Her noises turn into something else. My name. “Cooper,” she calls out, and it sounds husky, raspy.

  I lick her faster, learning her cues, discovering how she likes it. I bring a finger to her center, sliding across her slickness to see if she wants to fuck my finger, too, and she goes wild as I slide into her, her legs clamping tight around my head like a vise, and I love it. She tugs my hair harder.

  “Please,” she whimpers hoarsely, then it turns into a chant, like a plea. Her hands grip harder, she thrusts faster, and my world spins further away from me.

  She’s so close, and I’m so turned on. A blast of pleasure ricochets down my body, an overwhelming reminder of how much I want to be buried inside her. I’m practically dry humping the couch, I want her so much. I want to fuck her and kiss and touch her and do everything to her.

  But I can’t. So I kiss her pussy that way. So she knows I want it all. I devour her sweetness.

  “Coming,” she cries in the faintest voice, and then I grip her ass and drink her as her taste floods my tongue, making me high—higher—on her.

  When Violet comes, she detonates. She writhes and pants and screams, and it’s beautiful and primal. She can’t stop saying my name, and it sounds intoxicating on her tongue. “Cooper, oh God, Cooper, oh God, Cooper.”

  Yeah, I like this chant. I like it a lot.

  I slow my moves, easing her down with a final soft kiss. Then I move away from her sensitive clit and kiss her hip bone, her navel, up to her breasts. She cradles my head between them, lacing her fingers through my hair.

  “Cooper, this is my happy zone,” she says softly.

  “Mmmm. Me too.” I look up and meet her gaze. Her eyes are hazy. Her cheeks are flushed. Her expression is one I want to remember forever—my woman, thoroughly satisfied. “Can I do that again?”

  “You better,” she says playfully.

  “How about now?”

  She gives me a look like I can’t be serious. “Now?”

  I nod enthusiastically.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “Please,” she says her voice beautifully desperate, then she pushes me down her body. That move right there, her hands shoving me back to her sweetness, is my new favorite part of the night, as she makes it patently clear where she wants me.

  I return to her, and I kiss her once more, going slower, taking my time, learning how she likes it when she’s already had it once. I work her up to a second time, kissing, licking, building, gliding, until she flies off the edge once more, thanks to my fingers and my mouth and my dirty desire to taste her pleasure all over again.

  Afterward, I scoot next to her on the couch and wrap an arm around her. She sighs and snuggles against me, her naked body pressed to my clothed one. “You’re like a limp noodle,” I murmur, loving her post-orgasmic state of bliss.

  “My noodleness is all your fault,” she teases.

  I move her hair off her neck and press a gentle kiss to her soft skin. Another sweet sigh is my reward. The lights of the tree are flashing blue and white against the window when “Wrecking Ball” begins, and I groan.

  “C’mon, karaoke king. Sing it with me,” she says.

  “You know how I feel about Miley.”

  “But this song. It’s so epic. Just the chorus at least?”

  And seriously, with her naked in my arms, how can I not do her bidding?

  A little later, she gathers her clothes as if she’s going to leave. I furrow my brow. “What’s this?”

  “Don’t you want me to go?”

  I sit up straight. “Um, no.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Seriously? Why on earth would I want you to go?”

  “Because . . .” She flaps her arms, as if she’s gesturing to us and what’s happening.

  “Because . . . you can’t fly home? Are you trying to fly, Violet?”

  She laughs and rolls her eyes. “I just figured . . .”

  “That I’m a playboy who’ll kick you out,” I say, and grab her waist and tackle her.

  She laughs.

  “You forgot I can tackle,” I say, tugging her under me on the couch. “I don’t just throw. I can tackle, and pin you, and keep you.”

  “Yeah?”

  With her under me, I stare into her eyes. “Can you stay?”

  “You really want me to stay?”

  I roll my eyes. “No, I’m lying. Get out.”

  She tries to swat me, but I pin her arm. “Cooper.”

  “Stay. Just stay.”

  “Why do you want me to?”

