by Regina Hart
Troy gave her the crooked smile that made her pulse trip. “I’ve been telling you that for years.”
Andrea thought of the players rallying around him when he lost his job. It was a reaction worthy of a respected colleague and friend. The way he’d helped convince Constance’s ex-husband to leave their apartment building showed he was a good person. And his attention to her needs when they were intimate was the sign of a caring lover.
She took a steadying breath. Still her voice was a thin whisper. “Seeing is believing. And I believe I’m falling in love with you.”
Troy’s expression cleared with surprise, knitted with confusion, then sharpened with desire. He leaned forward over the gear-shift console toward her and settled his lips against hers. Andrea leaned into him. His lips were firm but gentle as they moved over hers. There was a message in his kiss, something he was trying to convey. But she was too lost in his taste and touch to figure it out.
Andrea closed her eyes with a sigh, then breathed in to let his scent seduce her. She melted into him and parted her lips to kiss him more deeply. His touch was tender as his large, lean hand moved up her right arm to her shoulder.
She raised her hand to cup the back of his head. Andrea moaned as his tongue stroked hers. She gave chase, twining her tongue around his. She tried to move even closer. Troy’s hand slid over her shoulder, pressing her torso to his. Her heart pounded in her chest, shortening her breath. She opened her mouth wider, wanting more of him. The restless feeling inside her was growing to a painful level.
Troy raised his head, releasing her mouth. “I—” He cleared his throat.
Andrea held her breath, waiting for his words.
Troy straightened away from her. “I’ll walk with you to your apartment.”
She watched Troy get out of the car. She hustled to gather her scattered thoughts before he opened her door for her. His smile as he helped her out of the sedan and his touch on her elbow jumbled her mind again.
What did that kiss mean? How did he feel about what she’d told him? Had she spoken too soon? She wasn’t going to ask him. She didn’t want to be that woman.
But she was desperate to know.
Troy held the door open for her to walk into her apartment building’s lobby. His hand on her shoulder stopped her from walking to the elevator. His ebony eyes were dark and glittering with unquenched desire as he looked down at her.
His kiss was a brief tribute that stole her breath. “I’m falling for you, too, Andrea Benson.”
Her lips parted in surprise. A smile spread over her face as she watched him leave before she floated toward the elevators.
He was falling for her, too. Now, what did that mean?
Five days later, Troy sat in a rear, tall-backed booth in a dimly lit sports bar watching Gerald Bimm talk with Otto Nunez. The two men sat at one of the front tables. Saturday’s off-hour lunchtime crowd was thin. Still, it provided enough cover for him, Andrea, and Jaclyn as they made themselves inconspicuous.
Gerald’s back was to them. But, by leaning closer to Andrea seated beside him, Troy could see Otto clearly. The referee’s features were tight with controlled anger.
Andrea pinched him, and Troy settled back into the booth.
“Between the suspense of tonight’s game seven against the Cavs and this meeting, I might have a heart attack.” Jaclyn sat on the inside of the booth across the table from Troy.
“Me too.” Troy was only slightly exaggerating. The Monarchs had managed to tie the series with the Cleveland Cavaliers, three games each. Although he was hoping for a miracle, the basketball pundits didn’t think Brooklyn’s team would win.
“This meeting between Gerry and Otto shouldn’t last much longer.” Andrea sat beside Troy on the outside of the booth facing Otto’s table. She was hard to recognize in a baggy brown sweatsuit with her silky dark hair tucked under a black baseball cap. At least Troy hoped Gerald didn’t recognize her.
He checked his watch. Again. “It’s already been thirty minutes.”
“The longest thirty minutes of my life.” Jaclyn finished her second glass of iced tea. “The worst part is not being able to see what’s going on.” Jaclyn had wanted to sit facing Otto and Gerald, but Troy was afraid her partner would spot Jaclyn as soon as he walked into the sports bar. She was hard to miss, dressed in a silver and black sheath dress in a Cleveland sports bar.
Troy considered his unsweetened iced tea. Had he already added the sugar? “We can’t risk Gerry turning around and seeing you.”
Andrea stiffened in her seat. “Otto just adjusted his baseball cap. That’s our signal.”
Finally! Relief and excitement surged through Troy as he followed Andrea from the booth. “Now, let’s hope Gerry goes quietly.” He grabbed the restaurant bill from the table and waited for Jaclyn and Andrea to precede him from the booth.
