Most Valuable Playboy

Holly gives him a curious look as she grabs her phone and taps on the screen. “What are you talking about?”

“Mom couldn’t figure out why I went through so many boxes of tissues. She thought I had a cold that lasted several months.”

Violet arches an eyebrow. “Seriously? How do you know Mom figured out the tissues were for your morning habit?”

“Because I saw the look on her face when she replaced the box next time. It was sort of like this.” Trent crinkles his nose and curls up the corner of his lips. “She couldn’t unsee the reason why I needed a tissue box on the nightstand.”

“I feel so bad for your mom,” I say, sympathetically. “And for myself, because now I can’t unsee it, either.”

Violet shakes her head. “Like I said earlier, boys are yucky.”

The waitress returns with our drinks. “For you,” the waitress says to Violet, handing her the wine.

When she gives me the beer, she smiles brightly, pointing to her chest and the Giants shirt she’s wearing. “Don’t let the jersey worry you. My Armstrong one is in the wash.”

“Thank you very much, Liz,” I say, reading her name tag.

Liz giggles. “Cooper, you’re so very welcome.” The way her eyes sparkle, I’m pretty sure her you’re welcome translates into you can take me home tonight and do bad things to me.

Which I have no interest in doing.

Trent turns to the waitress. “Thanks for the drinks, Liz. We’re all good.”

And that means I’ve told you a million times not to hit on Cooper when he comes to my bar.

Liz leaves, and Violet takes a drink of her wine as I return to the subject of Trent’s handy days. “Thanks for ruining my image of Kleenex now, too. Also, why didn’t you just jack it in the shower?”

He points his thumb at his sister. “Don’t you remember? Violet put a clown head in the shower to get back at me for a prank, and I hate clowns.”

“Oh shit. That’s right,” I say, as the memory slides into place. “Was that after you put the zombie hand in the toilet bowl to freak her out?”

Violet takes over. “Yes, and it was the only time he ever put the lid down, so I should have suspected something. Clearly, a clown head in the shower was the only acceptable retribution for an undead hand in the toilet.”

Holly swats her husband’s elbow. “And this is why you can’t get it up in the shower.”

Trent rolls his eyes at his wife. “Oh, please. I believe this morning proves I’ve moved on from the clown-head-in-the-shower issue.”

Violet raises her hands in frustration, giving her brother a pointed look. “I know you’re going to find this hard to believe, but shockingly, I don’t want to hear about your shower issues—”

“I got over the shower issue,” Trent points out.

“Nor do I want to hear stories about your teenage masturbatory habits. Bad enough I had to live in the same house as you when you were getting it on with your hand.”

Trent’s tone shifts from strolling down Amused Lane to Seriously Annoyed Town again. “And I don’t like finding out you’re dating him on stage at a beauty pageant.”

“Him?” I ask, affronted. “I’ve been reduced to a nameless him?”

“Oh c’mon, hon. That auction was better than a beauty pageant,” Holly says to Trent, then she lifts her phone, flipping between the Pringles dude and Mr. Monopoly. “Dead ringers for each other.”

“Exactly.”

My buddy points at me, undistracted by the chips-to-houses revelation. “Fess up. How long have you two been together?”

Violet scoffs. “Seriously? You bought into it?”

Trent looks perplexed. “Of course. It seemed totally legit.”

Violet laughs harder and meets Holly’s gaze. “You could tell, right?”

Holly shakes her head. But Violet doesn’t let go of her stare. Something shifts in Holly’s expression, as if she’s picked up on a key data point. Girl code, maybe? “Yes, of course I could tell,” Holly says robotically, straightening her shoulders as she nods at Violet.

“You mean that was all a charade?” Trent asks. “The whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing?”

I lower my voice. “Look, what I’m about to say is not for public consumption, okay?”

Trent nods his understanding. Everyone leans in.

“The owner’s sister has been putting the moves on me. My contract’s up for negotiation, and I don’t need to make waves by being a dick to her and turning her down. So, Violet saved me. That’s all. Case closed.”

Trent scrubs his hand over his jaw. “You guys really aren’t dating? You sure?”

Violet sighs heavily as she lifts her wineglass. “I think I’d know if we were dating.”

“I have to say you had me fooled,” Holly chimes in, and Violet shoots her another laser-eyed look. Holly quickly amends her comment. “But of course, it makes sense that it was a joke. You love to tell jokes.”

“Just a joke to help my friend,” Violet says, emphasizing friend, as if she’s trying to imprint the word on everyone’s mind.

Why do I feel as if they’re speaking in tongues? Like these women are trying to remind each other of what they’re supposed to say?

But I can’t quite slide one puzzle piece into the other, so I’m left with curved edges that don’t align with round holes. This is why men fuck up relationships. Because sometimes, women make no sense.

Violet puts her hand on my shoulder. “Our man needed help. I helped him. That’s what we do. We’re a pack. Like when he took me to prom after Jamie ditched me. It seemed only fair.”

Ding, ding, ding! The bell rings. The buzzer sounds.

The situation is crystal clear. Tonight’s save-and-smooch was simply the return of a favor from years ago. I laugh quietly, a relieved sound, because I get it. At last, I understand what went down tonight. The kiss was part of the show, and the show was part of the rescue, and the rescue was her long-overdue thank you.

Even though I wasn’t banking on one. I was simply happy to have helped her when she needed it.

Her senior prom fell over Memorial Day weekend seven years ago, and I happened to be home from my freshman year of college, visiting my mom. Violet’s date bailed at the last minute, breaking up with her the day before to hook up with another girl.

Total dick move.

“Let me take you,” I’d said as soon as I heard.

She’d shaken her head, wiped tears off her face, and slapped on a plastic smile. “I’ll be fine. I have a pint of ice cream and a movie to watch.”

I scowled. “That’s ridiculous. You have me to dance with, cheesy photos to take, and a smoking-hot dress to wear. You’re going, and I’m your new date.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to. Don’t you want to wear the dress?” I asked, because I suspected the fashionista in her would have had a hard time resisting getting dolled up as she’d intended. Focusing on the dress was the best way to get her to say yes, and I didn’t want her to remember prom as the day she was stood up.

Her smile turned real. “It’s a really pretty dress.”