Most Valuable Playboy

I didn’t expect the coach to give a flying rat’s ass about the auction, or to know final tallies. But then, I shouldn’t be surprised, because this is the man who sees everything. He has a photographic memory of every play in every game. “Thank you, sir.”

“Glad to see you men raising money for a good cause,” he says in that solid, steady tone that reveals nothing. And yet, his words say everything. He has a zero-bullshit policy. He’d rather his players be upstanding citizens, giving back, representing the city proudly, than driving drunk, smashing cars, and knocking up underage chicks. A few of the teams in the league have racked up some pretty impressive stats in all of those areas. Greenhaven wants the opposite. Cool, calm, stable soldiers of the game.

“We’re just doing our part and grateful to be able to,” I say, Crash-Davising it all the way.

He lets go of my shoulder, and perhaps now I’m truly excused. I make a move to rejoin the guys, but Greenhaven adds, “And it’s always nice to see a woman provide a stabilizing effect on a man.”

I stop in my tracks, my muscles tightening.

Holy shit.

He doesn’t just see everything. He has an opinion on it, too.

“Yes indeed, sir. I couldn’t agree more,” I say in my best cool and calm tone. I blow out a long stream of air and trot back to the field. As I join the guys, I try to figure out what it means that our coach knows the finer workings not only of every opponent’s offense and defense, but also of our fucking love lives. What’s next? Is he going to know if I jack off in the shower tomorrow morning?

By the time we finish running, my muscles are sore and my lungs are spent. We watch game film for an hour, and when the practice mercifully ends midafternoon, all I can think about is doing a whole lot of nothing the rest of the day. Maybe take a nap. Cook a good, clean dinner with protein and vegetables, then watch game film to work on a plan of attack for the field, and study the playbook once more.

But when I turn on my phone after I’m showered and dressed, it’s clear none of that is on the agenda for this evening. I swear it feels like my phone has been weighed down with calls from my agent. I stare at the screen, scrolling through one message after another from Ford Grayson. The dude is one relentless motherfucker. I’m surprised he doesn’t jump out of my mobile device like a goddamn jack-in-the-box. In the midst of his notes, a voice mail notification pops up, but hell if I know how to work that thing. Does anyone even know how to retrieve voice mails anymore? It’s probably a credit card spammer anyway. I spot a text from Violet asking me to call her later.

I text back letting her know I’ll do just that, then I call Ford as I leave the locker room, hair wet and sticking up from the shower. “What’s going on, Ford? You lose your balls and need me to find them?”

“Oh,” he says with a hiss. “I am so going to make you pay for that comment.”

“You’ll make me pay and you’ll take your three percent.”

“Damn fucking straight I will. I might even ask for special dispensation to raise my rates to five percent for you on account of you being so goddamn hard to reach,” he says, firing off each word like a bullet. “It’s like getting an audience with Ethan Hunt once he’s gone rogue.”

“Please. Ethan’s got nothing on me. Anyway, what’s going on?” I ask as I walk down the hall.

“What’s going on? What’s going on?” I can feel his frustration radiating off him in fumes. His voice climbs an octave. He already speaks at the speed of light.

“Aww, you’re still upset with me. That’s cute,” I say, since I love to yank his chain.

“Don’t fuck with me, Coop. Don’t fucking fuck with me. Also, speaking of losing shit that matters, did you lose your ever-loving mind?”

I rap my knuckles against the side of my head, so loudly I’m sure he can hear. “Still here. Anyway, you need to relax. Want me to take you to the duck pond to settle you down?” I tease, since I know that’s where he goes when he’s ready to blow his gasket over whatever dickhead move whatever dickhead GM he’s dealing with is trying to pull.

“I’ve already been. It’s duck mating season, and even that didn’t make me less pissed at you. I need to see you right the fuck now.”

“What is duck mating season like? Are there feathers just flying everywhere?” I ask as I near the heavy doors that lead to the player’s lot.

He ignores me. “You didn’t return my calls last night.”

I stop in my tracks as I reach the end of the hall. “Shoot, man. I’m sorry. Last night was crazy. The auction and all,” I say, but the truth is, I wasn’t in the mood to chat after what went down.

“When the whole town is buzzing with you suddenly being attached and your contract is coming due, that is shit I need to know.”

I laugh. “Everyone seems to know. Greenhaven even mentioned it.”

It’s like a teapot whistles on the other end of the phone. I hear Ford suck in his breath through his nostrils. He might start to hyperventilate. “I’m a tree. I’m a calmly rustling tree. I’m one with the universe,” he says, in a deliberately placid voice.

“You okay, Ford?”

“One with the universe . . . mmm.”

“Ford?”

“Oh, sorry. Excuse fucking me. I was practicing my yoga mantras so I don’t whack you upside the head when I see you in two minutes.”

I glance at my watch. “You’re ambitious. Did you have jetpacks installed on your feet?”

“I drove. I’m outside the field.”

“You’re here?”

“You say that like it’s a surprise I tracked you down. Did I or did I not track you down in the first place?”

“You did.”

Ford Grayson is a determined bastard. We give each other a hard time because this man has my back completely. He sought me out during my final season of college ball. I swear, the second I walked off the field after our bowl game—we won, thank you very much—he was waiting for me. He made sure I signed with no one but him. I love the man. A few months later, I went in the first round of the draft, and he landed me a sweet deal with the Renegades. That deal is the reason my mom lives in a beautiful three-bedroom home overlooking the water in Sausalito with her dogs and boyfriend.

Oh, and that deal is why I never have to work again if I don’t want to.

But I want to.

I love what I do as much as I love breathing. It’s life. It’s sustenance. It makes my bones hum.

“And I did again. I’m at your car,” Ford tells me. “My assistant, Tucker, is here. He’ll drive mine home since you and I are going somewhere so we can have a little chitchat right now.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“Ominous doesn’t even begin to cover it.”





8





Ford tosses a chunk of white bread to a duck at Mallard Lake in Golden Gate Park. The waterfowl swims faster through the pond and dips his green head below the surface to grab the snack. He raises his beak, downs the bread, and quacks his appreciation. My agent fires off another piece, and a quartet of ducklings paddle through the water, fighting happily, it seems, to tear it to shreds.

I stroke my chin. “It’s not really duck mating season, Ford.”

“You have brains and beauty.”