by Mj Fields
He chuckles, making me presume he did take notice.
“I have no idea what your father was thinking when he basically begged me to come play for him. I haven’t played in years. I’m a washed-up, out of practice player. But, he did everything he could to bring me back to this game.”
I turn and look back at him. “If you want out of the contract, I can have it dissolved.”
He hands me back the glass I set down. “Chill, Courtney, and listen to me.”
“Will you leave if I do?” I ask, taking the glass and swigging it back, hoping it will, in fact, chill my heated body.
“I can go back to the apartment, but you’re stuck with me.”
I sit down across the table from him. “How can I get you out of here? Set you up in a different hotel than the rest of the team?”
“Look at this view,” he says, turning his attention to it. “You can put me in a penthouse suite, and I’d still pick this place over it.”
I look back at the lake and the sun that is starting to set. It’s remarkable, but there must be a way to get him out. Yes, he’s nice to look at and looking is fine, but being close to him, as sexual as he talks and the way he looks at me, it makes me feel things I shouldn’t. He needs to go or I will be an even bigger joke. Rhodes and another Boeheim castoff.
“That hot tub has been part of my nightly routine.” He gestures toward the hot tub that is sitting off to the side of the patio. “The lake gives me a dozen things to do while I’m not at the arena. Unless you want me to take off and go home, allowing me to keep the salary, then you’re stuck with me.”
I almost tell him to go, but then he continues.
“As I was saying, I have no idea what the hell your dad wanted out of me, but clearly it has a lot to do with you.”
“With me?” I huff, clearly confused and in disagreement.
“You and Brock.”
“Wrong. Brock was closer to him than his own children.”
“Was,” he points out. “Bringing me on was a surefire way of pissing him off.”
“Maybe Coach D wanted you here. He has that picture of the three of you in his office.”
“From years ago. And no, he doesn’t want me here; trust me.” He shakes his head.
“Why? Did you try to screw his wife or something?”
He cringes slightly, and then his jaw tightens. “So Brock got to you, did he?”
“About all the women he and you shared? The exes you slept with after he broke things off with them? Or the last one that you cheated with behind his back?”
He chuckles. “Is that what he told you?”
“He didn’t need to. It was all over the internet.”
“So, he never mentioned it? Fucking coward,” he mutters.
“You never came up.” I take a big drink of my wine and sit back.
He smirks. “Good, but I can promise you, I will come up, and you’re gonna promise me not to believe a word that comes out of his lying mouth.” The way he says the last part is much more intense and raw, like there is some deeper meaning than him just trying to save face.
Then he smiles and shrugs. “The way I see it, your dad wasn’t as impressed with Brock as Brock is impressed with himself. That’s why he brought me on. Think about that, Courtney. Then think about how all the men treat you, including Coach. And then, when you feel like there is no hope for this thing you’re doing, the moment before you throw your hands in the air and call it quits, come talk to me.”
He has a point, but it makes me feel even less confident than I was when I came here. Surely Dad knew Brock wanted me. Brock once mentioned the praise Dad gave him for being protective over me with the media. He never mentioned it to me, but why would Brock lie about it?
Because he’s a cheater, dumbass.
“You’re telling me not to trust all these people my father trusted? Why? And why should I trust you?”
He throws back his wine then sets the empty glass on the table. “Because I know things. I know people. You don’t yet...not these people. When you wake up and look around to see what I say is real, when that knocks you on your ass—”
“Enough,” I cut him off. “I have enough to deal with. I don’t need this, too.” I stand up, and he does, too.
I start to walk into the house when he takes my elbow and turns me toward him.
“Tomorrow, when you go to the arena, you’re gonna need a friend, Courtney. I’m not going to lie to you and say I’m here for the love of the game. I’m here because a man—your father—handed me a shit ton of money, knowing it would piss Boeheim off. I need the money; the pissing Boeheim off is an addition. Meeting you and finding out you are as attractive as you are”—he looks me up and down in an insinuating way—“that’s a bonus. We’ll be friends, at very least.” He releases my elbow, and then walks toward the garage, and apparently, to his apartment.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Not In The Picture
TRAE
I LOOK AT THE CLOCK as I shoot a three-pointer. Wade Walker, Gregory Gallinari, Derrick Anthony, John Casspi, Jason Black, Michael Parker, and I are the only ones here, and it’s already fifteen minutes into our practice schedule. As I mentioned to Courtney last night, she alienated half the team.
Looking up, I see her on the bridge high above us, looking down. Then my gaze travels toward the tunnel, where I see Brock, with Damien Rose, Chandler Howard, Dwight Johnson, Dwayne Stalks, Wes Matthews, and Will Parsons following him in. When I look up again, Courtney is storming down the bridge toward the elevator.
“Nice of you to join us,” Coach D says with irritation in his tone. “Just under the wire, too.”
“My watch says seventeen after,” I tell him, knowing that, contractually, they have a fifteen-minute window. That means they are two minutes over.
“We were here,” Stalks says snidely.
“One would think round three on the court would attempt to be here on time to improve their skills,” I retort, mimicking his tone.
