Most Valuable Playboy

She taps the side of her nose. “I figured it out pretty damn quickly.”

“Thank the Lord.” I tilt my head in the direction Jones made his exit. “What should I tell Jillian when she asks again? Do I tell her we split up? That it was a short-lived thing?” I ask, but each of those options feels wrong, and I’m not entirely sure why. “Or do I say we’ve been together for a while, and leave it at that?”

Violet hums, like she’s thinking. “That could work, especially if you play up the whole privacy angle. Like we haven’t said anything for that reason and we want to keep it that way?”

I screw up the corner of my lips, hunting for an answer, too. “Or, maybe I should see if it all blows over tomorrow? Maybe it won’t be that big a deal?”

Violet’s eyes light up. “There are so many more interesting things to talk about in this town. We’ll be the flavor of the night, and I’m sure by tomorrow no one will care.”

“Exactly. No one will care,” I echo.

She dips a hand into the side of her pink leather handbag—it’s a Coach, and I know this because my mom loves handbags, and I take her shopping for them regularly. Violet finds her keys then flashes me a friendly smile. “I should go. The salon opens at nine tomorrow, but the landlord is coming by at eight thirty for a meeting.”

I groan. “What does he want this time?”

She sighs. “Who knows? Last time, he dropped by to tell me I was generating too much trash, which is kind of ridiculous since most of our trash is . . . wait for it . . . hair.”

“Hair, of course, occupies an inordinate amount of space in the dumpster.”

“I know. The time before it was noise. Because hair dryers are soooo loud,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Violet, don’t be silly,” I say in mock seriousness. “It was probably the sound of the aerosol hairspray that’s violating eardrums.”

She laughs. “But I suspect he wants to lease the space to some buddy of his who’s keen to sell Sausalito tchotchkes to tourists.” Her salon is located in the heart of the tourist town’s commercial district. Prime pickings for peddling snow globes of boats and the houses perched on hills the town is known for.

“Call me crazy, but I feel like the world doesn’t need more tchotchkes.”

She holds up a finger to make a point. “But they do need better hairstyles.”

“Absolutely.”

I realize I’m delaying her. I’m standing here volleying with her when the woman has said she needs to cruise. What am I keeping her for, anyway? For her to tell me she wants to bang in her back seat? It’s a small car, and ideally, I’d rather spread her out on my bed. But if she wanted to test the strength of—

What the hell?

I slam on the mental brakes, skidding away from the five-car pileup of filth I was headed for. Not only am I taking a sex sabbatical this season, I also distinctly remember ridding my brain of all dirty fantasies about my good friend. But the dirty lobe is working overtime tonight, and I need to shut it down. Better to focus on knickknacks, and dickish landlords, and an early bedtime. “We have practice early, so I should call it a night, too.”

She points her keys at the car. “Do you want a ride home?”

I cabbed it over here, so I take her up on the offer. I open the door for her, click it shut, then walk around to the passenger seat, reminding myself that Violet and I simply need to segue back to the way we were.

Inside the car, we’re silent at first, as she grabs roughly at the seat belt. The belt sticks, and she tugs it hard, yanking it across her, her elbow nearly smacking me.

“Sorry,” she mutters.

I hold up my hands. “All good.”

She clicks in the buckle then goes to start the car, but she fumbles the key in the ignition.

Shit. She’s nervous. And since she saved me, I need to make sure she’s cool with us. I set a hand on her wrist, stilling her moves. “Are you weirded out that we kissed?”

She wrenches back. “What? No. Of course not.”

“Okay, then.” I take a beat and try to study her face, to figure out where she’s at. “I guess we’re all good, then?”

“Of course. We’re always good.” She lifts her keys again as I buckle my belt. “But, kisses are weird,” she blurts out.

I snap my gaze to her. “They are?”

“Just since I’ve known you for so long,” she says, as if she’s trying to explain a faux pas.

“Right, right.” I rub my palms on my pants. “Not because you think I’m a weird kisser?”

Her eyes widen into moons. “No. You’re not a weird kisser. Do you think you’re a weird kisser?”

I furrow my brow. She’s talking in circles. She has me all twisted up. “I never thought so before, but I’m beginning to now. Did I kiss you weirdly?”

“Did I kiss you weirdly?” she counters, tapping her chest.

And round and round we go. I shake my head. “No. Not in the least.”

“Good,” she says with a nervous laugh as she slides the key into the ignition, getting it right this time. She backs up, shifts into drive, and pulls forward. “I’m not into weird kisses,” she adds.

Nor am I. But I am into fixing things with Violet and restoring the order of our friendship. “Tell the truth. You’re into sloppy wet kisses. Like a dog kiss.” I’m not honestly sure what she does want, so humor is the easiest way through this awkward patch. “Admit it.”

This time, the sound of her laughter isn’t nervous as she rounds the corner of the parking stalls, heading toward the exit ramp. “Oh yes, that’s precisely what I want. Your slobbery kiss.”

I lean over the console and lick her cheek. A long, wet, slurpy kiss engineered to cut the tension.

She shoots a what gives look as she turns the wheel. “Okay, that was definitely bizarre, Cooper.”

We both laugh, then I straighten my tie. “Fine, you think I’m a bizarre kisser. I can live with that,” I say, teasing, since that’s the safest route. I can connect the dots. Violet hasn’t said she liked the kiss. In fact, she’s danced around the topic, sidestepping it in a way that tells me clearly she wasn’t into it.

There’s a part of me, I admit, that wishes she wanted to hump my leg right now, even though I’d have to turn down humping of any part of my anatomy for the sake of maintaining my season-long streak. But I’m man enough to accept when a woman doesn’t dig me. Hell, if I expect Maxine to get a clue that I’m not ripe for her plucking, I’d better get the hint from Violet that the kiss extravaganza didn’t float her boat. It’s a bummer, but that’s life.

She slows at the ticket booth, grabbing my arm. “I never said you’re a bizarre kisser. I didn’t mean it like that.”

But I don’t get a chance to ask what she did mean, because the bored woman at the gate grunts, “Ticket, please.” Violet hands her our validated ticket, and we roll out of the garage.