It took the cop forever to write Evan’s ticket, so he had plenty of time to watch Miss Good Luck Charm. She was primping and lining her lips for the kill. Well, he wasn’t falling for that Medusa again. Amber had to be some kind of villainess because he’d crushed her at Tingle the other night and here she was, back again.
“Mr. Oliver, I have two tickets – one for speeding and one for obstruction of justice.”
“Obstruction of – ?”
“Your girlfriend tried to talk me out of writing you up. Said she was your therapist.” The cop glanced back in Amber’s direction just as she snapped a picture. “But I saw her throw herself at you at the game the other night and I also caught your latest photo online.” The cop looked Evan in the eye. “A word of advice. You just need to man-up to your responsibilities like the rest of us instead of hiding behind a woman.”
He thought Evan had asked Amber to bail him out of the ticket? Evan gripped the Ferrari’s key fob. “Did she tell you to say that to me?”
“Sign both of these before I release you, Mr. Oliver,” he said with a significant glance at Evan’s hand.
Evan signed both tickets without bashing the small clipboard against his head. Then he managed to drive one mile under the speed limit all the way to a playground he’d spotted last week in East L.A. He parked the car and posted his appearance on Twitter.
“Is this where you practice?” Amber said, appearing next to Evan as he grabbed his sports bag from the passenger seat.
“No. This is where I play.” Evan set the Ferrari’s alarm and headed toward the gate, trying really hard to keep an impenetrable lid on his anger.
Amber hobbled behind him in that tight skirt and those ridiculous stilettos of hers, giving him a sudden image of her wearing those heels – and only those heels – to bed. Anger warred with desire and he clenched his jaw.
“It’s a playground. You play against kids?” Amber laughed. “You don’t have time for this today, what with all the work we need to accomplish. I mean, three weeks. That’s what Jack said, right?”
Evan stopped. Amber’s breast brushed his arm. He turned, put his hands on her bare arms, squeezing her creamy, smooth skin as his lower body revved like his Italian sports car had outside the practice facility.
“Evan?” Her voice uncertain, Amber blinked those rich chocolate eyes up at him.
He wanted to eat her up, but he’d already been fined once today for losing control. Evan downshifted, turned Amber around and leaned down until his mouth was within nibbling distance of her delicately curved ear lobe. “Go home.” He swatted her tush.
Amber didn’t budge, although she angled her delicate pink lips over her shoulder toward him. “You can’t get rid of me. I helped you out with the cop, didn’t I? I’m sure he went easy on you after we talked.”
Evan’s fingers bit into her soft flesh. The crime of it was he remembered how sweet Amber tasted, how tight and warm she’d been around his finger and just where to touch her to make her cling to him.
What he didn’t know was how to get rid of her.
“I’ve got business to take care of. Beat it.” Evan released her, swatting her again, harder this time.
Amber wobbled a few steps before righting herself and swiveling to face him. “I’ve got business of my own. I’m staying.”
Evan shrugged and entered the run down playground. With carefully controlled movements, he set his bag on the wooden bleachers, changed into basketball shoes and stripped off his shirt. Amber took a seat one row up, sticking out like fine china at a picnic.
Five guys were out on the court shooting around a bent hoop with a chain net.
“Who’s ready for a game?” Evan called.
The players, a mix of tattooed blacks and Hispanics, looked him over, then huddled up, shaking their heads.
“Fifty bucks,” Evan said, trying not to let on he was as desperate for a game as a junkie was for his next fix. “Win or lose.”
A short baller frowned at him. “We don’t feel like playin’.”
“I thought the best streetballers in L.A. played here.” He checked his watch. “Did I come too early?”
“Man, we know who you are. Everybody on the street knows the Candy Man.”
“Yeah, move on, white boy.”
“You noticed I’m white, huh?” Evan took a ball from his bag, dribbled twice and then put the ball in the air. It clanked against the rusted rim and bounced back to him. “I suck. Come on. Easy money.”
“Evan, maybe we should just go,” Amber said, the voice of reason when Evan wanted nothing but to shed rationality and crash his body against someone else’s.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” he bit out. “Or a coach.”
