Most Valuable Playboy(48)

She laughs.

“You forgot I can tackle,” I say, tugging her under me on the couch. “I don’t just throw. I can tackle, and pin you, and keep you.”

“Yeah?”

With her under me, I stare into her eyes. “Can you stay?”

“You really want me to stay?”

I roll my eyes. “No, I’m lying. Get out.”

She tries to swat me, but I pin her arm. “Cooper.”

“Stay. Just stay.”

“Why do you want me to?”

“I want you to sleep next to me. Why is that so hard to understand?”

“Okay, I get it, but I don’t have my sleep shirt. I don’t want to break the routine, and I don’t want to sleep in something I wore all day, especially since it’s kind of dirty after you hugged me.”

“You say all this like I don’t have a perfect solution to that problem.”

Thirty minutes later, she’s in my bed, wearing nothing but one of my jerseys. Honestly, if there’s a sexier sight than her in my bed wearing my number, I won’t believe it.





20





My day off is glorious, even though Violet leaves before the sun rises. She dusts a quick kiss to my forehead, whispering, “I need to open the salon by eight.”

I’m so exhausted from playing ball yesterday, as I am every Monday morning during the season, that I barely manage to drag my ass out of bed to say goodbye when she takes off. I put on my game face a couple hours later when I hit the links with my boys on a crisp December morning.

That’s when the real pretending comes in. Ironic that I’m not faking a single moment with Violet, but now I need to act like I didn’t do unspeakable things to my best friend’s sister when I meet him for a ten a.m. tee time.

Thank fuck Trent and I aren’t playing solo, because it’s hard to look him in the eye. Some voice in the back of my head tries to speak up, telling me that sooner or later I’ll need to come clean with him. Trent is my rock. He’s my solid, steady best friend in the whole damn world. I grew up with him, sneaked beers with him, shot hoops with him, and leaned on him. Hell, I was the best man in his wedding two years ago, and Violet was a bridesmaid. And damn, did she ever look stunning in a pale yellow dress with little straps that showed off her shoulders.

There I go again. Drifting back to her. I chase away thoughts of the woman I want and try to focus on being in the moment with my friends. Today’s not the day to fess up.

Jones adjusts his glove as he chats with his brother. Nearby, Rick and his best friend from college down their morning coffee, while Harlan ambles over to us, along with his brother-in-law. This is our regular crew, and we try to play once a month.

“Hey, man, any word on the contract?” Trent asks as he finds his club.

“It’s anyone’s guess. The GM might be waiting to see if we make the playoffs. I’m trying my best to keep it out of my mind.”

“The real judge of a quarterback is whether he takes his team to the post-season,” Trent says absently. He takes a few practice swings as if he hasn’t just hit the nail on the head with regard to the waiting game I’m playing with the GM.

“Don’t I know it,” I say, a small prickle of nerves skating up my back. I’d really like to know if I’m going to be in San Francisco after this season. It’s entirely possible the Renegades won’t pick me up, and I’ll have to fly where the free agent skies take me. Baltimore, Buffalo, Houston, New Orleans—who knows? Tension winds through me. I’m a lucky bastard to play in my hometown, and I don’t want to give up seeing my friends and family this often. I raise my gaze to my teammates. I love these fuckers, too. I want to stick with them. I want to take them all the way into January and beyond.

“Guess that means you’ll be keeping up the dog-and-pony show with Violet for a little longer?”

My golf bag is suddenly the most interesting thing in the universe, and I take my sweet time hunting for my driver. “As long as we have to, I guess. You cool with that?”

“I’m cool with it. Even though it’s really fucking weird to see you with her.”

I look up. “Because I’m such an asshole, right?” I say with a mischievous grin.

“You’re a total dickhead.”

“But seriously. Why is it so weird?” I press him, expecting him to make another playboy comment, like he did at his bar. But that’s not what he says.

“You’ve never gone ass over elbow for a girl. You’re married to football, Coop.” Then he strolls to the tee at the first hole.

I stand, unmoving, smacked upside the head by a hefty dose of reality. I’ve never been head over heels, and that’s why my breakup with Kelly in college didn’t faze me. Briefly, I wonder if my pretend breakup with Violet will hurt when it comes. Immediately, my chest twists at that unpleasant thought. Breakup and Violet are two words that shouldn’t occupy the same sentence, and if I let my mind wander in this direction, I’m going to play a shitty game of golf.