Gerald’s beady brown eyes widened with recognition as he saw the group appear beside him. His expression gave Troy a sense of deep satisfaction. Well worth waiting for.
Jaclyn put her hand on the referee’s shoulder. “Hello, Gerry. Hi, Otto. How are you?”
Otto’s expression was a picture of relief. “I’m well. Thank you, Ms. Jones.”
“Jackie.” Gerald’s cool gaze swept over each of them. “What are you all doing here?”
Jaclyn glanced at Troy and Andrea as they stood beside her. “Funny thing, Gerry. We heard a rumor that you’re blackmailing referees in an effort to get them to throw playoff games.”
Gerald shot a venomous look at Otto, who sat silent and impassive in the seat across the table from him. “That’s absurd.” He returned his attention to Jaclyn. “Where did you hear that?”
“I thought it was pretty absurd, too.” Jaclyn shifted her hand from Otto’s shoulder. Troy saw her white-knuckled grip on the back of the referee’s chair. “After all, blackmailing officials, bribes, and tampering with the outcome of games are all against league rules. I was certain you knew that.”
“Of course I do.”
Troy almost believed Gerald’s affronted tone. He stepped closer to Otto’s table to give a server more room to walk past. “Then where did the rumors come from, Gerry?”
Gerald shrugged his shoulders beneath his dark blue jersey. “Maybe you started them, Troy. You’ve been more paranoid than usual lately. After all, you slandered me on ESPN.”
Troy fought the discomfort of Gerald’s comment. No one wanted to be reminded of mistakes from their past. Behind him, Andrea’s hand settled on the small of his back. It was an encouraging gesture, a supportive touch, and he leaned into it. “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, Gerry. I made the wrong call with the Insider blog. But I don’t make the same mistake twice.”
Gerald narrowed his eyes on Troy. “I’m happy for you.”
Jaclyn settled her right hand on her hip. “So the rumors of you blackmailing refs aren’t true, Gerry?”
Gerald looked directly at Jaclyn. “No, they’re not.”
Troy thought Jaclyn’s left hand tightened on the back of Otto’s chair as she continued to question her business partner. “And you have no idea where the rumors came from?”
Gerald didn’t blink. “No, I don’t.”
Several silent moments passed as the two partners seemed to take each other’s measure. Troy’s impatience stirred. What was Jaclyn waiting for? Surely she hadn’t changed her mind about reporting Gerald to the NBA’s front office. He started to prompt her when Jaclyn held out her hand, palm up, in front of Otto. The referee unbuttoned the chest pocket of his tan corduroy shirt and withdrew a digital audio recorder. It was the same device Andrea had loaned Troy for his meeting with Mindy Sneal, the Monarchs Insider. Otto placed it in Jaclyn’s palm.
Jaclyn held up the recorder so Gerald could see it. “Then tell me, Gerry, what will I hear when I listen to this recording?”
Otto removed his ball cap and dragged his blunt fingers through his thick hair. “Now, it’s no longer your word against mine. It’s be
en recorded.”
All semblance of civility drained from Gerald’s features. He pinned Otto with his glare. “You can’t use that recording against me. This was a private conversation. You had no right to record it without my knowledge.”
Troy arched a brow. “But it’s OK for you to blackmail him?”
“Wait, Troy.” Andrea pressed her hand into the center of his back again.
Jaclyn dropped the recorder into her oversized silver purse. “We can debate morality all day. The fact is, Gerry, you’re violating league rules, and you were doing it to hurt your own team.”
Troy heard the pain of betrayal in Jaclyn’s voice.
Gerald’s eyes shifted from Jaclyn’s purse back to her face. “What are you going to do with that?”
Jaclyn adjusted her purse on her shoulder. “Give it to the commissioner. He’ll determine what happens to you. But it doesn’t look good, Gerry. You know what a stickler the commissioner is for the rules.” She looked at the referee. “Care to join us, Otto? I’m sure Gerry can handle the bill.”
Gerald sprang to his feet. Troy stepped forward, putting himself between Gerald and Jaclyn. Gerald shifted his attention to the marketing executive. “This isn’t over.”
Troy narrowed his eyes. “Somehow, Gerry, I think it is.” He gestured for Andrea, Jaclyn, and Otto to precede him from the bar’s dining area.
