She sinks into my touch, whimpering my name. The way she says Cooper thunders through my body. It’s pure, liquid lust.

  I grind against her, letting her feel my hard length. “All day long. My golf game was total shit. I’d line up a shot and think about the way you taste. I’d take a swing and remember how you moved against my mouth. You’re on fucking repeat in my head,” I say as I stroke her, my fingers sliding across all that heavenly sweetness.

  She rocks with me, moaning, “I can’t take it. It’s so good.”

  “You’ve been thinking about coming again, Vi?”

  Her eyes squeeze shut. Her breath rushes fast. “So much.”

  “Are you glad I stopped by?” I thrust a finger inside her, feeling the way she clenches me tightly. So fucking tight that I burn. My skin prickles with heat. My body floods with nothing but longing for her. I add a second finger.

  Her mouth falls open and her head lolls back, hitting the wall. “So glad,” she says, panting as she fucks my fingers.

  I growl her name. “I jacked off to you in the shower. God, it felt so fucking good.”

  Her eyes snap open. “What were we doing? When you came?”

  “I was fucking you, Vi. I was fucking you hard. Your palms were against the wall. Your hair was in my fist. I wasn’t a gentleman in the least.”

  “Were you rough?” Her voice is colored with excitement.

  “I gripped your hips and pounded into you, and I fucked you hard until you screamed my name.”

  She moans my name now, as if she’s demonstrating how she’d sound. She dips down on me, grinding into my hand as I rub my thumb over her sensitive clit. “I got off to you too,” she blurts out. “This morning after I was home.”

  “Yeah?” I ask, and this turns me on even more. I didn’t think it was possible to be more wound up than I am right now, but picturing her with her legs spread, fucking her own fingers, does the trick. My entire body is strung tight with this raging desire. “What was I doing?”

  “You wouldn’t let me touch you. But I wanted you so much, and I begged you to come on me.”

  My brain goes haywire from her dirty mouth. I’m white-hot in every damn molecule in my body. I rub my hard-on against her hip just for the barest relief as I finger-fuck her. “You want to see that? That gets you off?”

  “I want to see you naked,” she says, and her voice is the most desperate sound I’ve ever heard. She grinds and rocks and thrusts, and all I can think is how much I want the same things with her. How absolutely fucking much I want this woman under me, over me, beside me. With me.

  “You will, baby,” I say, as I crush my mouth to hers, kissing her right when I know she’s about to shatter. As I kiss her, I feel as if I’m devouring her pleasure with my mouth, as if I’m swallowing whole the sounds of her orgasm as she comes on my hand.

  A minute later, when she seems to float down from her high, I say with a grin. “By the way, I got you another gift.”

  “You did?” Her voice is raspy.

  “I thought you might need these,” I reach into the back pocket of my jeans and hand her a pair of bikini panties from Victoria’s Secret. Green with a giraffe print on them.

  Her eyes widen. “They’re adorable.” The meaning fully registers. She brings her hand to her mouth. “Cooper, did you come here knowing you were going to make me come?”

  I shrug happily. “What can I say? I was optimistic.”

  After I leave, I tug my Giants hat low and drop on my shades, feeling like a fucking orgasm dispensary, and I couldn’t be happier, even when a man with a beer belly and a dark mustache stops me. “Cooper Armstrong?”

  “Hey there,” I say with a smile, going into friendly-with-the-fans mode, since I don’t know this guy from Adam.

  But he seems to know me. He extends a hand. “I’m Ren Watling. I own this building.”

  Dickhead.

  “Nice to meet you, Ren,” I say, since he’s Violet’s landlord. I shake his hand.

  “Business has been great. I’m thrilled. I hope you come around more often.”

  My lips twitch in a smile. “I hope to come around more often too.”

  Later that night, after I cook myself a dinner of salmon and green beans and study the playbook, my phone dings with a text message.

  Violet: Thank you for the afternoon delight. By the way, do you like my new giraffes?

