Most Valuable Playboy
“I texted you,” she says softly. “Did you get them?”
I can barely think with her lips so close to me, with her soft voice floating in my ear. “No. I mean, yeah. Maybe. I don’t know.” English is hard with her breasts getting acquainted with my chest, and me wanting to know how they’d feel without all these clothes between us. “Then Ford ambushed me and there were ducks, so . . .”
Yes, speaking in complete sentences is far too difficult.
“I sent you a couple. I left you a voice mail, too.”
“Sorry. I missed them,” I whisper, and I hope she keeps this conversation up all night long, because her hair smells so good, and her body feels amazing, and I can’t even think about text messages or voice mails when her hair tickles my neck like that. My brain short-circuits as I imagine my hands threading through all those soft strands. Yanking it back. Exposing that pretty neck. I’d suck on her jaw, lick a path up the column of her throat, and nibble on her ear. Then I’d kiss the breath out of her. Kiss her so damn hard and good that she loses her mind with pleasure. Like she’s doing to me in my head.
“Anyway,” she says quietly, “I called because I wanted to ask you something.”
“Sure.”
Her voice drops lower, goes even softer, and I can barely make out the words, but they sound a lot like, “Is there any chance you could pretend we’re still together for a few more days?”
I break the hug, meet her eyes, and say, “Funny, I was coming to ask you the same thing.”
11
An hour later, Violet says goodbye to the final customer, waving and blowing a kiss. “One more picture?” the brunette with a short blunt cut asks as she stands in the doorway.
“Of course.” I drape an arm around my pretend girlfriend.
The woman giggles and points upward. God bless mistletoe.
I drop a kiss to Violet’s cheek for the camera. She turns and plants one on my lips, and that’s like a shot of lust straight to my groin. To my mind. Through my whole body. This whole pretend girlfriend ruse is pretty awesome if it involves so much kissing for random cameras. Then I remember, Violet isn’t into me. These fake kisses can suck it.
She breaks apart and says goodbye to the brunette. As soon as she’s gone, Violet yanks down the blinds, locks the door, then breathes.
“So . . .”
“So . . .”
“You want to start?” I ask, as I park myself on the leather couch in the front of the shop. “Because it’s a helluva lucky break that we both need a plus-one.”
She sits next to me, crossing those lovely legs of hers. “I had the meeting with the landlord. He basically said he has offers left and right for a higher fee on my space. And my lease is up in a few months. Which means he’ll be jacking up the rates.”
“What an ass.”
“But, if I can keep up this kind of business, then I can make the salon more popular, and I can afford the increase. So that’s why I was calling you earlier. To see if you’d be amenable to pretending to be mine.” She fiddles with her bracelets. “I don’t want to put you out, though. I know last night was an exception, and if you have dates or whatnot planned with other women, or if this will cramp your style . . .”
I laugh loudly, setting a hand on her arm. “It’s all good, and I don’t have a style.”
She knits her brow, speaking softly. “You kind of do, though, don’t you?”
“Maybe I did, but I’m all about football this year,” I say, pointing straight ahead. Eye on the ball.
“And that means you’re a monk?”
“Took my vow before the season opener.”
She tilts her head. “Jones was serious when he said you kept your . . .?” She lets her question trail off, not repeating the phrase my buddy used last night.
“Snake in a cage?”
“Yes. That.”
“I took my vow of chastity at the start of the season. He doesn’t come out to play.”
She arches a skeptical brow. “For real?”
I nod. “Yeah, for real. I did that for me, to keep my focus on the game. Then it became part of this informal pact between the four of us once we started playing well—Harlan, Jones, Einstein, and me. As soon as we had a winning record, we figured we needed to maintain our superstitions, so we’ve kept them up.”
“And why that one for you?”
“Two reasons. First, my right hand still works. Like, really fucking well.”
She laughs loudly.
“Oh wait. I forgot. No monkey-spanking comments in front of you.”
“Please. That applied to my brother. It doesn’t bother me if you mention it.”
“Good. Feel free to talk about your solo habits, too.”
She rolls her eyes. “Keep dreaming.”
“I will.”
“Is pretend-dating me going to be a problem for your monkhood?”
I laugh. “Since it’s pretend dating, no.”
“What was the second reason for the vow?”
“I just figured focusing on football only would be best for my game, and I need my game to be excellent.”
She nods, taking it in. “Hence, the vow of chastity.”
I pat the belt loops on my jeans. “Here’s my chastity belt.”
She slams a hand on her thigh, laughing. “Oh, Coop. I think your chastity belt was broken a long time ago.”
I laugh with her because that’s the thing about best friend’s sisters. They know your dirt. They know who you were when you were six, moving to a new town with next to nothing. They know who you were when your face was covered in zits and your voice seesawed from high to low during the most awful time of life ever—puberty. They overheard you telling your buddy about the night you spent with Katrina Smith your junior year of high school, and how quickly you came when you lost your virginity with the head cheerleader. Violet knows who I am. She knows who I’ve been. But there’s something I don’t know about her. There are parts of her that have simply been private.
“When was yours broken?” I ask, curiously.
A pink blush spreads across her cheeks. She lets her hair fall over her cheek. I can’t resist. I brush it away. “Tell me,” I say softly. “Was it Jamie? The guy I filled in for at prom?”
“Actually,” she says, taking her time with her words as she folds her hands in her lap, “that’s why he broke up with me. Because I wouldn’t sleep with him.”
My jaw falls open. “Wow. He’s a total ass.”
She nods. “He said if I wasn’t going to put out, he didn’t need to shell out for prom.”
“Ouch,” I say, cringing.
“Needless to say, I wasn’t terribly interested in putting out for anyone after that.” She meets my eyes. The look in hers is shy. “I lost my chastity belt when I was twenty.”
I try not to imagine her soft, sensual twenty-year-old body, but it’s a futile effort. Just talking about sex and virginity has me undressing her in my head, and that’s the shit I need to stop.
Instead, I reassure her that I don’t think it’s odd she took her time. “Nothing wrong with waiting, Vi.”
“Yeah?”
“Absolutely. Better to wait until you’re ready. Until it feels right.”
“I believe that, too,” she says, and for a flash, I wonder if it would ever feel right to her with me.