“Why don’t you listen to what your bitch says?” An overweight black man hitched his way across the court to Evan, full of bravado.
Finally. “Okay. I was willing to part with a C-note for anyone who had the balls to play me…us.” Evan stared at Amber, suddenly inspired. If she had any common sense, she’d leave. “Two-on-two.”
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“I’m being Evan Oliver, an arrogant, ego centric asshole who can win with monkeys on the court.” He noticed a couple of the guys were high fiving each other. “Or in this case, with one luscious package in high heels on the court.”
Holding out his hand to help her down, Evan smiled, adrenaline flooding his veins. This was perfect. Amber was going to make an exit Paris Hilton would be proud of. He’d never see her again. And then Evan was going to slaughter these guys.
Amber hesitated.
He turned the screws some more. “You can dribble, right?”
“No. I flunked P.E.”
“You never flunked a course in your life.”
Amber’s breath hitched and Evan wasn’t sure if she was trying not to cry or not to fly at him in a rage. Her eyes narrowed and her voice dropped dangerously low. “You saw the 60 Minutes documentary.”
Grinning, he spun the ball on the tip of his finger. Any second now she’d blow this crime scene. “I know how to surf the internet, Amber. I think we established that the other night.” When he’d realized her orgasms had a sweet pattern to them. It was too bad he’d never hear that melody again.
“You got yourself a game, man,” someone said behind him.
Evan kept grinning at Amber. This was perfect. He’d drawn them in and once Amber left they’d have no choice but to spot him another player or play one-on-one.
Three guys lumbered past them and into courtside seats.
And still Amber stood staring unhappily at Evan.
“If you don’t play, you’re going to have to leave,” Evan said reasonably, ignoring the maniacal laughter in his head and the now familiar throb between his legs. He needed to blow off excess energy one way or another – heart pumping basketball or muscle straining sex.
“You’re bluffing.” Amber tossed her long auburn hair back. “You can’t want me to play. I’m in a skirt and heels.”
“Life is all about bluffing, Amber.” He leaned in close enough to smell the coconut she used on her hair and to whisper, “You just have to decide when to fold and when to call.”
“Don’t deny him now, Mama. I’m gonna be dreamin’ about this game for months,” said one of the bystanders, who wore a dingy white, wife-beater tee and long orange basketball shorts that barely clung to his slim hips. “This is gonna be the time somebody whips the Candy Man’s ass on the street of life.”
“See?” Amber crossed her arms which only plumped up her delectable breasts. “Why choose me? He thinks you’re going to lose if I’m your partner.”
“You’re not my partner.” Evan frowned.
Amber knew she should give up, but she only had limited time to get through to Evan. And today wasn’t going to be one of them. With a sigh, she opened her mouth to give in.
And then she saw it – a glimmer of disappointment in Evan’s eyes. She was reminded of the longing on Evan’s face when he’d talked about his dreams of Superstudom. What was it her father used to say? People who want to change are already halfway to the life of their dreams.
“If I do this…” She couldn’t do this. She could barely walk in this skirt. Amber stood on the bleachers above him, nearly as tall as Evan in her heels. “If I do this, you have to work with me and the Rules.”
“No, I don’t.” Evan bounced the ball. Hard.
He was obstinate. A new tactic was required. “You won’t play Evan unless I play, will you?” Amber called to the two men out on the court.
They sniggered and shook their heads.
Hands on hips, Amber held Evan’s gaze. “How bad do you want to play?”
Evan squeezed the basketball in front of his chest and then bounced it harder on the pavement, catching it easily without breaking eye contact with Amber. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
It wasn’t an agreement, but it wasn’t a refusal either. As Evan stalked onto the court, Amber felt the tiniest spark of accomplishment. A spark immediately extinguished when she realized she had to follow him.
Trapped in her tight skirt, Amber put her knees on the bottom bench, swiveled around, then reached out with her uninjured toe for the pavement.
“Girl, you are in a heap of trouble. Mmm-hmmm.”
“I can handle it,” Amber said smiling at her audience, more to bolster herself than to shut them up.
Evan stood at center court with his opponents. Neither playground player was over six feet tall. It looked like the group had gone with speed, not muscle. Both had attitude in spades, but he’d take care of that soon enough.