  When the multimedia image loads, I find myself with a shot of Violet from the waist down in her new panties and nothing else.

  Giraffes are my new favorite animal.

  22

  When practice ends on Tuesday, I shower at the training facility, put on jeans and a nice navy-blue button-down shirt, and grab my keys. I’m meeting Jillian and Violet at the Children’s Hospital in forty-five minutes, so I make my way toward the players’ lot. But before I can leave, a herd of elephants sounds behind me, shouting my name.

  I spin around to see two frazzled intern types. One is a skinny guy with a beaky nose, and the other is a tall dude with a military-style haircut.

  “Coach wants to see you,” the skinny guy shouts.

  “He asked us to find you,” the military guy adds.

  “Okay,” I say, as a fleet of nerves launches in my chest.

  I take a deep breath and smile. Don’t let on that you’re as nervous as a reality show contestant who might be cut.

  I walk alongside them, making idle chitchat as we head down the corridor. And now, on this week’s episode of Passers on the Chopping Block is none other than Cooper Armstrong.

  We round the corner to Greenhaven’s office, and every step feels like I’m one step closer to the guillotine. Last summer, I watched an LGO docu-special on NFL training camps where the head coach of the Los Angeles Devil Sharks called a defensive back into his office and let him go on camera.

  “I’m going to release you, Troy,” the coach said in a coolly even tone.

  The defensive back simply nodded and thanked the coach for the opportunity.

  My chest ached watching that, a throbbing sympathy pain. Troy could have been any of us, at any moment, on any day.

  Like today.

  My heart lodges in my throat, beating painfully with a wish to stay.

  Ironic how the game itself rests in my hands on any game day, but my own fate isn’t mine to hold. All I can do is lift my chin high when we reach the wooden door with Greenhaven etched into the plaque in simple white letters.

  “Here he is,” the skinny guy says, pointing to the coach, who’s on the phone.

  “There’s the coach,” the other dude says to me, also stating the painfully obvious.

  The coach motions for me to come inside. The chorus boys walk away as I cross the threshold into the decision chamber.

  Will he stay or will he go? Only Greenhaven knows if Armstrong will get the ax.

  Greenhaven holds up his finger to signal he’s nearly done with his call. “It’ll be done by five, I trust,” he says firmly.

  My shoulders tighten.

  “I don’t want any trouble this time,” he adds, in that rough voice that terrifies three-hundred-fifty-pound linemen and two-hundred-twenty-five-pound quarterbacks alike.

  He cracks a smile. “Thank you. Let me know when it’s done.”

  He hangs up the phone, clears his throat, and strides around his desk, leaning against the front of it.

  “Sorry about that. I was ordering a gift for my wife.”

  I blink, knitting my brow. “Oh.”

  “Emily loves antique tea sets, and she saw one a few weeks ago when we were in Wine Country on a day off. I’m having it sent to her at the house, but when the delivery company stopped by earlier, no one was there, even though I left instructions . . .” Greenhaven stops and waves a hand in the air. “Who cares? Bottom line—I want to make her happy.”

  “Of course. I’m sure she’ll love it, sir.”

  Just rip off the Band-Aid, man.

  He hasn’t even asked me to sit down. Isn’t he supposed to issue his directive from the power pose behind the desk? Instead, he’s leaning all casual-like, and I have no fucking clue what he wants.

  “I think she will too,” he says then takes a breath and scratches his chin. “In any case, Emily asked me to find out if Violet has any eating restrictions.”

  I shake my head in surprise. “Excuse me?”

  He laughs and waves a hand like he needs a conversational do-over. “Wrong order of info. First, she wanted me to invite you and Violet over for dinner, and second, she wanted to know if Violet has any food restrictions.”

  Relief pours through every vein in my body. My shoulders relax. A smile occupies all the real estate on my face. “She doesn’t have any, sir. And thank you very much. Dinner sounds great.”

  He claps me on the back. “Excellent. I’ll get you a date shortly.”

  He says goodbye and returns to his desk, and I’m dismissed with a dinner invite instead of a pink slip.