  “I want you to sleep next to me. Why is that so hard to understand?”

  “Okay, I get it, but I don’t have my sleep shirt. I don’t want to break the routine, and I don’t want to sleep in something I wore all day, especially since it’s kind of dirty after you hugged me.”

  “You say all this like I don’t have a perfect solution to that problem.”

  Thirty minutes later, she’s in my bed, wearing nothing but one of my jerseys. Honestly, if there’s a sexier sight than her in my bed wearing my number, I won’t believe it.

  20

  My day off is glorious, even though Violet leaves before the sun rises. She dusts a quick kiss to my forehead, whispering, “I need to open the salon by eight.”

  I’m so exhausted from playing ball yesterday, as I am every Monday morning during the season, that I barely manage to drag my ass out of bed to say goodbye when she takes off. I put on my game face a couple hours later when I hit the links with my boys on a crisp December morning.

  That’s when the real pretending comes in. Ironic that I’m not faking a single moment with Violet, but now I need to act like I didn’t do unspeakable things to my best friend’s sister when I meet him for a ten a.m. tee time.

  Thank fuck Trent and I aren’t playing solo, because it’s hard to look him in the eye. Some voice in the back of my head tries to speak up, telling me that sooner or later I’ll need to come clean with him. Trent is my rock. He’s my solid, steady best friend in the whole damn world. I grew up with him, sneaked beers with him, shot hoops with him, and leaned on him. Hell, I was the best man in his wedding two years ago, and Violet was a bridesmaid. And damn, did she ever look stunning in a pale yellow dress with little straps that showed off her shoulders.

  There I go again. Drifting back to her. I chase away thoughts of the woman I want and try to focus on being in the moment with my friends. Today’s not the day to fess up.

  Jones adjusts his glove as he chats with his brother. Nearby, Rick and his best friend from college down their morning coffee, while Harlan ambles over to us, along with his brother-in-law. This is our regular crew, and we try to play once a month.

  “Hey, man, any word on the contract?” Trent asks as he finds his club.

  “It’s anyone’s guess. The GM might be waiting to see if we make the playoffs. I’m trying my best to keep it out of my mind.”

  “The real judge of a quarterback is whether he takes his team to the post-season,” Trent says absently. He takes a few practice swings as if he hasn’t just hit the nail on the head with regard to the waiting game I’m playing with the GM.

  “Don’t I know it,” I say, a small prickle of nerves skating up my back. I’d really like to know if I’m going to be in San Francisco after this season. It’s entirely possible the Renegades won’t pick me up, and I’ll have to fly where the free agent skies take me. Baltimore, Buffalo, Houston, New Orleans—who knows? Tension winds through me. I’m a lucky bastard to play in my hometown, and I don’t want to give up seeing my friends and family this often. I raise my gaze to my teammates. I love these fuckers too. I want to stick with them. I want to take them all the way into January and beyond.

  “Guess that means you’ll be keeping up the dog-and-pony show with Violet for a little longer?”

  My golf bag is suddenly the most interesting thing in the universe, and I take my sweet time hunting for my driver. “As long as we have to, I guess. You cool with that?”

  “I’m cool with it. Even though it’s really fucking weird to see you with her.”

  I look up. “Because I’m such an asshole, right?” I say with a mischievous grin.

  “You’re a total dickhead.”

  “But seriously. Why is it so weird?” I press him, expecting him to make another playboy comment, like he did at his bar. But that’s not what he says.

  “You’ve never gone ass over elbow for a girl. You’re married to football, Coop.” Then he strolls to the tee at the first hole.

  I stand, unmoving, smacked upside the head by a hefty dose of reality. I’ve never been head over heels, and that’s why my breakup with Kelly in college didn’t faze me. Briefly, I wonder if my pretend breakup with Violet will hurt when it comes. Immediately, my chest twists at that unpleasant thought. Breakup and Violet are two words that shouldn’t occupy the same sentence, and if I let my mind wander in this direction, I’m going to play a shitty game of golf.