“Name’s Bo,” said the taller of the pair. “This here’s Petey. Half court rules. Winners take it out. Play to eleven. And we get the ball first.”
“Sure.” Evan was still annoyed that he’d been unable to run Amber off. What the hell was she thinking? Streetball was the one place Evan felt in control. Other players didn’t demand cooperation. Coaches didn’t screech at him. His father’s voice didn’t intrude while he played, not that his father’s soundtrack had played in his head since the old man died.
Heels clacked behind him. Amber tapped his shoulder. “Your monkey needs instructions.”
This was a bad idea, but he wasn’t going to let Amber or anyone else see it. He pointed at the free throw line. “All you have to do is stand there. Don’t move. If I need you, you’ll have to catch the ball and then throw it to me again when I ask for it.” Evan had no intention of letting her touch the ball. He went back to mid-court.
Bo stood with his toes on the faded half-court line. He bounce passed the ball to Evan, who said, “Check,” as he passed it back.
“Oh, yeah. The bitch has to touch the ball before you can score.” Bo added a rule.
Petey giggled.
“Not a problem,” Evan agreed, fingers itching to slam the ball in the hoop or someone’s face.
Amber started to protest both the term Bo used for her and her involvement, but Bo dribbled to Evan’s right, bouncing the ball low to the ground. Petey ran to the basket, but Evan was between the two men. When Bo tried to pass up high Evan’s hand was in his face. When he leaned over, Evan’s long arms were there. Despite being outnumbered (because who really counted Amber), Evan controlled the game. Amber was mesmerized.
“Petey, move,” Bo shouted, gesturing to the corner of the court.
Petey ran over, but Evan shifted his body in the way. Bo tried to pass anyway. Leaping up, Evan palmed the ball mid-air as if his hand was covered in fly paper and then he dribbled back toward the center of the court.
Bo swore, jumping up and down. “The bitch has to touch it! The bitch has to touch it!”
“Amber!” Evan tossed the ball to her as he passed and then ran to the center line.
Back to the basket, she fumbled the ball, catching it as footsteps thundering behind her.
“Amber!” Evan waved his hands. “The ball!”
“Oh.” Amber threw it weakly at Evan and then Bo and Petey thundered past on either side of her, bumping Amber on her shoulders and sending her tumbling down to her hands and knees.
A moment later Evan helped her up, smiling like a little kid. “Are you okay?”
The heels of her hands stung and her knees throbbed, making her legs wobble. Both were oozing blood. There was a reason she’d chosen to take sports like badminton, ping pong and yoga in high school P.E. – people didn’t try to demolish you. Amber blinked back tears. If there was no crying in baseball, there certainly wasn’t crying in this blood sport.
She stifled a sniffle and said in a small voice she immediately hated, “I’m okay.” Amber cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m okay.” Gingerly, she brushed at the dirt and torn skin on her knees. She wouldn’t be able to wear a skirt again for weeks.
“Great screen,” Evan said. “But we need to work on your catch and pass technique.”
Catch? With her hands torn up?
“And it would help a lot if you could move,” Evan added. “Side to side. Quickly.”
In this skirt? In these heels? Not a chance.
“Amber.” Evan bent until they were eye level. “Catch and pass. Move around. Can you do that?”
He still wanted her to play? What was the point? Evan would never try the Rules. This was just another of his attempts to make sure Amber knew who was the boss. She considered slapping Evan, but her palms hurt too much.
“You could forfeit,” Bo said. Then he giggled, leading the crowd in cruel laughter.
Amber was sick of being the butt of people’s jokes. It was so unfair. Here she was trying to earn a living and people still didn’t take her seriously. Something hot and fanatical steadied Amber’s legs, kind of like the anger she’d experienced inside Wicked Tantric.
“What kind of idiot knocks over a girl?” Amber took a threatening step toward Bo, but Evan drew her back. She strained against him.
“Easy there, killer. I thought you were injured,” Evan said.
