Most Valuable Playboy
* * *
Violet: Here goes nothing.
* * *
Holly: Just smile and wave . . .
Holly: Are you alive? Celine Dion already sang.
* * *
Holly: They’ve taken you. They’re making blood
sacrifices with you.
* * *
Holly: You’ve left me. You’ve officially left the little people behind, and now you’re eating sushi and canapés and crudités in the players’ wives suite.
* * *
Holly: Incidentally, if they have any yellow tail, bring me one. I love yellow tail.
* * *
Holly: And mini cupcakes.
* * *
Holly: But they probably don’t have that. Unless they’re made of air, and I don’t want an air cupcake. Back to the original plan. Bring me a sushi roll.
* * *
Holly: If I ever see you again.
* * *
Holly: Okay, halftime is nearly over. Celine is done, Lady Gaga made a special appearance, the marching band for all the high schools in the universe performed, and you’re gone.
* * *
Holly: It was fun being friends. Sniff, sniff.
* * *
Violet: The sushi was to die for! I stuffed my bra full of tuna rolls just for you.
* * *
Holly: Bitch.
* * *
Violet: But seriously! They were all so nice. The center’s wife is so sweet. She invited me over. The guard’s wife had her baby with her, and he was totally cute, and I even cuddled and held him. McCormick’s girlfriend from high school was there. She is crazy about him! And the tight end’s fiancée was amazing. Admittedly, I was nearly blinded by her ring. It’s about the size of my head. No lying.
* * *
Holly: I know that’s not a lie. Those ladies have ring bling!
* * *
Violet: Ford made it seem like the lion’s den, but I didn’t feel that way at all.
* * *
Holly: Did they ask about Cooper? Did they give you the relationship third degree?
* * *
Violet: Yes. How long we’ve been together, when I knew I liked him, how we started dating, what I thought of the game. It was easy to answer everything.
* * *
Holly: Because you have the answers ready!
* * *
Violet: I sure do.
* * *
Holly: You always have . . .
Rick chews the pink gum, spits it out, and brushes his teeth on the sidelines. Then, the defense holds off Dallas in the third quarter, but their line nearly kills me. I manage a few handoffs and a couple of short passes, but we don’t push past the fifty-yard line.
Dallas gets possession, and they march downfield with precision. My chest tightens, and I pace along the sidelines, eager to get back in because they seem on the cusp of something big. But we hold them to a field goal chance, and then something beautiful happens. They miss it, the ball going wide past the goalposts. That sends a bolt of energy into the crowd.
We take the field, pumped. I do my job, like I’ve done since I was five. Since I was ten. Since high school. Since college. Since the start of the season. Drive downfield, throwing pass after pass from the pocket, my wall of Mack Trucks protecting me.
We reach the twenty, and a short pass to Jones sends him running into the end zone to pad our lead. A lead we never look back on.
When the game ends, the crowd bursts into cheers. Horns blare. Whistles sound. Drums pound. We’re one more game away from the playoffs. So close I can taste it.
On the field, a local sports reporter thrusts a mic at me, and I give my best “We just played all four quarters and stayed focused” kind of lines. When she walks off to find another player, my eyes drift to the stands, scanning, searching. They land on faces I know well, and the buzzing in my chest is like a note held long on a guitar. It shifts to a faster tempo when I see Violet. She’s waving like a crazy fool, her arms swinging wildly over her head, her chestnut hair blowing in the breeze. When she realizes she’s caught my attention, she freezes, then jumps up and down in excitement. Something is happening. Something is building.
I follow my instincts, and they tell me to run over to the sides, find a security guy, and ask him to bring her onto the field. A minute later, she’s escorted to me. I wrap her up in a hug and lift her high.
“You’re all sweaty and dirty,” she says, laughing.
“That’s because I play hard.”
“You sure do.”
“Did you enjoy the game?”
“Loved it.”
“Yeah?”
A smile curves her lips. “Every single second.”
The noise in the stadium vibrates in my chest, a mixture of cheers, chatter, and fifty thousand feet pounding to the exits. But this conversation feels entirely private. Just for us.
So does the kiss she gives me next. She brings her mouth to mine, dusts her lips across me, and steals the breath from my lungs. I’m vaguely aware of the pop and flash of cameras capturing this moment. It doesn’t last long, but the kiss feels like it’s for me, not the lens.
And maybe it’s the way my heart hammers after the victory, or maybe it’s the taste of her lips, but it’s enough for me to bring my mouth to her ear. “Hang out with me tonight.”
She pulls back and looks up at me. “Yeah?”
I swallow and nod. “Yeah.”
She has to know what I mean.
18
Ford insists on dinner first, taking the whole crew to a trendy new restaurant in Russian Hill, where he regales us with stories of the deejays the Clippers use on their chartered flights, and the time he took his superstar pitcher for the Yankees shopping at Target after midnight because that was the only time the guy wouldn’t be recognized and the leftie simply wanted to pick out his own towels. “Orange with gray polka dots. Those were some fine towels,” Ford says.
“When you finish his contract, be sure to get Cooper some pretty new towels at Target at midnight, too,” Trent says. “He wants pink with white polka dots.”
Violet chimes in. “Don’t make fun of polka dots. That sounds like an adorable combination.”
Ford points at Violet, like he agrees with everything she’s saying. “We should go all out for him, Vi. We will spare no expense. Hand towels, washcloths, bath towels. What do you think?”
Violet laughs, flicking her hair off her shoulder. “I think Cooper would love pink towels.”
“Pink, orange, gray. Whatever.” I shake my head as I look at Ford, my voice a touch more serious than usual. “Just don’t talk about the contract like it’s a done deal. We don’t want to jinx it.”
“Contracts aren’t jinxed, my man. On-field superstitions are all well and good, but contracts are not part of the sphere of jinxing.” Then he lowers his voice. “Besides, don’t you worry. I’m still dancing, and trust me when I say I look good on the dance floor.”
He raises his arms like he’s got the moves.
“Just watch out for that overbite when you dance,” I say, giving him shit since his teeth are pressed into his lips.
“Winning makes you feisty.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” I murmur as I steal a glance at Violet across the table. She’s chatting with my mom now.
Ford yanks me close. “Gotta say, it’s so damn entertaining that she doesn’t like you. She’s pulling it off like a most excellent actress, with the pink polka-dot shit.”
“Yeah, she is,” I mutter, and then let his comment sink in.
Is he right? Have I misread Violet since the kiss at the fountain in Sausalito when I felt the vibe between us shift? From the texts to the phone calls to the last kiss, I sure thought we were moving toward something more. Am I wrong? She agreed to hang out later, but maybe she only wanted to hang out here.