  I want to enjoy the hell out of my day off, since I enjoyed every single second of my late night.

  I’ve just started to the tee when Jones stops me with a strong hand on my arm. He nods to Trent. “He has no clue how you really feel?”

  “What?” I ask, brow furrowed.

  “How you feel about his sister,” he says out of the corner of his mouth.

  I give him a blank look.

  Jones laughs. “That’s priceless. That expression on your face. Almost like you believe your own bullshit.”

  “My expression is that you’re about to ruin a beautiful game of golf.”

  His chuckles continue. “You might be able to fool someone who doesn’t want to see you’re nuts for his sister, but you can’t fool me. I heard how you talked about her to Jillian. You’re in so far over your head.”

  I level him with my gaze. “And I saw the way you looked at Jillian. Think you might be in over your head?”

  Now his expression is blank. “What are you talking about?”

  “C’mon. You know she doesn’t date players.”

  Jones rolls his eyes. “Don’t even try to change the subject to matchmaking games.”

  “Watch me change it again.” I point to the green. “Time to take my shot.”

  “But you know, Jillian is a badass babe,” he says.

  I grin and nod in acknowledgment.

  I’d have to say the same is true for Violet, and when I’m done losing terribly at golf, I take off for Sausalito.

  21

  When you’re raised solo by a strong single mom, you learn certain things. How to live on a budget—ramen is your friend. How to do laundry at a very early age—if you hear my mom tell the stories, I was separating whites and darks at three years old. How to treat a woman—don’t show up out of the blue without a gift.

  That’s why I stroll into the hair salon on Monday afternoon with a bouquet of violets. They’re stunning, a rich royal purple, and they’re tied with a silver ribbon.

  “Hello, Sage,” I say with a broad smile to the receptionist with the metallic-colored hair.

  She giggles. “Hi, Cooper.”

  “I’m looking for the lovely lady who runs this shop.”

  “I’ll get her for you,” she says with a huge grin, her bangles jingling as she rises. “She’s nearly finished with a cut.”

  “I’ll just wait then,” I say, and make my way to the white couch.

  But before I can park my ass, the click-clack of heels echoes across the floor. “You look gorgeous, Dani. And you are going to have the best time on your trip. I can’t wait to hear all about it,” Violet says to a customer, and when I hear her voice, a strange feeling erupts in my chest, like bubbles. I’m a goddamn soda bottle near her. Maybe that’s what’s going on with this odd sensation, like my world is suddenly effervescent.

  “And you know I’ll tell you everything. I always do,” the woman replies.

  I turn to see Violet hugging a high-cheekboned blonde, whose hair falls in pretty curls over her shoulders. I suppose I should admire Violet’s handiwork, and how lovely the woman’s ’do looks. But my eyes are on the brunette and that little black skirt she wears, paired too seductively for my own good with black boots that reach her thighs.

  Those thighs.

  My face fits so fucking well between those thighs.

  And now my dick is sitting up and taking notice.

  Focus on her face, idiot.

  But that only intensifies matters because . . . those eyes that glitter, that skin that glows, those lips curved in a surprised but happy smile . . .

  The bubbles are gone. Now I’m just burning with lust.

  “Hi. I wasn’t expecting you,” she says as her client leaves.

  I hold out the bouquet. “I brought you flowers.”

  Violet’s smile grows even wider as she takes them. “They’re gorgeous.”

  “Like you.”

  Sage giggles, and from a nearby salon chair, an audible sigh falls from a customer’s lips as another stylist snips her locks.

  Violet brings the flowers to her nose and inhales. “They smell sweet.”

  Like you, I mouth, just to her.

  A pink flush spreads over her cheeks. “Let me get water for them. Follow me back?”

  “Of course.”

  As Violet escorts me through the salon, a few heads turn, and a woman parked under a hair dryer snaps her gaze to us and widens her eyes. I’m all smiles as I follow the most beautiful girl in the room, the town, the whole damn city. The view is stupendous. Her ass looks fantastic in that tight skirt, the fabric hugging her curves deliciously.

