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She moans, a long, sexy ohh.

  It nearly breaks me. I’m so ready to flip her to her back, hike her legs over my shoulders, and sink into her.

  One more thrust. One more deliriously good slide against my girl.

  Then reality smacks me hard.

  I can’t fake fuck her. I certainly can’t fake fuck her without a condom. I won’t play with fire, and this is a burning-down-the-forest level of danger.

  I freeze, willing my hands to stop moving along her flesh, forcing my body to disengage from hers. I curse up a storm, then I do what I’ve been taught to do to avoid a hit I can’t handle—get out of bounds. I jump out of bed, moving away from her.

  “Shit, Vi.” I drag my hands roughly through my hair as I grab for my clothes. “You’re too tempting. I want you too much.”

  She looks chastened. “What does that even mean?”

  I yank on my boxer briefs. “If I stay for another minute, I will be fucking you. I will be fucking you all night long. I won’t want to stop.” I drag a hand through my hair roughly. “I need to get it together.” Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to will away this raging desire. When I open my eyes, I breathe out hard like a bull.

  She reaches for a sheet and pulls it to her chest, covering her beautiful body. “That better?”

  I grab my jeans. “It’s worse and it’s better. I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I seem like an ass.”

  She sighs. “Let me walk you to the door.”

  Two minutes later, she’s in a short, satiny robe, her hair a wild mess, her cheeks glowing. I’m dressed and both satisfied and blue-balled. But I have a job to do, and I can’t let things with her go any further. There’s too much at stake.

  I cup her cheek. “I leave tomorrow. I’ll be thinking of you.”

  She shakes her head. “Don’t think of me. Think of destroying Baltimore.”

  My God, she’s a perfect football girlfriend.

  I mean, fake girlfriend.

  Fake girlfriend who I nearly real fucked.

  27

  Holly: Is today the day?

  * * *

  Violet: Yes. She just left.

  * * *

  Holly: And??? How did it go? Did she tackle you to the floor of the salon and demand all the details of your never-ending, undying love for him?

  * * *

  Violet: Shut. Up.

  * * *

  Holly: Well?

  * * *

  Violet: I trimmed an inch off the ends and did a blowout. She looked lovely. She was heading to the airport, ready to take off in her brother’s private jet to Baltimore.

  * * *

  Holly: La-dee-dah. What did she talk to you about while you did her hair? I’m dying to know.

  * * *

  Violet: We mostly chatted about favorite celebrities. We bonded over our shared love for Leonardo DiCaprio’s talent, Chris Pine’s hair, and Ryan Gosling’s face. Also, we both adore Isla Fisher and Gal Gadot, so there was that, too.

  * * *

  Holly: I love Chris Pine’s hair, too. I swear the guy has two heads’ worth of hair. But back to the topic—SHE DIDN’T QUIZ YOU ON COOPER?

  * * *

  Violet: Oh, she did. She absolutely wanted to know how we were doing. I said he was great. I said I thought he was amazing. I said I’ve been in love with him since second grade.

  * * *

  Holly: Did you really?

  * * *

  Violet: Yes.

  * * *

  Holly: Are you going to tell him how it went?

  * * *

  Violet: Not yet. He hasn’t asked. I think he forgot when the appointment was. But honestly, there’s nothing to tell, and he needs to focus on the game, not a harmless little haircut.

  * * *

  Holly: Speaking of the game, want to watch at my house on Sunday?

  * * *

  Violet: If you make your world-class popcorn, I do. Also, I have great news. I signed the new lease. All is well in Hairlandia.

  * * *

  Holly: Yay! So, what does that mean for the little game of k-i-s-s-i-n-g in a tree?

  * * *

  Violet: I honestly don’t know. I have this feeling, Holly, that once the contract is done . . .

  * * *

  Holly: He’s going to drop you like a hot potato?

  * * *

  Violet: Yes.

  * * *

  Holly: Don’t think that.

  * * *

  Violet: He’s a twenty-six-year-old professional quarterback with a winning record, scads of women throwing themselves at him, and an excellent shot at the playoffs. His contract is in flux. He’s not looking for a commitment from a woman. He’s looking for a commitment from a team.

  * * *

  Holly: Sweetie . . .

  * * *

  Violet: It’s the truth. I’m taking what I can get. I’m savoring what this is. I know it won’t last. It just can’t.

  * * *

  Holly: Why?

  * * *

  Violet: He’s already in love with the game, and I’m not sure he has the room for anything else.

  * * *

  Holly: You’re not a thing.

  * * *

  Violet: I know that. But I also understand and respect his priorities.

  * * *

  Holly: You don’t have to be so levelheaded and tough about this, sweetie.

  * * *

  Violet: But I do have to be strong. If I don’t, my heart will break.

  28

  After a dinner out with the guys, we stroll through the lobby of the team hotel, heading straight for the elevator banks. I avoid the hotel bar at all costs, and I don’t make eye contact with any of the football groupies.

