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
Life gets in the way.
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 th
is 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.”
Once inside my car, Violet lets out a big breath. “He’s a little, how shall we say, aggressive.”
“Understatement of the year.” I drag a hand through my hair and heave a sigh.
“You okay?”
I shake my head. Then I nod. Yes. No. Maybe. I rub the back of my neck. “Just wish I knew what was coming next.”
“I can imagine.”
“I get that this is part of the business, but I don’t know where I’ll be next year,” I say, turning to meet her eyes. A million thoughts swirl in my head. Her business. My business. The landlord. The contract.
“Maybe it’s best if you focus on football then, Cooper,” she says softly.
I flinch, giving her a look as if she’s crazy. “Are you breaking up with me?”
She laughs and shakes her head. “No. I’m in this for as long as you need me. I meant the other stuff.”
I frown. “You’re cutting me off from giving you orgasms?”
“Ha. Do I look like a masochist?”
I pretend to give her a thorough once-over, appraising her. “Nope.”
“More like the opposite these days,” she says, nudging me with her elbow. Then, her expression turns serious. “I mean, I don’t want anything to get in the way of your focus. So why don’t we wait till after you make the playoffs to talk about dates and all that jazz?”
Her meaning is crystal clear. Orgasms are good. Dates are bad. But does that mean she’s erecting a wall, or simply keeping me on track? I don’t know if she’s putting me off from looking ahead because she doesn’t want what’s next, or because she only wants sex.
The trouble is, the more I try to puzzle it out, the less likely I am to do what I need to do. And that’s follow my own advice. Focus on football.
I give a crisp nod and a salute. “Sounds like a game plan.”
She looks at her watch. “I should return to the salon.”
“I thought it was your day off.”
“It was. But we’ve been so busy, I can’t really take a whole day off, so I need to handle a few appointments this afternoon or we’ll be slammed.”
I point behind me to the hospital. “You did this for me?”
“Of course I did it for you,” she says, her sweetness making it harder to concentrate on orgasms only. But those are my new marching orders. I turn on the ignition, reminding myself to zoom in on what matters most. Her business. My business. Not the unknown business of my heart.
I start to back up, then I tap the brake. “Before we hit the road, I have one question. Does focusing on football mean I can’t tie you up tonight when you get off work?”
“You want to tie me up?” she asks, her voice suddenly a little breathless.
“Since you’re not a sadist, I would very much like to give you another orgasm. I find it helps my focus on football immensely.”
Her lips curve up in a smile. “I’ll take one for the team, then.”
25
I work out, shower, make dinner, watch game film, study the playbook, pack for our cross-country trip to Baltimore where we will kick unholy ass on the gridiron on Sunday, and text Violet to ask if she’s hungry. An emoji face holding a fork and a knife is her answer. I pack up some food for her and drive to her home, knocking at eight thirty sharp.
“Don’t laugh, but I have to be in bed by ten thirty,” I tell her when she opens the door.
Her lips twitch in a grin. She chuckles and pats my cheek. “It’s so cute that you have a bedtime.”
“When you meet Greenhaven, you’ll understand why we all follow his rules. Dude is intense.” I shut the door behind me and hold up a soft cooler packed with food.
“Are you feeding an army?”
I eye the gigantic red lunch bag that’s, admittedly, more suitable for a day of fishing than delivering dinner to a woman. “Pretty sure this is just for you, but maybe I’ll keep it for myself.”
“What did you bring?”
“Protein, protein, more protein, and broccoli.”
She mimes gagging. I walk past her to the tiny kitchen, where I unpack the bag and set a Tupperware dish of stir-fried chicken on her counter. “I lied. It’s stir-fry and veggies. Come and get it.”
She pants like a dog as she trots into the kitchen. “Yum. I love your chicken stir-fry.”
“I know.” I watch as she opens a drawer and grabs some utensils. She’s wearing black leggings and an emerald-green top that’s sparkly and hangs low and loose. The scoop neck affords a fantastic sneak peek of the tops of her tits.
She hops up on the counter, takes the Tupperware, and digs in. She smiles as she chews, then rolls her eyes in delight. Her bare feet swing back and forth, and she looks so utterly, delightfully happy that it makes my chest ache in a whole new way. A good ache. A warm ache. One that makes me want to get closer to her. All because she’s . . . eating adorably?
What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m sporting a goofy grin. I better wipe that shit off my mug right about now.
I lift my chin. “Thanks again for coming today. You were great with all the kids, especially Smashalie.”
“I loved it. That girl is cool. I want to go to her roller derby games.” She takes a bite of the chicken and then gives me a mischievous little look. “Want me to braid your hair sometime?”
I drag a hand through my locks. “Somehow, I doubt even you could braid my hair.”
“I did learn on Trent,” she says as she spears another forkful.
I arch a brow. “Seriously?”
“Remember in fourth grade when he refused to cut his hair?”
I snap my fingers. “That’s right. He wanted to be a rock star.”
She taps her shoulder with the end of her fork to indicate the length of Trent’s rocker locks back then. “Mom let him go one year without cutting it. He was my crash-test dummy.”
I shake my head in amusement. “That is basically the best dirt ever.”
“You’re not going to tell him, are you?”
“No, I just like knowing it. Why? Did he swear you to secrecy?”
She brings her fingers to her lips in an oops gesture. “I think so.” Her expression turns serious. “He doesn’t know about this?”
I
step closer, and plant a kiss on her neck. “You mean that?”
She shivers. “Yes. That.”
“Of course not. Besides, there’s nothing to tell, right?” I wink. She laughs, but the sound fades quickly. “Did you mention anything to him?”
“God, no.”
“What about Holly, though?”
“Holly honors the girl code,” Violet says.
“Are you sure?”
She gives me a look as if I’m nuts. “She hasn’t said a word.”
“And you do know he’s her husband?”
She stares at me. “Yes, I am aware. And she didn’t take a vow before God and family to tell her husband all his sister’s secrets. Like I said, she honors the code.”
“But she knows that I’m here?”
Violet sets down her fork. “Are you asking me if I specifically texted her and told her hey, guess what, Cooper’s coming over tonight? The answer is no. If she knows generally that you gave me several stupendously magnificent orgasms, the answer is yes,” she says with a proud lift of her chin.
I smile. “Stupendously magnificent?”
“I might have mentioned your talents.”
“Excellent.”
Violet laughs. “If my brother knew about your skills, that would be an issue, but as long as I’m praising your oral and manual talents to my sister-in-law, it’s all good?”
“I’m simple like that.” I take a beat. “Besides, it’s different with Trent.”
“I know,” she says, her tone slipping to a more serious note.
It’s different because I have no clue how he’d feel about me being here. I don’t know how he’d react if he knew my relationship with his sister has sailed into uncharted waters. And I have no idea what he’d say about the way my heart seems to take on a different shape when I’m near her. A new and wholly unfamiliar shape.
But I know this much—I don’t want to think about Trent tonight. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”
“Funny, I don’t, either.”
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