“This is nothing compared to a shoe sale at Barneys.” Amber shrugged Evan’s hold away. Except in Barneys she was on steady ground and a level playing field – everyone was in heels. For a moment Amber considered playing in her bare feet, but the asphalt was cracked and rolling. She needed sneakers or at the very least shoes without a heel…
Evan was peering at her. “What’s going on in that head of yours? Are you playing or not?” There was a barely discernable note of unease in this last question.
The fact that Amber was becoming expert enough at reading Evan that she could pick up on what little emotion he let slip made her realize she had no choice but to continue.
“I need something from my car. I’ll be right back.” With uneven, skirt-limited strides, Amber crossed the court, trying to ignore her aches.
“Was it too much for you, baby? Come to Big Papa for some smoo-ooth lovin’.”
“Heads up, Petey. She’s going to get some heat.”
“A mama like that can bring heat to my crib anytime.”
Amber turned her back on the catcalls and tamped down the shrewish shrieking woman in her head who thought she had the ideal comeback. She returned shortly, wearing her Tinkerbell driving slippers, fairy wings and silver wands sparkling in the sunshine. Her father had given them to her several years ago. Amber’s big toe throbbed and the melodic ring of fairy dust fell with every step she took, but at least she had a better chance of staying on her feet.
Evan was trying not to crack a smile and not doing a very good job of it. The men in the bleachers went wild, pointing at her and chortling. But the blood was pounding in Amber’s ears now and she couldn’t hear the words they used to make fun of her.
“Hurry up and beat these punks, Oliver. We have lots to do today.”
Evan’s smile broke out, an infectious germ that she had a hard time warding off.
Amber turned toward the basket with a sprinkling of fairy dust. “How many points do we need? Eleven?”
“Ten. We’re up one nothing.”
“You scored?” Amber spun back around and scowled, wrinkles be damned. “You just watched them take me down and did nothing?”
“I did my job.” And then he grinned. “And you did yours. Great screen, Tink.”
Again with the screen. “Yeah, I felt like a screen door.” After two brats ran through it to chase after the ice cream truck. God help Amber for being stupid. She wasn’t quitting. “Where do you want me to go?”
Her reward for continuing to be Evan’s monkey was another smile, this one pure joy.
He loves this game.
“Stand here.”
Obediently, Amber stepped out with Disney-like sound effects to where he wanted her, trying hard not to fall for Evan’s infectious grin. She’d fallen too much lately.
“This time stand with your feet hip distance apart.” Evan tried shoving her foot out with his, but Amber’s pencil skirt held her leg in place. He frowned, tugging on the gray woven fabric. “You can’t play like this. It’s too dangerous.”
There was a God and he was showing Amber mercy. “Maybe one of the other guys can take my – ” Amber screamed as Evan ripped the side seam of her skirt up to her hip. When she was able to breath again she whispered hoarsely, “This is BCBG.” And she hadn’t even bought it on sale.
“Now it’s BBOK.” Evan stood, placed a hand over each of her hips and swayed her back and forth as if they were dancing. “Basketball OK.”
Immediately, the pain of Amber’s fall disappeared, replaced by an alarming burst of need. At her feet, Tinkerbell’s wands trembled in disapproval.
“Yeah,” Evan said in a husky voice. “You’ll be much harder to take down now.”
“I’m no pushover,” Amber choked out, surveying her ruined skirt before fisting it together with one hand.
“No, you’re not that easy.” Evan lifted her chin, his gray eyes darkening.
Cat calls erupted from the stands that were now nearly filled. They’d drawn quite a crowd.
“Are you gonna get a room or play?” Bo punctuated the question with a two-handed bounce.
“Play.” Evan turned away, leaving Amber’s hormones cooling as her skirt flapped in the breeze.
What a day to wear a thong. At least she’d gotten a bikini wax last week. Her fingers curled into the fabric once more.
“Don’t let them knock you down,” Amber muttered under her breath. “You’ll be standing and triumphant when this is over.” And that much closer to making the Foundation solvent.
At center court Evan passed the ball to Bo, who said, “Check,” in that foreign ritual that had started the game. Before Amber could blink Evan began tearing down the court, Bo hot on his heels, straight at Petey, who rocked on the balls of his feet, arms out. Evan pivoted at the last second, spinning away from Petey but ending up past Petey and nearer Amber.