He puffs out his chest. “And who the fuck are you?”
“Trae Rhodes,” I answer.
“Injured player who old man Cohen brought back from the dead,” he jokes, his tone still snide.
“And I’m one hundred and ten percent, Stalks, making more than you, so maybe you oughta fall back in line, player, resume position, and nose up Brock’s ass,” I jab back.
When Derrick Anthony laughs, Brock shoots daggers at him. “You only stuck around knowing he’s gonna get some of your time,” Brock declares, because Anthony and I are both shooting guards.
“Means he has a brain in his head, unlike Dwight.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Dwight asks.
“Means, he fucks up, you’re starting center,” I explain, something that shouldn’t need explaining. “Yet, here you are, following what you consider your leader.”
“That’s enough, Rhodes,” Coach D warns.
“I disagree.”
There she is, her pissed off, raspy voice coming from behind me.
“Courtney, I’ve got this,” Coach says as her heels click across the court, moving closer to us.
“Coach, your men should be on the court no later than fifteen minutes after practice starts. They weren’t.” She glances at me before quickly looking away.
“We were in the damn building, babe,” Brock says to her.
She looks up at him. “My name is Courtney. Miss Cohen, if you prefer.”
Gallinari snickers. “She just Janet Jacksoned your ass.”
“Each of you will see it in your paychecks,” Courtney says, ignoring Gallinari’s remark as she lifts her chin.
“We don’t even get a warning?” Johnson hisses.
“Your warning is: do it again, and it will happen again.” She turns and looks at Coach. “This should also reflect their play time.”
“Courtney...” he starts in a warning tone, his face turning red.
“If you have a problem with that, come s
ee me in my office.” With that, she turns on her heels and walks off the court. And she looks damn good doing it, too.
“You better back off, Rhodes,” Brock hisses, catching the line of sight my eyes are following.
“Why? ‘Cause you got it handled?” I toss the ball and the snide comment he made the first day of practice about Courtney at him. “Man thinks he can handle ass when all he’s ever been worried about is his balls, and you all follow along. Dumb move, men, dumb move.”
“You want us to follow a broken baller instead?” Dwight asks, puffing out his chest and tossing a chest pass at me.
I catch the pass, answering, “I want you all to follow your contracts and worry about your careers, pal. But if you wanna follow someone, follow someone who knows how to lead.” I pass the ball to Parker.
***
WHILE COACH MEETS WITH THE beautiful Miss Cohen, we get schooled in the weight room by the assistant coach, Landry. To say practice went well would be a bold-faced lie. It sucked, and now I am dog-ass tired.
When I get back to the house, I see Courtney in the garage with some suit-wearing tool. I get out of my truck and walk in.
“I know they’re not easy to get rid of, Miss Cohen, but they will bring in a good penny.” The suit-wearing tool nods at the cars then looks at me. “I’m a huge Stallions fan.”
“Oh, you’re the one,” I joke.
Courtney bites her lip and tries her best not to laugh.
“You’re the new guy on the Stallions?” he asks.
I shake his outstretched hand and nod. “Trae Rhodes.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Rhodes.” He grins before turning back toward Courtney, who has yet to acknowledge my presence. “You’re sure about selling all of them?”
She nods. “Except the one I’m driving.”
“Wait, hold up. You’re selling the Spyder?”
She finally looks at me and nods.
“You can’t do that,” I tell her.
She gives me her infamous eye roll and simply walks out of the garage, suit-wearing tool sales guy following her.
I go and sit inside the car, wishing like hell she wouldn’t sell it.
I hear the suit start up his car and pull out, and then Courtney comes back in and shuts the garage door.
“You gotta keep the Spyder, Courtney. Do you know how good you’ll look with the top down and your crazy, sexy hair flying in the wind from the passenger seat, with me driving?”
“You are a bad man, you know that?” she says, trying not to smile.
“Bad?” I ask, getting out and walking over to the wall of keys.
“You say you want to help; you stick up for me to the team, even though I know it’s your intention to piss off Brock; and then you flirt mercilessly with me.”
“It’s part of my charm,” I tell her, opening the passenger side door of the Spyder. “Let’s take a ride.”
She takes a step back. “I don’t think so.”
I ignore her, grabbing her hand and pulling her forward.
“If you think I’m going to let you drive this car, you’re out of your—”
I grab her hips, effectively shutting her up, and then turn her so she is facing me with her ass to the car.
She giggles then tries to hide it, but she’s comfortable, and I’m really damn comfortable touching her.
“Just a quick spin,” I tell her.
As I push her back into the seat, she says, “This is not happening.”
I can’t help laughing as I shut the passenger door, walk around the front, climb in, and start it up. I rev the engine a few too many times, and then back out of the garage. I’m excited to show her just what this thing can do, and to get her to loosen the hell up. No one deserves to feel like they are on edge all the damn time.
“I should be the one driving,” she says, pulling on her seatbelt.
“You ever drive a stick?”
“No, but I’m sure it’s not hard.”
“With you driving, I sure as hell bet it would be.” I wink, and then pull my shades down.
“You never shut it off, do you?” she scolds, but there is humor in her voice.
