Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
The rhythmic bouncing of basketballs echoed around The Link’s old gym as Jordan called out instructions to the kids. For the last six months, he’d been coaching these boys two afternoons a week.
The place was a total dump that hadn’t seen a renovation since it was built in the seventies. The floors creaked with every step, peeling paint covered the walls, and the air smelled faintly of old sneakers and sweat. But for a lot of these kids, it was home.
Jordan could relate to that. His neighborhood in Chicago had a place like this. Gang violence was never far. Drug dealers came right inside to sell to the kids. It wasn’t always safe, but it had basketballs, so when he wasn’t at the dojo doing martial arts training, he was shooting hoops.
For a kid who was always getting in trouble, or looking for it, it had been a saving grace. After his dad died in a workplace accident, his mom moved him and Sean to an even shittier part of town so she could afford rent, and he’d lost that place too.
Coaching these kids at The Link was a fluke opportunity.
During his first month in Portland, he’d been connected, through someone at Sean’s gym, to a social reintegration program in town where ex-offenders worked with at-risk youth in a mentorship capacity.
He sure as shit was nobody’s mentor, but he had skills on the court and a past they could learn from, so he’d been paired with the center and offered a chance to coach the basketball team. Turned out, he fucking loved it.
He was in the middle of giving some pointers to a tall, lanky kid named Beck when the door to the gym swung open with a loud creak.
Beck faltered mid-dribble, his gaze veering over Jordan’s shoulder, his tenuous focus evaporating. It didn’t take much to distract the young point guard, but Jordan was curious enough to look and see what he was staring at.
A woman walked in.
Not just any woman—her.
He hadn’t seen Vanessa since she’d rescued the damn rabbit, who, fuck his life, still refused to show himself when Jordan arrived for the daily feedings.
Vanessa strutted into the gym like she owned it, a flawless combination of grace and sharp edges. Her hips swinging as she made her way across the space in mile-high heels that were definitely leaving marks on the floor. A group of teenage girls trailed behind her like a brood of ducklings.
It didn’t look right, a woman like her walking through a dingy, run-down gym, with peeling linoleum floors in those fancy shoes. She belonged somewhere different. Somewhere worthy of her presence. Somewhere he would most definitely not be welcome.
She came to a stop in front of him, popping a hip and planting her hand on it.
Don’t stare, don’t stare, don’t you fucking stare. He kept his gaze glued to hers, but those big brown eyes, all fire and golden flecks, turned out to be as distracting as her killer hips. Dammit, he was no better than the teenager behind him.
“What are you doing here?” Her demand was sharp and reverberated through the gym.
For a second, Jordan didn’t respond, caught off guard by the sheer absurdity of the situation.
“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?” He challenged. “A long way from the Gucci runway, don’t you think, princess?”
She tossed her dark mane over her shoulder in a signature move he was becoming familiar with.
The hair toss meant she was about to get real snooty, and the anticipation of it had all the blood draining to his midsection.
To retaliate against his traitorous body, he planted his feet and crossed his arms, not missing the way her gaze followed the movement.
Hopefully she wasn’t catching any motion below the belt. The athletic shorts he was wearing wouldn’t do much to hide his reaction to her.
“I’m volunteering,” she stated, and he noted how the word barely made it out of her mouth. For all he knew, it was the first time she’d even uttered it.
“Volunteering?” He let the skepticism in his tone draw out the word nice and long.
Vanessa tipped her chin higher. Anymore and that pretty little nose would hit the shoddy ceiling fans. “I’m helping organize the Valentine’s fashion show, and we’re using the gym as our venue.”
Despite his best efforts to keep a straight face, he coughed out a laugh. “A fashion show?”
“Yes.” She appeared to be fully serious.
He blinked at her, momentarily speechless. Again. “Here?”
Now she crossed her arms, her right knee jutting out as her left hip popped up and a pout spread across her lips. “Why not?”
There was no need to point out the state of this dump. Hardly fit to coach basketball in, never mind host a fashion show.
“I’m going to build a runway. We’re here to take measurements.” She held up a measuring tape.
“You.” He stayed silent for a beat, giving her time to repeat herself, because surely he had misheard. When she said nothing, he clarified, “You’re building a runway?”
