Read Online Bare-Naked Lola (A Lola Cruz Mystery) by Melissa Bourbon Ramirez - Free Book Online
Authors: Melissa Bourbon Ramirez
Tags: Romance, Mystery, Contemporary Romance, California, cozy, romantic suspense, Basketball, cheerleaders, melissa bourbon, Sacramento, Misa Ramirez, nudists, Melissa Bourbon Ramirez, lola cruz
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sexy way. “Uh-huh.”
“Gorgeous. He’s a rookie. Had a slow start but now he’s running circles around the others.”
I was pretty sure lust had Cassie thinking that Number 51 could leap tall buildings in a single bound.
Who knew? Maybe he could.
The announcer asked the audience to rise, remove their caps, and listen while the “Star Spangled Banner” was sung a cappella by a local college music major. The Royals and the opposing team lined up on the court, hands over their hearts.
“What about Twenty-Three?” I asked, noticing his heavier physique.
“Doesn’t play as much ’cause he’s slower.” She fanned herself with her hand. “But he’s hot. Hell, they’re all hot. Why else would I take this gig? I’m going to get me one of them.”
My eyes still searched the crowd—as if the letter writer, or a delivery boy, would be glowing red—as I talked to Cassie. “You’re on the dance team to get close to the players?”
Her response? A wink.
So she wasn’t one of the smarter ones.
The crowd erupted as the singer’s voice stretched an octave and sang, “O’er the land of the free.” Were they cheering because America was free or because she hit the note? I couldn’t tell.
Jennifer turned on cue from Victoria and led us back through the tunnel.
It was a whirlwind after that. I trailed after the girls into the dressing room for a quick outfit change. I followed what Jennifer did, stripping off my halter top. The big difference? She didn’t cringe at the crisscrossed duct tape across her chest. I shuddered at the tape across mine. But then again, after a few years, she had to be used to it.
Good God, in a million years, I’d never have imagined myself in this situation.
Jennifer slipped into a tight navy camisole, then slid a shimmering silver scarf-blouse on top of it. I followed suit, adjusting the gaping neck, then changed into the jazz pants—which were more stretchy than I’d originally thought they’d be, but I was still sure were actually made for a child.
Jennifer re-applied her lipstick and so did I. Some of the girls scarfed down food from the buffet table. I walked by and did a double take. The Rice Krispies Treats had vanished.
“They’re always the first to go,” Jennifer said, following my gaze.
I didn’t believe in diets, and I had no problem eating dessert first. But I sure never would have pegged the cheerleaders as free-for-all eaters. “I just thought they would eat salads and fruits.”
“We do. But we also like our sweets.”
Or maybe they had a nasty thing called bulimia. That was something I didn’t want to investigate.
We headed back to the tunnel and spent the next ten minutes hovering behind Victoria until a timeout was called.
One of the players, buckled over in pain, hobbled past us, the team trainer by his side. They stopped midway past the line of dancers and Carrie reached out to him. “Stevie, what happened?”
Steve breezed by, taking the player by the arm and helping him along. “Minor injury. No worries, ladies. He’ll be fine.”
“Is it bad?” Cassie said, and I got the impression that she wouldn’t mind playing nursemaid.
I followed them with my eyes. Cassie’s admission that she was on the team only to snag herself a hot ballplayer had my brain working. Rochelle seemed to have landed herself one in Michael Brothers. What if the other players didn’t like the dancers breaking the rules? Or what if…I gave myself a mental head slap. ¡Por supuesto!
It could be a player or a disgruntled wife behind the notes. Of course, that was a hypothesis—one I’d have to flesh out more.
The letter came in the third quarter. A fresh-faced ball boy jogged through the tunnel, an envelope clutched in his hand. Without a word he handed it to Geneva, a dancer who hadn’t needed duct tape to prop up her cleavage, with legs about a mile long.
“Hey,” I called, trying to catch the ball boy’s attention, but he disappeared as play
“Gorgeous. He’s a rookie. Had a slow start but now he’s running circles around the others.”
I was pretty sure lust had Cassie thinking that Number 51 could leap tall buildings in a single bound.
Who knew? Maybe he could.
The announcer asked the audience to rise, remove their caps, and listen while the “Star Spangled Banner” was sung a cappella by a local college music major. The Royals and the opposing team lined up on the court, hands over their hearts.
“What about Twenty-Three?” I asked, noticing his heavier physique.
“Doesn’t play as much ’cause he’s slower.” She fanned herself with her hand. “But he’s hot. Hell, they’re all hot. Why else would I take this gig? I’m going to get me one of them.”
My eyes still searched the crowd—as if the letter writer, or a delivery boy, would be glowing red—as I talked to Cassie. “You’re on the dance team to get close to the players?”
Her response? A wink.
So she wasn’t one of the smarter ones.
The crowd erupted as the singer’s voice stretched an octave and sang, “O’er the land of the free.” Were they cheering because America was free or because she hit the note? I couldn’t tell.
Jennifer turned on cue from Victoria and led us back through the tunnel.
It was a whirlwind after that. I trailed after the girls into the dressing room for a quick outfit change. I followed what Jennifer did, stripping off my halter top. The big difference? She didn’t cringe at the crisscrossed duct tape across her chest. I shuddered at the tape across mine. But then again, after a few years, she had to be used to it.
Good God, in a million years, I’d never have imagined myself in this situation.
Jennifer slipped into a tight navy camisole, then slid a shimmering silver scarf-blouse on top of it. I followed suit, adjusting the gaping neck, then changed into the jazz pants—which were more stretchy than I’d originally thought they’d be, but I was still sure were actually made for a child.
Jennifer re-applied her lipstick and so did I. Some of the girls scarfed down food from the buffet table. I walked by and did a double take. The Rice Krispies Treats had vanished.
“They’re always the first to go,” Jennifer said, following my gaze.
I didn’t believe in diets, and I had no problem eating dessert first. But I sure never would have pegged the cheerleaders as free-for-all eaters. “I just thought they would eat salads and fruits.”
“We do. But we also like our sweets.”
Or maybe they had a nasty thing called bulimia. That was something I didn’t want to investigate.
We headed back to the tunnel and spent the next ten minutes hovering behind Victoria until a timeout was called.
One of the players, buckled over in pain, hobbled past us, the team trainer by his side. They stopped midway past the line of dancers and Carrie reached out to him. “Stevie, what happened?”
Steve breezed by, taking the player by the arm and helping him along. “Minor injury. No worries, ladies. He’ll be fine.”
“Is it bad?” Cassie said, and I got the impression that she wouldn’t mind playing nursemaid.
I followed them with my eyes. Cassie’s admission that she was on the team only to snag herself a hot ballplayer had my brain working. Rochelle seemed to have landed herself one in Michael Brothers. What if the other players didn’t like the dancers breaking the rules? Or what if…I gave myself a mental head slap. ¡Por supuesto!
It could be a player or a disgruntled wife behind the notes. Of course, that was a hypothesis—one I’d have to flesh out more.
The letter came in the third quarter. A fresh-faced ball boy jogged through the tunnel, an envelope clutched in his hand. Without a word he handed it to Geneva, a dancer who hadn’t needed duct tape to prop up her cleavage, with legs about a mile long.
“Hey,” I called, trying to catch the ball boy’s attention, but he disappeared as play
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