  Except he didn’t give me a date, and now I’m left wondering if the dinner will happen if we don’t win this weekend.

  23

  Shane’s light blue cast is propped up on the cushy couch. The curly haired thirteen-year-old isn’t even my teammate, but he shouts encouragements as I work the controller. “Go long!”

  “I’m trying, man.” I jam on the Xbox thumb stick, aiming the onscreen ball at the receiver, but my shitty-ass screen-self throws a pick instead. The cornerback intercepts it and runs straight into the end zone.

  “Dude! Did you see that?”

  The triumphant cheer comes from Tina, a ten-year-old with glasses who just had her fifth corrective surgery on her right foot. She’s a huge Renegades fan and wears a number sixteen shirt that could double as a dress. Shane, meanwhile, is recovering from a broken leg, courtesy of a car accident, and he’s sporting a sweatshirt.

  Joining us is Carlton, who looks sharp in his eye patch, since he had retina surgery. He’s on my team here at the Children’s Hospital, since the kids figured he’d need the extra help, given he only has half his vision.

  Turns out I’m the one who needs help. My dirty little secret? I suck at Madden Football.

  Violet, however, kicks unholy ass. She takes over for Shane, and proceeds to march her team downfield and straight into the end zone. “Take that,” she shouts.

  I stick out my tongue.

  She laughs at me.

  We’ve been here for a few hours already. After the hospital administrator gave us a tour of the new wing, and I visited as many patients as I could and signed as many casts as possible, a group of kids convinced us to play Xbox in the hospital’s game room here on the third floor. It didn’t take much convincing, to be honest. This is my favorite part of these kinds of visits. Chill time with the kids in the game room. The walls are a bright yellow, the TVs are huge, and the video games are plentiful. Jillian has parked herself in a quiet corner of the room, tapping away on her phone. That’s her job—to be here if needed but to fade into the background if not.

  “Can’t we switch to NBA 2K? I can school all of you at basketball,” I say.

  Violet laughs then pats my shoulder. “But you know I can beat you at that too.”

  I scowl. “Apparently, my girl has been practicing video games behind my back.”

  Violet’s eyes widen when I say my girl, and I flash her a smile. She feels like my girl. For real.

  Shane laughs, and Carlton cracks up. “Cooper, you’re terrible at Madden,” Carlton says in his pipsqueak nine-year-old voice.

  A nurse knocks on the open door. A redheaded girl with bright blue glasses stands at her side. “Hi there. This is Natalie. She’s eleven and she had a fantastic day,” the nurse says with a cheery smile.

  Immediately, I pop up from the couch and head to the doorway. “Fantastic days at hospitals are the best days,” I say.

  Natalie lifts a hand to wave. “I got the results of my one-year scan today.”

  My eyebrows rise. “That so?”

  She nods and smiles, showing two missing teeth. “The doctor said I don’t have leukemia anymore.”

  Violet gasps.

  I hold up a palm, and Natalie high-fives me. “Best news ever,” I say with a huge grin.

  “That’s amazing, Natalie,” Violet says with a wobble in her voice. She clears her throat, speaking evenly now. “What are you going to do to celebrate? Do you want to hang out with us?”

  Natalie nods then looks at her parents in the hall behind her, who gesture that it’s okay for her to join us.

  “Natalie, do you like sports?” I ask as she enters the game room.

  She nods enthusiastically. “I like ice skating and gymnastics and roller derby. I went to the roller rink last week, and I had the best time. The roller derby girls were there, and I decided I want to play roller derby.”

  “What would your roller derby name be?”

  “I would be Smashalie.”

  I crack up. “That is most excellent, Smashalie. I don’t think we have roller derby on the Xbox, but I would love it if you want to be my teammate in NBA 2K.”

  But Natalie has very little interest in the video games. Ten minutes later, she puts down her controller and turns to Violet on the other side of her on the couch. “Are you one of the nurses?”

  She shakes her head. “No, I’m here with Cooper.”

