Most Valuable Playboy

But he’s gone rogue.

The idiot between my legs is malfunctioning, pointing at the wrong person in an absolutely inappropriate manner. Violet resides in the not-allowed-to-think-of-as-hot category. I’m friends with her whole family, for Christ’s sake. I’m not supposed to be attracted to her, I shouldn’t be turned on by her, and I’m not going to let myself get carried away with this performance. But tell that to my body, because I’m immensely turned on as Violet and I kiss more deeply. I’m sinking into this kiss, and I need to wrestle some control back. It’s not possible for me to be this goddamn attracted to a woman who’s been like a sister to me.

I let that word echo in my head. Sister.

Except, there’s nothing sisterly about the softness of her lips, or the peach taste of her gloss, or the scent of her fresh and minty breath.

I’m not thinking of sisters. I’m thinking of this woman.

I take over, cupping her cheeks with my hands. I hold her face and seal my mouth to hers with a deeper, more passionate kiss. I forget where I am. I forget the crowd. The attendees. The emcee. My teammates. Jillian. Maxine. Trent. I kiss Violet on stage, savoring her taste, reveling in the sweetness of her lips, delighting in the scent that engulfs me. I kiss her like she is my girlfriend, like she’s the only one who should be winning a date with me, because she’s the only one I could possibly want.

When our lips slide apart, her lip gloss is smudged. Her amber eyes are glassy and dazed. I wonder how mine look and if they match hers.

The crowd goes wild.

Sierra cheers, then says, “The quarterback and the hometown girl. Now, that is a winning bid.”

The collective awww tells me this is a story they like.

But when I head backstage, Violet’s hand in mine, I see we’ve slid into a whole new pack of problems.





5





Jillian marches up to me, her heels clicking on the floor. Her eyes drill holes through me. Her lips approximate a thin line. Her arms go straight in front of her. She pushes my chest. She’s tough, but I don’t move.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, confused, because she should be happy, right? “Your pretty kitties earned so much money.”

The smile that spreads quickly tells me she’s one happy mama cat. “I know! I’m so thrilled!” She shoves me again.

“Then why are you pushing me?”

Another shove. “Because you didn’t tell me.” Jillian gestures wildly from Violet to me. “How could you not tell me you were dating? We were all in the suite together, and I had no idea.”

Jones gives me a satisfied smirk from his post backstage. He knows Violet and I aren’t together. He keeps his mouth zipped, though. Harlan, too, is quiet, and so is Rick.

I take a deep breath, and in that span of a few seconds, I consider my choices. Let her believe the fib, or let her in on the ruse. The thing is, Jillian works for the team. Even though she’s friendly with us, she’s still management. She’s not a teammate. She’s not taking hits for me on the field.

If I told the guys the truth, they’d have my back, since that’s what we do for each other. But I don’t know where Jillian’s loyalties lie, so it’s best not to tip my hand.

“You know how these things go,” I say, keeping it vague as I squeeze Violet’s hand. I startle when I realize I’m still holding it. How did that happen? I guess I grabbed on when we left the stage and never let go. She squeezes back, giving me a smile. Okay, fine, we’re officially still holding hands.

Jillian’s eyes widen, and her grin is huge and hungry. “No. I don’t know how it goes. Tell me.” Her tone is rich with excitement. I suppose these stories can be the fun ones for a publicist. She’s eating it up, like Sierra did. “I want details. You know I’m going to get calls from the press asking about the two of you. I already have reporters texting me, wanting to know the story, wanting to know who your lovely stylist-turned-girlfriend is.” She brandishes her cell phone.

I scrub a hand across the back of my neck. “Damn, they work fast.”

And I need to work faster. I need to figure out what our story is. Think, Armstrong, think.

Jones meets my gaze, then steps in. “Here’s what you tell them. Tell them it’s none of their fucking business.” Then he softens and gives the publicist a hug. “Good night, Jillian.”

When he breaks the embrace, he tips his head to the exit. “We have an early practice tomorrow.”

“But we have paperwork to do from the auction,” she calls out as he pushes on the heavy door. “Totals, sign-off from the bidders, et cetera.”

Violet grabs a pen from her purse, while Jillian thrusts the clipboard at her with the papers indicating she won me with a $10,000 bid. My good friend scribbles her signature, yawns, and says, “I’m exhausted. Can we catch up on everything else tomorrow?”

She smiles sweetly at Jillian, charming the minx.

Jillian is powerless before her. “Of course.”

Jones ushers us into the hall, down the stairwell, and to the employee parking lot that the hotel let us use tonight. He arches a brow when we reach Violet’s car. “I assume you two have shit to get straight. So, I’ll let you figure the rest out.” He nods decisively. “You just let me know what you need me to say, got it?”

“Thanks, man,” I say.

“Don’t even think twice about it.”

He walks away, and it’s just Violet and me at her emerald green Mini Cooper. “So . . .”

She nibbles on the corner of her lip. “So . . .”

Your lips taste amazing.

You kiss like a dream.

You turned me on more than you should.

Whoa. I don’t know where the hell those thoughts came from, but I’m evidently drunk from that kiss. I lift the corner of the carpet in my mind and sweep those ridiculous ideas under it. There. I’m not thinking about her lips anymore. I clear my throat. “I believe a thank you is in order. You are a goddess and a saint, and I’m incredibly grateful.”

Just focus on the bid, not the kiss.

She punches my arm in an old buddy, old pal way. “You should be thanking your bank account. You just bought yourself for a pretty penny.”

I laugh. “True, that. I’m quite a generous contributor to charity.”

“You are.” She fiddles with her bracelets and then looks up at me. Concern flickers across her eyes. “I didn’t bid too high, did I? Are you pissed?”

My jaw clangs to the pavement of the parking lot. “Are you kidding me?” My voice echoes loud in the cavernous space. I lower it. “Fuck no. I meant it when I said I’d rather get splinters in my ass. Plus, I’ve got the money, and it’s a great cause.”

She wipes the back of her hand dramatically over her forehead. “I knew it was a lot, and I was a touch concerned that you’d freak out. But mostly you looked like you needed rescuing.”

“Was it that obvious?”