gift was about par for my evening.”
~*~
“Where am I?” Jack croaked like a bad karaoke speaker.
Vivian nearly leapt from her chair onto Jack’s hospital bed. She’d been asleep and forgotten he hated public displays of affection. He felt frail beneath her.
“Answer me,” he demanded, weakly pushing at Viv.
“Nurse! Nurse! He’s awake.” She pressed the red call button.
The night nurse came running. The doctor was paged. The nurse took Jack’s vitals.
Jack tried to sit up and promptly tipped dizzily back in bed. “Damn it. My head hurts. Did you drug me?”
“No.” The relief of having Jack awake kept her from being annoyed. “They think you contracted the West Nile Virus.”
“Encephalitis,” the doctor said, entering the room. He must have been in their ward to have shown up so quickly. “You have a severe infection.”
“Thanks for making me well, Doc,” Jack wheezed.
“You’re not well.” The doctor took Jack’s pulse. “We’ll be fighting to rid you of this virus for days yet.”
“No. Viv, call Zach. There are papers I need to sign.” He looked about with scattered, unfocused eyes. “How long have I been in here?”
“Eight…Nine days.” She’d lost track.
Jack tried to get up again.
The doctor placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Mr. Gordon, we’re going to have to restrain you if you don’t lie down.”
“I need to get out of here.” Jack’s eyes bounced around the room wildly. “My business is in jeopardy. Where are my clothes?”
Viv stroked his hand. “Honey, you need to listen to what the doctor says and get well.” He hadn’t been forced to listen to predictions of death every day from the medical staff. He may have woken up, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet.
