“Jones Beckett is known as The Hands, and with good reason. Look at those hands,” Sierra says with a whistle of admiration.
From my vantage point, I see Jones hold up his massive paws. The dude was born to catch. His hands are ginormous, and they can wrap around a football. They’re also like a homing beacon for a long, beautiful pass downfield.
“And the fingers. My God, those fingers,” Sierra adds, fanning herself as the crowd goes apeshit.
Someone leans close to my ear, and I tense instantly, worried it’s Maxine. Then I relax when she says softly, “What is it about bidding on men that turns women into animals?”
It’s Violet.
“You tell me,” I say quietly.
She laughs. “I think it’s the role reversal. The idea that for so long women have been ogled and now they finally get to turn the tables. It’s the Magic Mike effect.”
“What’s that?”
“That movie had a huge turnout of women in groups in its opening weekend. Women went with friends and sisters for girls’ night out. It’s not that different from when women go to strip clubs. They travel in packs, and they have fun with each other. It’s not sad and depressing. It’s female bonding.”
“Then maybe a pack of ladies will bond together to bid on me. I did ask Holly to have her friends toss some bills my direction.”
She nudges my side. “Stop it. You don’t need my sister-in-law’s friends. You’ll be fighting off the women.”
“Yeah, that’s the issue, as I’ve just learned,” I say with a heavy sigh, more open with her, since she’s not programmed to hassle me like my buddies are.
She raises an eyebrow in a silent question. But the noise from the front drowns us out when a bidding war for Jones escalates quickly. Numbers fly back and forth at light speed. Finally, the winning woman lands a date with Jones for forty-four fifty. Damn, that’s a sweet number, and well above last year. Jillian cheers and gives him a hug when he returns backstage as Sierra chats with the audience, tossing out questions to the crowd.
Violet grabs my elbow. Her eyes are serious. “Is everything okay? Did something happen with Maxine? You mentioned her before you left the suite.”
Sierra calls out to me, and I step toward the stage, my voice going deadpan as I answer Violet quietly, “I wouldn’t use the term okay to describe my interaction with her.”
“What happened?”
I hate complaining. I hate being this guy. But I would do just about anything to escape Maxine. “Let’s just say I’d rather ride the bench again than have her win.”
Now, it’s my turn.
I turn around, stroll onto the stage, and wave to the crowd. The ballroom is stuffed full of people with happy shining faces and eager generosity. It warms the cockles of my heart to see so many here to help us give back. Yeah, I don’t know what cockles are, either, but mine are toasty, and our fans are amazing.
I give Sierra a peck on the cheek. Her eyelids flutter, and she clasps her hand to her cheek. “I’ll never wash this cheek again,” she says to the crowd, and laughter bounces across the big room. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, for the pièce de résistance, this year’s starting quarterback at long last, and the winner of the Most Valuable Playboy auction the last three years in a row. After all, who wouldn’t want to take this handsome and talented man out for a night on the town? Everyone loves the quarterback.”
Someone scoffs. “He wasn’t the quarterback the last few years.”
With a wink, Sierra expertly pivots to the positive. “And now we’re lucky to have him at the helm.”
I lean into the mic. “And it’s an honor to have stepped into the shoes of a legend. I will keep doing everything I can to make the fans proud.”
Sierra smiles approvingly.
A high-pitched voice from the middle of the room shouts, “We love you, Coop! Win this weekend.”
“I’ll do my best,” I say with a smile.
“You always do,” Sierra says.
Someone else boos, and I see it’s a guy in the crowd wearing a Jeff Grant jersey. “We want Grant the Greatest back.”
I give a grin, since this is all par for the course. “I bet he’d be hard to talk off his fifty-foot yacht, where he’s enjoying a well-earned retirement.”
“He is indeed,” Sierra says, smoothly steering the event like she has all evening. “So let’s get to know Cooper Armstrong. How does that sound to all of you?”
More cheers than jeers erupt so I take that as my cue to remove the jacket. That earns me some hollers of “nice vest!” I glance to the wings, and Violet gives me a thumbs-up, mouthing vests are hot.