  The problem is, I nearly smack into Maxine as she rounds the corner. She’s dressed to the nines in a red sequined top and black jeans with towering heels. But she’s not alone. She’s with her brother, and he’s decked out in a swank gray suit and a pink tie that looks like it alone cost a thousand dollars. You don’t get to own a team without rolling in the dough, and Jasper Scott looks the part.

  “Gentlemen.” Jasper flashes us a smile that shows off gleaming white teeth. “Good to see my stars”—his eyes drift to the elevators—“heading upstairs.”

  His meaning is clear. He has no patience for the guys picking up the groupies, even though it’s a part of the game.

  “We like to get our beauty sleep,” Jones offers, speaking for the four of us.

  “How wise,” Jasper says in his smooth voice. He raises a hand to scratch his jaw, and his three Super Bowl rings nearly blind me.

  “We’re just getting a nightcap,” Maxine offers, her eyes on me the whole time. She doesn’t even look at Jones, Harlan, or Rick. “But then, we don’t have to be on the field bright and early for practice.”

  “Bright and early,” I say with a smile, since tomorrow is Saturday, and it’s a light workout before the Sunday game.

  She waggles her fingers at me. “Sleep well.”

  Once inside the elevator, I breathe a sigh of relief and rest my forehead against the panel. “Did she look like she wanted to eat me for dessert?”

  Harlan pats my back. “Poor, poor pretty boy.”

  “Is it hard being so good-looking?” Rick asks in a faux concerned voice.

  I raise my face and narrow my eyes. “You fuckers have no idea.”

  “No idea what it’s like to be so lovely and charming that all the ladies throw themselves at you?” Jones asks, lifting his imaginary violin and playing a lament.

  I sigh. “Why do I bother talking to you assholes at all?”

  Harlan answers, “Because we make you look good on Sundays.”

  Rick taps his chest. “Don’t look at me. I make myself look good.” He pantomimes kicking a ball.

  “And yet, I love all you fuckers,” I say when we reach our floor.

  I give a quick wave good night and head to my room. The door clicks shut behind me, and I wash my hands, brush my teeth, and undres
s. When I’m down to nothing, I grab my phone and contemplate texting Violet. Maybe even to mention Maxine’s hair. I bet she was in the salon this week, but then, if anything had gone down I needed to know, Violet would have told me.

  We’ve only texted a few times since I’ve left, and most have been from her of the go team variety. I don’t need to text her about another woman. Besides, if I text her about anything more than the simplest stuff, chances are I won’t be able to stop.

  I turn off the light, turn off the text notifications on my phone, and don’t wake up until my phone rattles on my nightstand in the morning like the world is ending. I rub my eyes, stare at the screen, then sit bolt upright when I see who’s calling.

  I answer immediately. “Yes, sir?”

  “Cooper, can you meet me in my suite before practice?”

  “Yes, I can, Mr. Scott.”

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m showered, dressed, and heading to what feels like an execution for real this time.

  29

  When I was in third grade, the teacher asked me to come to the blackboard and work on a math problem. I said, “Maybe. We’ll see.”

  My classmates cracked up. The teacher did not. She sent me to see the principal. A terrible fear lashed through my nine-year-old body as I walked to the office. I’d be sent to detention, suspended, or expelled. My mom was going to be so pissed.

  In the end, the principal gave me a stern talking-to about respect.

  Now, as I wait for the shining silver elevator doors to whisk open, I can only wish for a stern reprimand. In my nearly four seasons with the team, I’ve spoken to Jasper on only a few occasions, and I’ve never been called to his office. Not once.

  When the elevator arrives with a soft whoosh, I step inside, my feet leaden, my chest hollowed. The doors close, and I swipe my keycard across the security pad and press the button for the top floor.

  As it rises, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m screwed.

  When I reach his floor, I try to psyche myself up. I stare down linemen, I scramble in the pocket, and I throw pinpoint passes under fire from the toughest defensive coverage. Chin up, chest high.

  I find suite 1200 and raise my fist to knock. Before I can even rap, he opens it. Jasper smiles, showing no teeth. He wears navy slacks and a crisp button-down.

  “Thank you for coming, Cooper. Especially on such short notice.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  The suite is quiet. Only the hum of the heater echoes as we walk from the foyer around the corner. That’s when I see we’re not alone. Maxine is here, perched on a couch in the sunken living room, her hands folded in her lap.

  Ice-cold dread fills me from stem to fucking stern. This is so much more than the ax.

  “Please, have a seat,” Jasper says, indicating the chair across from Maxine.

  She meets my eyes and offers a rueful smile.

  I’m royally fucked.

  Jasper sits in the yellow chair across from me. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea, water?”

  I furrow my brow. The owner is offering me a beverage? Maybe I’m dreaming. Maybe it’s still the middle of the night, because this is a topsy-turvy world. “I’m good, sir.”

  “Excellent.” He rubs his palms on his pant legs, almost as if he’s nervous. “You might be wondering why I called you here.”

  Ya think?

  I nod. I can hardly speak.