He thrust the ball at her. Amber tried to grab it, but her fingers barely touched it before Evan continued past her, flying through the air and dunking the ball in the hoop.
Bo and Petey panted as they pow-wowed beneath the basket.
“Two-zip.” Glowing, Evan jogged back to Amber, shaking a wayward lock of dark brown hair from his eyes. He hadn’t even broken a sweat. “You were fabulous.”
“I didn’t do anything.” He’d barely let her touch the ball and Amber had trickles of perspiration tickling her cleavage.
“You didn’t get taken out though, did you?”
He was right about that, but Amber was starting to understand what Jack Gordon was talking about. Being the monkey on the court felt like doo-doo. She wanted to quit.
No. That wasn’t quite right. She wanted to punch Evan and then quit. She’d never punched anyone in her life.
Petey faced Amber. He plopped one dirty hand on her arm and kept track of Evan over his shoulder.
Ugh. He reeked of sweat, cheap cologne and cigarettes.
“Smoking is bad for your lungs.” Amber pushed Petey away, but he came right back, muttering something about bitches not knowing the game.
“Tsk. Tsk. Language, Petey,” Amber chastised.
Bo and Evan did that check thing again. And then Evan started down the court so fast it seemed she barely had time to blink before he was nearly on top of her. She and Petey were locked in an arm war. She wasn’t going to be able to get a hand free to touch the ball. Evan dribbled by, bounced the ball off her head lightly, caught it and continuing on to the basket. “Three-zip.”
Petey swore. Very creatively.
Amber shoved Petey and this time he stepped away. She turned to Evan, rubbing her crown. “Do I look like something you bounce a ball off of?”
“Get your hands out next time and I’ll pass to you.” Evan grabbed her wrists and moved her hands palm out in front of her chest. “Relax your fingers, accept the ball and release, accept and release.”
Amber’s fingers clenched into fists and she considered slugging him.
Less than ten minutes later Amber was hobbling to her car. Evan be damned. She was going home. Tomorrow was another day. Amber was dirty and sweaty. Her slippers were scuffed irreparably, one of Tink’s wands was missing and her skirt was in tatters. The toe she’d stubbed in the Flash’s parking lot ached, as did her scraped hands and knees. And then there were the bruises she was certain to have – one on her head from Evan’s bounce and one from Petey knocking her on her ass. Her opponent had gotten a good hard look at her crotch before she told him pissy little perverts got kneed in the balls.
When had she become so violent?
“Amber, wait up. We’ve got another game.” Evan tugged Amber back around.
“You mean you’re paying someone a hundred bucks to beat me up some more?” Amber shook her head. “No thanks. You win.” This way she’d live to fight Evan about the Rules another day.
“We’re having fun.”
“You’re having fun.” Amber made a face. “For me, it was more like torture.”
Evan stopped her with a hand on her arm, flashing a cajoling grin. “Hey, the guys are waiting.”
She would not fall prey to that boyish enthusiasm again. “No.”
“But – ”
“You aren’t paying me enough.” Amber freed herself. “Oh, that’s right. You’re not paying me at all. See ya.”
Ball under one arm, Evan watched Amber drive away. That sucked. He trotted back to get his sports bag, made his excuses and then left, smiling. Amber may look like a fragile, high maintenance babe, but she wasn’t. She’d gone down on that delectable ass of hers and hadn’t done more than talk smack and slug Petey in the shoulder when Evan helped her up. Amber and her Tinkerbell slippers could have walked at any time, but it wasn’t until they’d won the game that she’d left. Now this was something to Tweet about.
Her Mercedes was two lights up, blinker signaling she was entering the freeway. Amber had what his grandmother used to call gumption. She’d disrupted an NBA game, stood up to Jack Gordon and played streetball.
Shit. Amber Rule was the most fun Evan had run into since…since he didn’t know when.
Evan accelerated onto the freeway. Amber’s Mercedes was about ten cars ahead of him. He should call her, but his cell phone was in his sports bag in the trunk. Maybe he’d follow her back to her office and let her know that he’d do this life coaching thing. That would pacify Jack. Sooner or later the Flash owner would realize Amber had no influence on his game.
Until then, Evan was going to play.