Troy hoped Gerald’s chapter with the Monarchs was indeed over. Would that clear the way for Troy to start over with the franchise?
That night, Troy joined Jaclyn in Quicken Loans Arena’s visiting owner’s suite to watch the final game of the Brooklyn Monarchs versus Cleveland Cavaliers seven-game playoff series. Win or go home.
Jaclyn welcomed him with a drink and gestured toward the older man by her side. “Troy, you remember Julian Guinn, Marc’s father, don’t you?”
Troy shook Julian’s hand. “Yes. It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Guinn.”
Julian grinned. “Call me Julian. I’m too nervous to answer to anything else.”
Ignoring the television monitors hanging around the suite’s ceiling, Julian turned to view the basketball court below through the room’s large window. Althea Gentry, Jaclyn’s administrative assistant, joined him.
With her gaze on the couple, Jaclyn leaned closer to Troy. “They’ve just started dating.”
Troy smiled. Jaclyn sounded almost smug. Did she have a hand in the budding romance?
The game was half an hour away. On the court, television crews were taking pregame footage. Players were warming up. Fans were filling the arena. Troy spotted Andrea taking her seat with the other reporters to record the game.
Jaclyn interrupted his thoughts. “Andrea helped me save the audio recording as a computer file. I e-mailed it to the commissioner.”
Troy gave Jaclyn his attention. “Do you think Stern will ban Gerry from the NBA?”
Jaclyn sipped from her glass of iced cola. “I hope so. What Gerry did isn’t just bad for the team. It’s bad for the league. But even if the commissioner doesn’t ban him, Gerry can’t come back to the Monarchs.”
“Why not?”
Jaclyn’s smile was bitter. “The morality clause in the partners contract states that if any partner violates NBA rules, he or she must immediately sell his or her shares equally to the remaining partners. The moment Gerry tried to affect the outcome of the playoffs, he broke our contract.”
Troy arched a brow. “Gerry’s no longer with the Monarchs?”
Jaclyn nodded. “Do you know what that means?”
Troy sighed his relief. “That Gerry won’t have access to insider Monarchs information any longer.”
Jaclyn gestured toward him with her glass. “And you have your job back.”
Troy grinned. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in a while.”
Jaclyn nodded toward the court below them. “Let’s hope we get some more good news tonight.”
18
Andrea’s palms were sweating. On the court five rows beneath the media section, the Brooklyn Monarchs and Cleveland Cavaliers were in the final game of their seven-game series. The winner would move to the next round of the play-offs. The game clock counted down the remaining two minutes and thirty-seven seconds of the game. The Monarchs had ended the first half with a tenuous 7-point lead. During the last twenty-one minutes, Cleveland had cut their bank in half, Monarchs 87, Cleveland 83.
In the seat in front of her, the Cleveland Plain Dealer reporter had lost his jaded expression. The middle-aged man no longer seemed confident of the game’s outcome. Frankly, neither was Andrea.
Daniel Gibson, a Cleveland point guard, caught Jamal flatfooted at the post and grabbed the Monarchs’ rebound. Andrea’s gaze flew to DeMarcus coaching from the sideline. His sphinx-like mask dropped. She read his lips as he yelled one word, Jamal. The cocky point guard still had trouble on defense.
Gibson sped past Jamal and down the court to Cleveland’s basket. The Monarchs gave chase, but Gibson was a blur. His rapid reflexes and lightning speed kept the Cavaliers’ hopes alive. Behind Andrea, Cleveland fans leapt to their feet in thunderous approval.
Gibson drove the ball to the basket for an easy layup. Cleveland closed in on the Monarchs lead, 87 to 85 with two minutes and thirty-three seconds left to the game. Serge snatched the ball midair and lobbed it forward to Vincent. The Monarchs center jogged back up the court, dribbling the ball with him. The veteran role player managed the clock and controlled the speed. The sudden molasses-like pace made Andrea tense. But she understood the older Monarchs couldn’t allow the Cavaliers to force a faster tempo.
Behind Vincent, Warrick shared a few words with Jamal. The rookie point guard seemed uncomfortable even as he nodded his understanding. Had Warrick taken Jamal to task for his sloppy defense? The veteran had a gift for coaching on the court.
