Most Valuable Playboy

She sighs heavily.

I can’t let her get away. “I don’t want you there as my fake girlfriend. I want you there as you. As my Violet. Okay?”

She takes a beat.

“Do you trust me?”

“I do.”

“Please come.”

“I’ll be there.”

When she hangs up, I text Jones and tell him to gather the guys. I grab something for Rick that I picked up at the store on the way over, a little gift for Jones, then an item I snagged from the front desk. I drop them in a plastic bag from the hotel. Ten minutes later, I meet them in Jones’s room.

They’re assembled, parked in chairs around the table.

“To what do we owe the honor of this impromptu team meeting?” Jones asks.

I place my palms together. “Gentlemen, we are going to cut Harlan’s hair tonight.”

Harlan sits up straight, his hand shooting to his long hair. “Blasphemy. What are you talking about?”

“Dude, we’re winning,” Rick adds.

I reach into the bag and toss him a pack of Big Red. “Time for cinnamon gum tomorrow.”

Jones smirks. “Let me guess. You have new socks for me next.”

“You know it,” I say, dipping my hand into the bag and tossing him a pair of my own freshly cleaned socks.

“What in the ever-loving hell?” Harlan asks in his drawl.

Jones stands up and taps Harlan’s skull. “You can’t figure this out?”

Awareness dawns on him. “Ohhhhh.” Harlan looks at me. “You fucking horndog.”

I shrug and hold my hands out wide. Had I broken the pact before we clinched, I might have felt worse. But I don’t, for many reasons. “Guys, we don’t win because of rituals. We win because we play like a team. You guys have had my back all season, and I’ve had yours. But we don’t win because of smelly socks, or pink bubblegum, or uncut hair.”

“Or you not getting your dick wet,” Jones mutters.

I smirk. “Exactly. We win because of how we play, and how we play together. As you can surmise, I broke my superstition. So, the way I see it, you three can step out on the field tomorrow doing what you’ve always done this season. Or you can have my back, and start a new ritual with me. Like a team.”

Jones pumps his arms at his sides and grinds his pelvis. “Cooper can’t keep the snake in the cage, boys. And if the snake is out, the socks are clean, the King of the Jungle’s hair gets cut, and the gum is a new flavor.”

We put our fists together and knock as a foursome.

Harlan sighs. “Since Violet’s not here, which one of you assholes is going to cut my hair?”

The three of us shake our heads.

“Seriously? You’re all too chicken to cut hair?”

“If you have clippers, I’ll give you a buzz cut,” Rick says, rubbing his hand over his own short hair. “But fair warning. I’d probably slip and shave your eyebrows too.”

Harlan sighs. “Thanks, but no thanks, Barber Rick.”

“Wait,” Jones says, grabbing his phone. “I have an idea. I saw Jillian here earlier.”

We all make obscene gestures in his direction. He doesn’t care, though, since he’s convincing the team publicist to play stylist for the night. Moments later, she arrives with a cheery smile on her face.

“Edward Scissorhands at your service,” she says as she marches into the room.

She wets Harlan’s hair and snips off a few inches as I tell them the rest of the plan for tomorrow. Jillian coos and says she can’t wait.

I can’t, either.

35

Some say the games you play after you clinch are meaningless.

I say there are no meaningless games. I’d like to think the fifty thousand fans at our stadium, and the millions watching the Thursday night game of the week, would agree. Our final bout is against a team with a losing record, the St. Louis Thunderbolts. But they don’t play that way. They play tight and tough and close.

We do, too. Rick chews the Big Red and kicks a field goal. Jones wears fresh-as-a-daisy socks and compiles seventy-nine receiving yards and two touchdowns, while Harlan, with his newly shorn locks, gets his feet in the end zone. As for me? Well, let’s just say that freeing the snake hasn’t hurt my game. I’m not perfect, not by any means. I fumble a ball, miss several passes, and get sacked twice. But I play well enough—like someone who can anchor a team for the next four years, which is exactly what I plan on doing.

And when we win tonight, we lock down a 12–4 record for the regular season, and a stadium full of happy fans.

I’m stoked for the victory, but that’s not what I want most to win tonight.

Fortunately, one of the benefits of my position on the team is that the sports reporters usually seek me out first. Tonight, Jillian makes sure of it. As soon as the game ends and the media hits the field, Jillian sends Sierra, the reporter who emceed the auction, to interview me. The perfectly coiffed and polished redhead is working tonight for the network carrying the game and she’s exactly who I want to speak to right now.

I steal a glance at the sidelines, hoping to catch a glimpse of Violet. But the field is too crowded, the stands too stuffed with fans. I can’t make her out, and I have to trust that Trent and Holly are doing their part, right next to my mom, who’s here, too. Their job? Don’t let Violet leave, and make sure she tunes into the post-game on her phone.

Sierra fires off a few standard game questions, and I answer Crash Davis-style, then she switches gears. “And now, for the talk of the town. Word is you’re re-upping with the Renegades, and they’ve offered you a four-year contract. Can you tell us more about that?”

I flash a smile as I answer. “I couldn’t be happier to stay, and none of this would be possible without an owner like Jasper Scott, who’s committed to putting the best team on the field, and to Mike Greenhaven, who knows exactly what to do with that team. I’m grateful to the owner and the coach and the entire organization for giving me the chance to stay on.”

In my peripheral vision, Jillian motions to Sierra, giving her some kind of signal to ask the next question. “And is there any particular reason that you want to stay here in San Francisco?”

I can’t help it. I grin like a man in love. I’m not sure what Violet will say to this public declaration. But I think I saw it in her eyes yesterday when I made love to her against the door. A look then that said she felt the same crazy beating in her heart that I felt in mine. That I still feel when I think of her.

For now, I say goodbye to the Crash Davis school of media relations and speak from the heart. “It’s about a girl. Sometimes that’s what makes a man want to stay. I love the fans, I love the city, and I love that my family is here. But more than that, there’s someone in this town who I’m madly in love with.”

Sierra’s green eyes light up. “Do tell.”

I’m not going to confess on national TV all the details of how we started. All anyone needs to know is the girl they think I’m with is the girl I want. “I hope she wants to stay with me. I hope she wants to be with me for a whole lot longer than the contract I just signed.” Now I turn to the camera, since I’m not talking to Sierra anymore. I’m talking to the woman I hope is watching on her phone at the fifty-yard line.

Behind me, teammates and reporters stream across the field, while fans cheer as they make their way out of the stadium. But my world is small now. My words are for one person only. “Violet, I’ve been falling in love with you since high school, and it’s not stopping. I fall more for you every single day. I want you to be mine, to keep being mine, every night. I don’t want this to end. Ever.”