  “I have a vase somewhere in the utility closet,” Violet says, glancing back at me as she walks past the shampooing sinks. She flashes me a smile that says we have a secret. That secret is I know what she sounds like when she comes on my lips.

  My dick twitches with the fond memory of last night, making his presence in my pants even more noticeable. Cocky bastard. We reach the back of the salon and turn down a short hallway. I peer into one of the low-lit rooms and do a double take when I see a massage table in an empty room. “I didn’t know you did massage here.”

  “Full-service spa, baby,” she says, stepping ahead of me to reach for the doorknob of what I presume is the utility closet. I call an audible in my head, though, changing the play right here on the line of scrimmage. I reach forward, grab her free arm, and tug her back.

  She nearly stumbles, but I steady her, then pull her into the massage room.

  “What are you doing?” she whispers as I close the door.

  I grab the flowers and set them on the massage table.

  “What I’ve been thinking about since you left this morning,” I say, as I walk her back to the wall beside the door, line up my body with hers, and kiss her.

  Fuck, she tastes good. Like lip gloss and spearmint. I kiss her rough, with a singular goal in mind—kiss the breath out of her. My plan works. She slinks her arms around my neck and angles her lush body against me as she gives herself over to this kiss. I get lost for a minute in her taste, in her lips, in the feel of our mouths crushing together.

  When we separate, she blinks, licks her lips, and says, “Wow.”

  “All day. I’ve been thinking about that all day.” My voice is rough, full of need.

  “You have?”

  “So much.”

  “Me too,” she says, then tips up her chin, asking for more.

  I grab her chin and bring her face closer. My lips are millimeters from hers, and for a few seconds I let this moment extend and unfold, our lips so damn close, nearly touching. Wanting and waiting. Then I slam my lips to hers, hungry for her. So damn hungry and greedy. I could kiss her all day. I could kiss her all night. I don’t want to stop. Because there’s so much of her to kiss. So much skin and flesh. I travel along her jaw, kissing her there as she gasps and moans and sighs my name. I push against her harder, grinding my hips into her body, and she pushes back. I bend slightly at my knees, finding a better angle, then rub my hard-on against her, right fucking there. “I’ve been thinking of how you taste. How you felt on my tongue.”

  “Oh God, me too,” she says, rubbing shamelessly into me, her voice like a confession.

  “Yeah? What do you think about?”

  She drags her finger over my top lip. “These perfect lips. The way you went down on me.” She cups my cheeks, stares into my eyes. “Mostly, how I felt when I looked down my naked body and saw this pretty face between my legs.”

  The world goes up in flames.

  Hot lust floods my veins, and my groin aches—just fucking aches for her. “That’s so fucking hot. I loved tasting you. I fucking loved making you come. Can’t get it out of my head. The way you sound. The way you move.”

  “How did I sound?”

  “Like you were desperate for me.”

  She moans. “I was. I still am.”

  I can’t resist. I inch my hand under her skirt, rubbing my fingers against the cotton panel of her panties. She’s soaked, beautifully wet for me, and I need to feel all this slick heat. Need to touch her. Judging from her instantaneous reaction to my fingers—how she rocks against me—she needs it too.

  “Let me,” I rasp out.

  She glances at the door, worry etched in her eyes. “I have an appointment in ten minutes.”

  I flick my finger against her swollen clit through the panties. “Baby, I don’t even need that much time.”

  She bites down on her bottom lip, holding in a cry. “I shouldn’t do this at work,” she manages, a feeble protest.

  I drag my finger across her center. I’m fucking relentless. “Say the word and I’ll stop.”

  No words come. Only whimpers. Only murmurs. Only gasps.

  I bury my face in her neck, licking her skin to her ear. “You’re the boss, Vi.” I slip a finger inside her panties, and the blood rushes straight to my dick. She’s so soft and so wet. “No one knows you’re in the empty massage room, getting your sweet little pussy fingered by me.”