“When you got it, you got it, Courtney. We got it.” With that, I peel out onto the road and let the ass end fishtail.
She squeals like a little girl, placing her hands over her stomach. “Don’t do that again!”
“Oh, I’m definitely going to do that again.”
When I get to the stop sign, I look over at her and rev the engine. She has a smile on her face, and her eyes are as wide as saucers.
“You ready?” I ask as I hit the button to bring the top down.
“No!” She tries to sound stern, but when I nail the gas, she squeals out another laugh.
“Hang on, Court; we’re going for a ride.” I laugh along with her.
As we fly down West Lake Highway, she starts to relax.
I reach over and pull the clip out of her hair, letting it fly wildly. She briefly looks at me, and I expect—and deserve—to be scolded for the intimate move, but then her black hair flies in her face and she laughs again.
“Couldn’t be helped,” I say loud enough for her to hear over the roar of the wind. I honestly couldn’t help myself. She’s something else. No clue what that something is, but I like it. “You needed the full effect.”
“The full effect would be driving it,” she says back with a smile.
“I’ll tell you what; this isn’t a vehicle to learn a stick on. I’ll teach you on my old truck. And then, when you get the hang of it, we step you up to this.”
“Sounds good.” She continues to smile as she looks away, leaning her head back into the head rest.
Sure does, I think to myself. Sure does.
“What’s that?” she asks, pointing toward the water.
“San Juan Islands. Pretty damn cool place. Kayaked there the first weekend I was out here.”
“Kayak,” she says, as if considering it.
“I’ll teach you that, too.”
“So, you’re a teacher, huh?” she jokes, looking at me.
“Actually, I did some teaching at a local school.”
“What college?” she asks.
“Not a college.” I look back at the road. “High school.”
Teaching was substituting for a PE teacher occasionally. I liked it. Can see myself doing it fulltime someday.
“So, you gave up teaching high school for this?”
I look over to see if she’s joking, and she smiles.
“I was joking,” she assures. “It’s a noble profession.”
“Just coached and subbed a few times. When this ends, I’m going back. And yeah, I’ll take the job if it becomes available. I like kids. Untainted.”
“You have a daughter?”
I nod once. “Been doing your homework, huh?”
“No, I just—”
“Don’t be shy about it. Hell, I like it.” It’s cool that she’s looking into me.
“You know a lot about me, so I figured I should dig deeper.”
“Deep enough to find my best kept secret? I’d say good job, but I’d like to know how you found out.”
“Wasn’t me. My friend Christa. But why hide it?”
“She’s our world. We prefer she doesn’t get dragged into a media shit-show.” And I will continue doing so to protect my four-year-old little one.
“Our?”
I nod. “My family.”
“And your—”
“Her mom’s not in the picture, Courtney. If she was, do you think I’d be trying to get in your little black panties? I’m not that kind of guy.”
She may not be used to a guy who’s not like Brock, but she’ll learn.
It takes her a few second, but then she grins. “White.”
“Excuse me?” I nearly drive off the side of the road, wondering if she’s seriously talking about her panties to me.
“Today, they’re white.”
“Fuck.” Didn�
�t expect that at all. But I sure as hell like it.
I hit the gas, and she laughs out loud again.
Nothing is said for the rest of the ride. Besides, if I said a damn thing, it would have warranted an X rating, and I have the upper hand right now. She feels foolish for telling me what color panties she’s wearing.
Back at the house, I park the car and put up the top before shutting the car off.
She looks over at me and nods. “I’ll consider it.”
I bite my lip, trying not to make this turn dirty. It fucking hurts.
“The car, the friendship—I’ll consider it.”
“Great.” I smile at her. “I have some steaks marinating for dinner. I’m gonna cook them up, and maybe you’ll consider eating with me?”
She nods. “I’ll make a salad or something after I shower.”
“We could take one together. Save water,” I suggest.
“Go away,” she says with a giggle, but then she’s the one to get out of the car and head inside.
***
WHEN I WALK OUT ONTO the patio with a platter of steaks in hand, I hear her voice coming from inside the house, and then I hear his.
“It’s none of your business. Now leave,” she says.
“No, I have more right to be here than he does. Your father would be so disappointed in you.”
Fucking Boeheim.
I set down the plate and start toward her back door. Then I hear it.
“He hired him. He told him he can stay here, so he has every right. And again, Brock, it’s none of your freaking business!”
Here we go, Court. You see me, now take the fucking leap.
“He’s going to ruin you, this team, and everything good in my life!”
Hearing him yell at her is like déjà vu, and even though she sounds like she has it under control, I can’t stop myself from walking inside.
“She told you to step, so I’d get to stepping,” I warn, walking toward him.
“Keep coming at me, and I’ll ruin you...again.” He beckons me to him.
“Ruin me?” I chuckle darkly. “Look at me, and look at you. I’m far from ruined.”
“That’s enough.” Courtney steps in my way, facing Boeheim. “Now leave.”
“This ain’t over,” Brock hisses at me then looks at her.
“It’s been over for months. Now leave, or I’ll call the police.”