One of her elegant shoulders lifted and fell in a casual gesture. “My father is a master craftsman in woodworking. I learned a thing or two from him growing up.”
When he didn’t respond, she let out a low breath, and his dick responded by swelling all the more.
“Oh come on, Zeus, it’s not that hard. You use a power tool to drill a few sheets of plywood together. Easy.”
Fuck me. The images that materialized in his mind, of her holding a power tool, could send him back to prison. He shifted his stance to hide his discomfort.
“Now, if you all would just—” She fluttered her hand as if to dismiss the basketball players. “We’ll get to work.”
Was it wrong that the fucking nerve of this woman was turning him on? Her audacity knew no bounds. He’d been dealing with it, with her for months, so when had it become such a fucking turn-on?
“I’m coaching,” he enunciated loudly, satisfaction tempering his desire when she reared back slightly. He stretched his arm wide to show the room of star-struck teenage boys behind him. God knew the state those poor fellows were in. “We’ll be done in forty-five minutes.”
“Wait, Coach, we can—” Beck’s voice cracked as he came up beside Jordan, and he cleared his throat nervously. “We can help the girls measure stuff.”
All the boys nodded eagerly, turning the same shade of beet red when Vanessa turned her million-watt smile on them.
“Aw, isn’t that so sweet.” She glared at Jordan. “And kind.” Glancing back at Beck with her sugar smile, she added, “What’s your name?”
“That’s Beck,” a girl in Vanessa’s entourage said in a bored tone, although when Jordan glanced at her, he noticed her blush quickly.
Vanessa stretched her arm out, extending the measuring tape toward the lovestruck teen. “Great. Well, Beck, I’m thinking right along center court is where we need to start measuring.” She turned to her girls and clapped her hands. “Alright, let’s plan a show!”
Everyone scattered, even the boys. That was how fast Vanessa Barone steamrolled his entire practice.
An hour and a half later, Jordan grabbed his bicycle out of the lock-up area in the staff room and headed for the exit. He had a pounding headache and a craving for a cold beer. Only one person made him crave an alcoholic drink in the last decade.
Vanessa Barone drove him mad. She’d spent forty-five minutes waltzing around the gym in her designer heels, adding even more grooves to the already scuffed floors.
Without missing a beat, she tapped notes on her phone as she ordered besotted teenagers around while they measured out space, taped down the stage design and took estimations on how many chairs they could fit into the gym.
To be fair, he hadn’t seen his boys work that hard in a long time.
But it was impossible not to be caught up in Vanessa’s stratosphere when she was on a mission.
Even he had helped mark out the stage. He still wasn’t sure how she planned on building the damn thing, but he sure as hell knew she wouldn’t pick up the hammer herself.
Which was her problem, he reminded himself. This was her idea, her project. If she got special permission from the center’s administration, then he wasn’t going to argue. But if this thing was going to steal practice time from his boys, then he might…
The familiar clicking of heels drew his attention to the hall. Fuck it.
An unanticipated smile broke across her cherry-stained lips when she saw him.
“Well, Zeus, that wasn’t so bad, was it?
Got all my measurements right here.” She tapped her silver phone case, making the diamond charm attached to it catch the hall light as it swung.
“I already ordered the supplies, so I can start working on it tomorrow or the next day.”
He slowed to a stop as they met each other in the hall. “You’re serious about doing this yourself?”
“Of course I am. I’ll get the girls to help me, and if you’re up for it, maybe some of the kids on your team can help us too.
They were great today.” She tapped the side of her chin with a long, manicured nail.
“Hey, do you think any of them would like to be in the show? We could use a few guys to model the menswear I’ve lined up. ”
Before he even had a chance to make sense of the question, Vanessa zeroed in on his bike.
“Wait, did you bike here?” Her eyebrows shot up as if the idea of him on a bicycle truly shocked her.
“That a problem?”
“No,” she drew the word out as if she needed to think about her next words carefully. “Just didn’t take you for this kind of a biker.”
Her gaze slid over the tattoos running from his neck to his fingers, lingering on the rose inked across his hand, its thorns curling around his fingers.
Interest flickered in her expression. Or was it hesitation?
He gave himself a mental shake. Stupid to care. Stupider still that her reaction mattered.