  He takes a deep breath, sighs, then gestures to Maxine. Jasper’s tone is heavy, laced with import. “My sister has something to say.”

  My stomach churns as I wait for her to smear me.

  My mind leaps forward and back, replaying every interaction with Maxine. I try to find the moment I messed up. When I said or did something horribly wrong. When I led her on. I hunt in my memory banks, searching desperately for my transgression.

  I can’t find it, but even so the blade is coming down. It’s aiming for my neck.

  But when Maxine meets my gaze, her words shock me. “I’m sorry.”

  I blink. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m so very sorry,” she adds, her voice colored with contrition.

  My jaw comes unhinged, and I try to speak. To say for what or why or what the heck. But all that comes out is something like um.

  Jasper makes a rolling gesture, indicating Maxine should keep going.

  She draws a deep breath. “I’ve been inappropriate. I’ve been hitting on you for several months. At first I told myself it was harmless flirting, but then it became more, and I should not have taken advantage of my position with the team.” She looks to Jasper, and he nods and gives her a faint smile. “And I crossed a line at the auction. I’d been sad, but that doesn’t excuse my behavior. After I saw you last night in the lobby, I knew it was time to come clean. I told Jasper everything.”

  I tense, waiting for what the everything is, wondering if she somehow figured out I lied about Violet at the auction. I cycle back to the day in the stands, when Maxine approached me after my phone call with Violet. My pretend girlfriend conversation. Maybe she did overhear something. The tension in me refills and bubbles over.

  “Everything?” I croak out.

  She nods, purses her lips, then speaks again. “I told him how I tried to bid on you, how determined I was, but then how your girlfriend won you at the end. And she deserves you. I was jealous, but I can see you’re in love with her, and I completely understand why.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and open them again. Once more, the room is upside down, right side up, tipped on its side. “I’m in love with her?” I ask, but then I realize those words shouldn’t come out in the form of a question.

  And not just because of my audience. That’s because it’s not a fucking question. It’s a fact of my existence.

  “I’m in love with her,” I repeat, this time with the certainty I feel inside. In my heart.

  As soon as I say it, I can’t seem to stop saying it. It frees me. It rips the weight of confusion off my shoulders. Everything that’s been happening with Violet crystallizes in one bright, clear moment. “I’m completely head over heels for her.”

  I am absolutely smitten with my best friend’s sister, the girl I’ve known nearly my whole life.

  “I can tell,” Maxine says, a soft smile curving her lips. “And, she’s quite in love with you, too.”

  My eyes widen to the size of pizza pies. “What?”

  Wild hope takes off inside me, strapping my heart onto a rocket of hope. Violet’s in love with me, too? There’s no way. That’s too much to ask for. That’s like winning the Super Bowl.

  Maxine’s eyes twinkle. This is the other side of her. The romantic side I saw in the stands. “She mentioned you when I had my hair done.” She lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Apparently, she’s had quite the thing for you since the second grade.”

  The rocket sputters, falling to earth in a heap of debris. That’s Violet’s canned response. It’s not new or special. It’s not as if she said, I’ve been in love with him since he tied me up and took me on a trip around the world on my bed. Or I fell hard for him when I saw how much he enjoyed hanging with the kids at the hospital.

  This is status quo.

  It’s the reminder that we’re friends who help each other, friends who have enjoyed a few benefits.

  That’s all.

  And that has to be okay.

  Jasper smiles at me, then nods at Maxine as if he’s proud of her for doing this, but something else crystallizes.

  Maxine could have just stopped coming on to me. She didn’t have to apologize, and she certainly didn’t have to confess to Jasper. But she womaned up in the end. She didn’t try to hide a thing. But what have I been doing?

  Hiding everything.

  “I’m glad we could clear the air,” Jasper says.

  And when I’m dismissed, I realize that’s exactly what I need to do, too.

  30

  It takes all day to work up my nerve because I’m about to do something my
agent would deem utterly insane.

  That’s why I don’t call Ford. There wouldn’t be enough yoga classes in the Bay Area to calm him down if I told him my plan.

  Besides, when I’m on the field and see safeties swarming the guy I’m about to throw to, I can’t find a new target if I’m looking to the sidelines for instructions.

  I have to lead the team.

  I have to be the one to lead my own damn career.

  When the pre-game team meeting in the hotel conference room ends that evening, I don’t leave with my teammates. I walk over to Greenhaven and ask if I can have a word. He turns away from his assistant coaches and tells them he’ll be right back. We head into a private room off the conference area, and he shuts the door.

  “What can I do for you, Cooper?”

  My first name. There it is again. That’s who I want to be for him. But I can’t be that guy if I’m lying. I clear my throat. “I wanted to thank you for the invitation to dinner with your wife.”

  He nods. “Of course.” He takes a beat, studies my face, and reads me loud and clear. “But you didn’t need to pull me aside for that.”

  “No. I didn’t.” I take a deep, fueling breath. “I’m not really involved with Violet.”

  His brow furrows. His eyes register surprise. I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen Greenhaven flummoxed. “You’re not?”