  “Are you his sister?”

  She laughs. “No.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m his hairdresser.”

  Natalie’s eyes widen. “He has a hairdresser?”

  She nods my way. “Of course. How else would we make sure his hair looked so messy all the time?”

  “His hair is super messy. But yours is pretty. Did you do your own hair?” Natalie asks, pointing to Violet’s coffee-colored hair, twisted up on one side in a small silver barrette.

  “I did,” Violet says. “I can pretty much do any style you can imagine.”

  Natalie raises her hand and touches her own hair. It’s a little longer than her shoulders. “I didn’t have hair for a while. But I have some again now.”

  “You have gorgeous hair.” Violet stops, considers it, and says, “Have you ever worn a French braid?”

  Natalie shakes her head. “I tried, but they’re hard to do. Can you actually do a French braid?” she asks with complete wonder in her tone.

  “I can do two French braids. One on each side. If you wanted three, I could even do that.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Natalie raise two fingers then whisper, “I really want two. The roller derby girl I liked had two French braids.”

  Soon, I lose track of the game. Instead, I can’t take my eyes off Violet. She and Natalie have moved to a corner of the couch. Violet is kneeling by Natalie’s side, her fast hands lacing chunks of red hair into a neat, tight braid down one side of the young girl’s head. When she reaches the end, I take a closer look and see Violet has looped the bottom through with a French braid she’d already woven down the other side. Holy hair skills.

  Violet grabs her phone, snaps a picture, and shows the back of Natalie’s head to a girl who, a mere year ago, didn’t even have hair.

  “I look like a roller derby girl now,” Natalie says in awe.

  “You’re Smashalie,” Violet declares.

  My heart expands in my chest, thumps hard against my rib cage, and I know that this is the moment when I want to take Violet home with me. It’s not because she’s sexy. It’s not because she’s clever. It’s because she’s good.

  She’s so good that I want to find a way to turn this pretend relationship into the real thing, because it already feels that way for me.

  24

  When we leave the hospital, I swear I’m ready to say, “Be mine. Screw this pretend stuff.”

  After Jillian says goodbye and takes off for the training facility, Violet and I head to my car. I take her hand, and like I did the other night at my house, I decide to just go for it. “Hey, Vi. Would you ever want to go out on a date—”

  “Cooper Armstrong. Can I just ask one question?”

  I whip around and nearly groan when I see a local sports radio host known as Todd the Talker striding across the asphalt and cutting in. Todd invited me on his show earlier this year after a weekend when I played like crap, and he pointedly asked, “Why should we, the fans, consider you anything besides the insurance plan that didn’t pan out?”

  To his credit, a few weeks later, he was the first to declare I’d turned the ship around. “What can I do for you, Todd? I didn’t expect to see you here today.”

  He thrusts his cell phone at me, so I guess he’s recording this. I also surmise he’s not going to tell me how he found me, but I remember another reason I don’t like social media since I suspect he follows the team’s Twitter and a photo has already been posted from my visit here today. “Is it true the Renegades are waiting to see if you make it to the playoffs before they re-sign you?”

  I flash a practiced smile at the sandy-blond dude with a chipped front tooth. “That’s entirely up to the GM.”

  “If you don’t make it, we hear that New Orleans is first in line to sign you as a free agent, given its woeful quarterback situation. Would you go to New Orleans?”

  “New Orleans is a great town.”

  “So, does that mean you’re going to New Orleans?”

  I laugh. “You’d be better off talking to the team or my agent. I let them handle the negotiations. My job is to throw the ball and get it to the end zone.”

  Todd is relentless, even in the parking lot, even by the passenger door of my car, even with Violet next to me. “But if you don’t land a wild-card slot, what happens then?”

  I draw a breath. “My focus is on the game. That’s where it needs to be all season long anyway. And that’s where all my attention belongs. On the game.”

  Todd glances at Violet and makes a move to thrust the phone at her. I give a quick shake of my head and wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Thanks, Todd. Good luck with your story.”