“Nah, the biker gang scene wasn’t for me. I was more a run-of-the-mill, street gang, stealing cars, drive-bys, that kind of thing.” He couldn’t help the satisfaction he got from seeing a twinge of trepidation dance across her forehead at his bluntness.
He preferred if Vanessa didn’t know the details of what he’d done in the past. They had no place in her orbit.
She shook off his remark with another smile, this one a bit more pinched than the last. “Well, I love cycling.”
Now it was his turn to be surprised. “Do you?” He couldn’t picture her on two wheels, with a clunky helmet on her head.
“I’m guessing you have this diva image of me in your head, where all I do is ride in private cars, wear expensive clothes, and attend elite parties.”
He bit the inside of his cheek so he wouldn’t react.
“But I’ll have you know I grew up like Lucy.
In a regular immigrant household, living a regular life.
” She looked from the bike back to him. “My dad taught me to ride a bike.” A fondness softened the corners of her eyes.
“In Canada, downtown Vancouver, there’s this beautiful path along the ocean.
It’s perfect for cycling. It was my go-to summer activity on days off from filming.
Cycling around Stanley Park is top notch.
If you ever get up there, you should try it. You’d love it.”
Jordan stared at her, frankly a little stunned that she was suggesting outdoor activities to him. “Yeah, maybe I will,” he said finally, then continued to push his bike toward the door.
“So, um, where do you live?” She trailed beside him, the tapping of her heels echoing in time with the clicking of his bike spokes.
A strange awkwardness settled between them. Making casual, friendly conversation with Vanessa was not something he was accustomed to.
“I rent a basement suite that’s a ten-minute bike ride east from here.” He pushed open the door, holding it ajar for her.
She paused in the doorway and scanned the street before ducking back inside.
“You not leaving?” he asked, still holding the door open.
“Oh, Anderson isn’t here yet, and it’s kind of dark. Don’t really feel like waiting in the cold.” She chuckled, but there was tension in her laughter that made him scrutinize her more closely.
He’d seen people hide behind their smiles before, but this was different.
One hand clutched her phone to her chest, while the other fidgeted with her bag strap.
She bit her lip and stared out the window like she was expecting someone other than Anderson to show up.
When their gazes met, she quickly looked away.
Stepping back, Jordan let the door shut, enclosing them in the foyer. He regarded her as she studied the tips of her shoes, her hair falling forward to hide her face.
He didn’t want to care, damn it. Didn’t want to feel the tightening in his gut that told him something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “You okay?”
Her head snapped up, eyes piercing his. Her pupils were slightly blown, but the familiar spark of indignation was alive and well.
“Of course I am,” she shot back. “I don’t love waiting alone in a dark, scuzzy neighborhood. Can you blame me?”
No, he couldn’t, because he knew what could happen. He begrudgingly admitted that he also didn’t like the idea of her waiting anywhere alone in the dark. “I’ll wait with you.”
Her irate huff had him biting back a smirk. There she was.
“You don’t need to stay. I’m more than capable of waiting inside a closed, well-lit building by myself for a few minutes.”
Well-lit, his ass. He leaned his bike against the wall, crossed his arms, and stared out the window beside the entrance.
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
Of course she didn’t, but when he glanced at her, her features were already more relaxed, so he stayed put and stared out the window again. Her irritation was something he was used to, and he preferred it to the apprehension and unease that had been there a moment before.
“It’s past dinnertime. Don’t you have a microwaved meal to go home to or a protein shake or something?”
When he didn’t answer, he heard a huff of frustrated breath behind him and caught her muttered, so annoying, as headlights came around the corner. Anderson pulled up in front of the building and leapt out of the SUV, rushing to the door with a contrite expression on his face.
Jordan held the door open for the man.
“My apologies. There was an accident on the bridge that caused delays.”
Vanessa breezed past Jordan, offering Anderson an easy smile. “I wasn’t worried for one second. Thanks for coming to get me.”
She strutted past both men and climbed into the idling SUV, leaving Anderson to give Jordan a confused eyebrow lift.
Jordan shook his head. “Get her home safe.”
He waited until the SUV turned the corner to head back to the Pearl District. Then he climbed onto his bike and followed them just to make sure she got home.