Chapter 2
As the guys file out, Violet calls to me.
I stop and turn and find her right behind me. She’s a tall woman, and even taller in a pair of black, high-heeled boots that jack her up on those trimmed, toned legs. But I’m six-four, and I easily have six inches on her in those shoes.
I look down. She reaches a hand up and smooths a strand of hair out of place on my forehead.
“This is your first year out there as the starting quarterback,” she says with a soft smile.
I smile. “Wild, huh?”
“You’ve killed it every year as the backup. You’re going to kill it harder as the starter. Plus, you’ve played great the first three months.”
I reach above her head and knock on the wall. “Knock on wood. We need to keep playing great.”
“You will, because my ritual is intact too.”
I arch a brow, curious. “You don’t say. You’ve come to the superstitious side, Vi?”
Her eyes glint. “I wear my Cooper Armstrong jersey to bed every night and have since your week-three win.”
“Excellent.” I wag a finger at her. “And it pains me to say this, but no matter how tempted you are, don’t switch to lingerie.”
She play-punches my shoulder. “Don’t you switch to lingerie either.”
I gesture to my chest and down to my thighs. “One hundred percent birthday suit at bedtime.”
“All right. Get out there. They’ll bid even more this season for a date with the new quarterback.” She takes a beat. “But not if this piece of hair keeps sticking up.” She runs her finger over a strand. “Sheesh, Coop. If this is sticking up backstage, you’ll have to peek out and give me a secret signal, so I can rush over and fix it.”
“I’ll just tug on it.”
She swats my shoulder. “You’ll do nothing of the sort.”
“I have faith you can fix it for me. Because you’re a miracle worker.”
“Of course I am, and I can.” She smooths it out over my ear, and it feels better than it should when she touches me. She steps back and observes her handiwork. “ Empirically. ”
I smile. “ Clinically. ”
She moves her hands to my tie, straightening it. I already did that, but I see no reason to stop her.
“Hey,” she says, as the corners of her lips turn up. “What do you call an alligator wearing a vest?”
“I don’t know. What do you call an alligator wearing a vest?” I ask, since Violet likes to tell silly jokes.
Her eyebrows rise. “An investigator.”
I laugh. “Good one.”
She shoos me off. “I need to pack up my supplies, and you need to get your butt to the stage.”
A husky voice floats down the hall, a smoky alto, belting out the chorus to “It’s Raining Men,” and it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Maxine,” I hiss.
***
I know that husky voice.
Maxine Randall.
My friend Trent played it for me. A local radio host who’s hot for me. She’s called me her boyfriend on recent episodes. Like, in a jokey way, but also saying she’s planning our wedding.
Now, she’s ad-libbing the chorus to the tune, crooning It’s raining Cooper.
That doesn’t even fit the rhythm. But whatever. I’m not a poet. I also don’t want to be rude to a local media personality, so I brace myself for a run-in as I walk down the hall. Maybe I’ll duck into the stairwell to avoid Maxine.
But she hasn’t come around the corner yet, so I just turn the other way.
And I come face-to-face with Vera Scott—the team owner’s wife. “Come with me. Now, ” she says, giving an order in a whisper that says ignore me at your peril .
I’ve been transported to an action flick, where the elegant, erudite, classy-as-hell woman in the Chanel suit tugs me into the stairwell.
Okay.
Once the door shuts, the polished, plum-lipsticked, Louboutin-wearing billionaire flashes me a practiced smile. “Cooper, darling. I’m afraid I have bad news. Maxine has been bragging to everyone about bidding on you tonight. She says she’s gonna get her husband once and for all .”
I cringe. From head to toe. “Really? She said that ?”
Vera nods crisply. “She arrived shortly after the cocktail hour, and I wanted to warn you. So you can devise a plan.”
I tense. Plan . What fucking plan is there for this? Where’s the plan for a quarterback sack? But wait. Hold on. Sometimes you see the defensive end barreling at you and you can slip away. That’s what I need right now. To avoid the sack.
“Are you going to bid on me?”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Of course not. I can’t do that. I’m happily married. That would be so odd.” She shrugs, a little too I-told-you so. “But if you joined my matchmaking agency, I could guarantee you will never have to deal with sneak attacks like this ever again. I specialize in pairing high-profile men and high-profile women with just the right partner.”
I groan inside but smile outside. Right. I turned her down a few months ago at a golf charity event. She mentioned she ran a matchmaking agency and wanted me to join her stables. Her agency is one of the sponsors of tonight’s auction.
I’ve no interest in being paired off. But right now? Sign me up and save me. I can only imagine what Maxine might say on air if she wins me. Actually, I don’t want to imagine. “Okay, so what should I do?” I ask Vera since this is her battlefield. She knows romance and machination.
“You’ll need a strategy when you’re onstage,” she says, then her phone beeps. “Ah, this is one of my clients. A lovely woman who wants to bid on Rick.” She smiles, then adds, “A classy client. I only have classy clients.”
Ah, hell. I’ll offer myself as tribute. “Any other clients here who can bid on me?”
She sighs, giving a sad smile. “No, darling. I run an elite agency. For select clients. Best of luck.” She answers the phone. “I’m on my way!” Then she turns to me, covers the phone as she opens the door, then scans the hall. “Coast is clear. Good luck.”
I get the hell out of the line of fire. “Thank you.” I trot down the hall in my three-piece suit and find the door to the back of the ballroom, then dart inside.
What the hell am I going to do?
Jones is here, leaning against the wall. He narrows his eyes and looks me over. “You okay?”
I shake my head and catch my breath. Then I grab my phone from my pocket. I’ll call Trent, ask him to bid on me. Hell, I’ll ask him to have one of his wife’s girlfriends bid on me. And I’ll text Violet, ask her to find someone. I could pull Jillian aside and ask her to handle it, but I’m not sure what I’d say. Don’t let Maxine bid on me ? I mean, she can’t really kick her out just because I don’t want her to bid on me.
That’s ridiculous. I’m overreacting. I can handle whatever happens.
Besides, I don’t have time to issue a mayday text to anyone since Jillian strides backstage and asks me to put my phone away. “The show’s about to start.”
I square my shoulders. Just deal with it. That’s what I’ve always done. Face life’s challenges with a smile and don’t fucking complain.