DeMarcus signaled for a twenty-second time-out. Andrea used the time to catch up with her copy. She sensed the reporters around her doing the same. Her fingers flew over the computer keys as she recapped the Cleveland plays and playmakers who were challenging the Monarchs’ lead as well as the team’s response as they fought back. She’d check for typos later.
The time-out ended. Andrea watched Jamal step up to defend Cleveland’s Gibson. She wondered what DeMarcus had said to inspire the rookie. Warrick jogged past Vincent as the center kicked the ball out to him. He positioned his teammates with words and gestures. Andrea read the game clock. With two minutes and twenty-seven seconds left to the game, the Monarchs’ lead stood at 2 points.
For the next seventy-five seconds, the lead went back and forth between the Cavaliers and the Monarchs. Gibson caught an easy shot from behind the perimeter for a three-point basket. The Cavaliers led the game, 101 to the Monarchs’ 98. Their fans went wild. One minute and twelve seconds left in the game.
Anthony pulled in the ball for the Monarchs, drawing it away from the basket before tossing it to Vincent. The Monarchs’ center hustled up court as Cleveland’s Ramon Sessions shadowed him. Antawn Jamison guarded Serge at the post. Gibson kept Jamal from the perimeter. Anderson Varejao, the Cavaliers’ forward, pressured Anthony on the right. Cleveland’s Anthony Parker shadowed Warrick on the left. The crowd chanted “Defense!” in one thunderous and insistent voice.
Vincent feinted forward, pushing the Cavaliers back before passing the ball to Anthony. Nineteen seconds on the shot clock. Anthony stepped away from Varejao, luring the Cavaliers’ defense toward him. Without a clear shot, he handed off to Warrick. Warrick caught the ball. Fifteen seconds on the shot clock. He spun toward the post, dribbling right. The Cavaliers followed him like the Pied Piper. Jamal remained unguarded just outside the perimeter. Warrick threw the ball behind him. Jamal claimed it on the bounce. He danced to the arc and leaped for the three-point swoosh. The game was tied at 101.
Forty-two seconds on the game clock. Gibson dribbled the ball back down court. Jamal hurried after him. The Monarchs defended their assignments in and around the pain
t. Anthony stood with Varejao. Vincent stayed with Sessions. Serge blocked Jamison. Warrick defended Parker. In her mind, Andrea screamed “Defense!”
Thirty-eight seconds on the clock. The Monarchs covered the Cavaliers’ offense like cheap suits. Jamal stepped up as Gibson surged for ward—and drew the foul. Otto Nunez, the head referee, blew his whistle. The game clock stopped. The Cavaliers and Monarchs lined up on either side of the paint, waiting for Gibson to take his two free throws. Andrea’s hopes remained high. Gibson was only forty-one percent at the line. Surely, he wouldn’t make both baskets.
The first shot rode the rim before diving through. The second shot sank cleanly. Cavaliers, 103; Monarchs 101. Andrea was disgusted. Now Gibson decided to improve his free-throw percentage? Now?
Anthony jumped for the ball. He heaved it up to Vincent. The game clock started counting down from thirty-eight.
DeMarcus shouted instructions from the sidelines. Warrick directed his teammates on the court. Andrea felt the tension from five rows up. Was it from the players or from her? Less than a minute remained. The Cavaliers were up by 2. The Monarchs could go for the tie and send the game into overtime. But Andrea sensed the players’ fatigue. If they didn’t win in regulation, could they keep up with the younger team in overtime?
The game clock showed thirty-four seconds. The shot clock read twenty. Vincent advanced the ball to Anthony, who sent a rainbow to the basket. The shot fell short. Varejao jumped for the rebound. Serge slapped it away. Sessions reached for the loose ball. Vincent grabbed it from him, keeping the ball for the Monarchs.
Twenty-four seconds and counting. The shot clock turned off. Andrea’s heart was beating too fast. She felt light-headed. Vincent hit Serge near the post. Serge passed the ball to Anthony. Nineteen seconds. Anthony faked a three. The Cavaliers surged forward, then shifted back. Anthony sent the ball back to Serge. Seventeen seconds. Serge stepped back and went for the tie. Jamison tipped the ball. The shot slapped the rim. Fourteen seconds. Serge grabbed his own rebound and hooked the ball to Jamal. Jamal went for the three. The shot came up short. Warrick leaped and tipped the ball in. The game was tied at 103. Overtime seemed inevitable.
