Most Valuable Playboy
“I appreciate the compliment, Maxine,” I say, keeping my tone even as I mentally cycle back a few minutes. Did I hear any footsteps when we were chatting?
Maxine brings a hand to her chest. “I don’t just dole out praise, Cooper. I speak the truth. You threw with precision today. With dead-on accuracy.” Her eyes linger on my arms.
“Thank you. That’s the goal.”
“I’ll make sure Jasper is aware, too. I like to let him know when I think someone’s playing well. It’s the least I can do for the team.”
I furrow my brow, wondering if Maxine has some unwritten role as Jasper’s confidante? Is she a scout, in her own way, sharing observations of the players? I have no idea, and that’s why I need to be careful, and all the more reason why I’m grateful I have the new girlfriend-shield activated around me. It gives me some sort of immunity from Maxine’s come-ons, whether they’re direct like the other night, or of this new praise-your-stats variety.
And since I have no clue how to respond to these tidbits she’s doling out, I lean on the master tactic of saying nothing with a smile. “I’m glad you’ve been enjoying the season so much,” I say, a Crash Davis-style answer delivered with a practiced grin.
“Speaking of enjoying the season,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows as if she’s in on a naughty secret, “how is your lovely girlfriend?”
In spite of the sheer level of un-fucking-comfortability I feel next to this woman—which incidentally, registers at fifty on the Richter scale—the mention of Violet steadies me. “She’s great. Truly great.” I can hear only truth in my tone. I’m not pretending. Violet is fantastic.
Maxine smiles with a sigh. “That’s so nice. I do love a love story.”
I’m about to protest that we’re not in love, but that would be a dumbass move. “Glad you like ours.”
She rubs her hand on my arm. “I do.” She sighs. “And admittedly, I’m a little jealous.” Her voice sounds strangely sad, even wistful. “But then, all of San Francisco is jealous of her. Do you know how many hearts you broke when the city learned you were taken? The Golden Gate Bridge cracked a little that night.”
I manage a small laugh. “I hope the bridge stays sturdy. We need her not to fall.”
“Lombard Street wept unrequited tears,” she adds with a big smile.
For a flash, I feel like I’m seeing a new side of Maxine. Like she’s not the man-eater I’ve known her to be. As if she’s simply a romantic, albeit with misplaced affections.
“Let’s hope its tears clean up the street, then.” I glance at the time on my phone, figuring I can reasonably excuse myself now. “I should take off.”
“I’ll let you go. I know how important it is for players to get some rest.” Maxine runs her hand over her dark curls. “By the way, my hair is getting a little long, don’t you think? I’ve been meaning to find a new stylist. Good thing I know just the perfect place to try. I hear she’s amazing.”
My stomach craters. She’s been lulling me into a false sense of security with her sweeter side. She’s like a fucking linebacker who appeared out of nowhere to slam me to the ground.
She blows me a kiss. “Ciao, love. I’ll be watching the game on Sunday.”
Seems she’s been watching me all along.
17
The crowd roars. They slam their feet against the stands, pounding out a cheer that thrums through the stadium and echoes across the field.
It’s third and nine. There’s no breathing room in this game. Two minutes till halftime, and the score is still tied. We’ve traded leads every possession, it seems.
I take the snap from shotgun as three receivers race downfield. My heart pounds rocket-fast, but my nerves are cool. My brick wall of linemen buy me time, as they’ve done all day, holding off Dallas. I scan for an open target, but McCormick is swarmed by the secondary. Another receiver is flanked, too. I find Jones, scrambling to break away from the cornerback.
“C’mon, man,” I mutter.
I’m waiting.
Fucking waiting, ready to throw the second he’s free.
A big-ass lineman busts through, but the center slams into the guy’s barrel body, protecting me as I launch the ball the instant Jones peels away from the coverage.
He doubles back, and those beautiful hands are ready. The ball soars, and he pulls it down pristinely, cradling it then carrying it for twelve yards before he runs out of bounds, avoiding a tackle.
I pump a fist and point downfield. We run, line up for the first down, and we’re all business the rest of the way. I hand off to Harlan, who powers his way around the defense, gaining eight yards, and putting us squarely in field-goal range.
But hell if I want to go for three right now. I glance to the sidelines, briefly making eye contact with the coach. He gives a nod, and even though that’s his go-to gesture for nearly everything, I know this time it means go for six. A new wide receiver comes in, bringing the play with him.
After the snap, I’m in the pocket, and I throw easily to an open McCormick, who takes off like a cheetah. The rookie hauls ass twenty-five yards into the motherfucking end zone.
The crowd erupts.
My heart jackhammers.
I run to McCormick, clapping him on the back and congratulating him as we trot to the sidelines.
“You rock, man.”
“No, you fucking do,” the rookie says, with the same baby-faced grin that Cam Newton sports.
“Beautiful,” Greenhaven grunts as I grab some water and Einstein does his job with the extra point.
That gives us a welcome seven-point lead at halftime. I take off my helmet, turn to the stands, and my eyes find my family. My mom waves a number-one foam finger, and her boyfriend, Dan, plants a kiss on her cheek. Ford shakes his hips back and forth, calling out something unintelligible that’s clearly a compliment. Next to them, Trent and Holly are hollering happily, arms raised in the air. I give them all a huge thumbs-up.
My gaze drifts beyond my best friend to his sister, the girl I’ve known for most of my life, who’s smiling up a storm and cheering like this is the best day ever.
And so far, it’s pretty fucking good.
I give her a tip of the proverbial cap then a lopsided grin. The smile that returns my way is priceless, like a shot of pure happiness in my body.
Ford drapes an arm around Violet and says something to her.
I turn away and head to the locker room with the team.
Violet: Oh my God. He’s taking me into the lion’s den.
* * *
Holly: Do you have your retractable claws ready to go?
* * *
Violet: No, but he makes it seem like I need them. He says the players’ wives are dying to meet me, and I need to be on my toes.
* * *
Holly: I have no doubt they want to know who’s about to become the new leader of the pack in one fell swoop. That’s probably what they think.
* * *
Violet: Stahp. Just stahp. I’m nobody.
* * *
Holly: Oh, Vi. I love you and all, but if you’re the quarterback’s girl, you’re on track to become everybody.
* * *
Violet: This is crazy.
* * *
Holly: They all know you might become the new Queen Bee.
* * *
Violet: Will they want to dethrone me then? Steal my stinger? Wait, do queen bees have stingers?
* * *
Holly: No, they’re full of eggs that then become larva, so it’s kind of a bad example.