Most Valuable Playboy (Ballers and Babes #1)

Chapter 3

“Sold! To the woman in the pink dress. Enjoy your night with the kicker.”

Rick waves to the crowd and heads backstage, holding out a palm. “Pay up, fuckers. I went for more than a six-pack.” He taps his head. “Brains and beauty for the win.”

Jones smacks his palm, laughing, as Harlan heads to the stage. Meanwhile, I’m formulating a plan. If Maxine wins me, I’ll just be a gentleman on our date. Of course I’ll be a gentleman. That’s all I can do. And if I’m all debonair and professional, surely the only things she can say about me on the radio the next day will be of the high-class variety. Nothing about marriage.

I don’t need to freak out. Don’t need a backup plan.

I’ve got this.

Onstage, the auburn-haired sports reporter Sierra brings the mic to her mouth and gestures grandly to Harlan as the rest of us watch from the wings.

“Let’s give it up for the Renegades’ running back. He’s one of the leaders in the league in running touchdowns the last two years, but he also is known for his foosball skills,” she says to the ballroom full of women decked out in little black dresses, or in tight jeans and sky-high heels with sexy tops sloping off shoulders. A few wear Santa hats and wave sprigs of mistletoe above their heads. A couple of men can be spotted in the crowd too. “When Harlan’s not busy tearing it up on the turf, you can find him flicking the poles at a local foosball league. Plus, just look at all that hair.”

Harlan shakes out his long, golden-blond hair.

Sierra claws at the air. “He’s like a beautiful lion.”

Someone from a table in the front cheers, and another woman roars like a lioness, then shouts, “I want the king of the jungle to be mine.”

I nudge Jones and whisper. “ King of the Jungle. Damn, that’s good. We need to use that, stat.”

He holds up a fist for bumping. “You know it. And he does have a lovely mane, Coop.”

I laugh to cover my nerves. “So lush and pretty.”

“I must get his shampoo recommendation.” Jones runs a hand over his own short, dark hair.

From our spot backstage, we watch as Sierra opens the bidding on Harlan and his golden mane. The cheering woman from the front lifts her paddle to offer three hundred dollars, while the gal who imitated the queen of the pride weighs in with four hundred. Quickly, the bidding escalates.

Jillian paces near us in the wings. She’s a ball of tension, mouthing the numbers to herself, adding up the take for charity. Jones crosses the few feet over to her. “You’re doing good,” he whispers.

She flashes a smile and lets out a breath. “Thank you. But I’m still counting on you for a big haul.” She taps his chest.

“Don’t worry. It’ll be unreal,” he says.

“The team management is matching the bids for the players. We can bring in so much tonight for the hospital. It would be an amazing thing to do for them, and it helps the team’s image.”

The Renegades already have a pristine image, since management and the coach run a tight ship, and Jillian wants to keep it that way.

“We will do everything we can to keep up the pace,” Jones says.

Sure enough, when Jones heads to the stage after Harlan scores a winning bid of several thousand dollars, the man eats it up. Jones removes his jacket, letting it hang on his shoulder so everyone can see his broad frame. That’s fair play. I used that move last year. The pose just works.

“Jones Beckett is known as The Hands , and with good reason. Look at those hands,” Sierra says with a whistle of admiration.

From my vantage point, I see Jones hold up his massive paws. The dude was born to catch. His hands are ginormous, and they can wrap around a football.

“And the fingers. My God, those fingers,” Sierra adds, fanning herself as the crowd goes apeshit.

Someone leans close to my ear, and I tense instantly, worried it’s Maxine. Then I relax when Violet says softly, “Everyone is having a blast. You’ll be fighting off the women.”

“Yeah, that’s the issue,” I say with a heavy sigh, more open with her, since she’s not programmed to hassle me like my buddies are.

She raises an eyebrow in a silent question and I’m about to tell her about the Maxine tip that Vera shared. But the noise from the front drowns us out when a bidding war for Jones escalates quickly. Numbers fly back and forth at light speed. Finally, the winning woman lands a date with Jones for five figures. Damn, that’s a sweet number, and well above last year. Jillian cheers and gives him a hug when he returns backstage as Sierra chats with the audience, tossing out questions to the crowd.

Violet grabs my elbow. Her eyes are serious. “Is everything okay?”

Sierra calls out to me, and I step toward the stage, my voice going deadpan as I answer Violet quietly, “The owner’s wife warned me about Maxine.”

Her eyes widen. “The radio host?”

Ah, hell. I hate complaining. I hate being this guy. But I would do just about anything to escape Maxine. “Let’s just say I’d rather ride the bench again than have her win.” Violet shoots me sympathetic eyes as I stroll onto the stage. It’s my turn.

I wave to the crowd. The ballroom is stuffed full of people with happy, shining faces and eager generosity.

I give Sierra a peck on the cheek. Her eyelids flutter, and she clasps her hand to her cheek. “I’ll never wash this cheek again,” she says to the crowd, and laughter bounces across the big room. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, for the pièce de résistance, this year’s starting quarterback at long last, and the winner of the Most Valuable Playboy auction the last three years in a row. After all, who wouldn’t want to take this handsome and talented man out for a night on the town? Everyone loves the quarterback.”

Someone scoffs. “He wasn’t the quarterback the last few years.”

With a wink, Sierra expertly pivots to the positive. “And now we’re lucky to have him at the helm.”

I lean into the mic. “And it’s an honor to have stepped into the shoes of a legend. I will keep doing everything I can to make the fans proud.”

Sierra smiles approvingly.

A high-pitched voice from the middle of the room shouts, “We love you, Coop! Win this weekend.”

“I’ll do my best,” I say with a smile.

“You always do,” Sierra says.

Someone else boos, and I see it’s a guy in the crowd wearing a Jeff Grant jersey. “We want Grant the Greatest back.”

I give a grin, since this is all par for the course. “I bet he’d be hard to talk off his fifty-foot yacht, where he’s enjoying a well-earned retirement.”

“He is indeed,” Sierra says, smoothly steering the event like she has all evening. “So let’s get to know Cooper Armstrong. How does that sound to all of you?”

More cheers than jeers erupt so I take that as my cue to remove the jacket. That earns me some hollers of “nice vest!” I glance to the wings, and Violet gives me a thumbs-up, mouthing vests are hot.

“Cooper is six-four, with light-brown eyes and dark-brown hair. And, are his cheekbones to die for, or what?” I flash a smile, enjoying her compliments. “In addition to his sixty-three percent pass completion rate so far this season, Cooper can make a mean chicken stir-fry, a fantastic jambalaya, and he’s also been known to wow dinner guests with his penne pasta.” Sierra pauses to wiggle her eyebrows. “There’s just something sexy about a man who can cook, am I right, or am I right?”

“You can cook for me anytime,” a woman shouts.

“I’m quite talented in the kitchen,” I add with a wink.

“A man who can throw like that and cook? I think I might need to toss my hat in the ring.” Sierra throws an imaginary hat, and I decide it’s time to roll up the sleeves. Give ’em forearm to get ’em going. I peel back my cuffs, folding them up, revealing the arms they all like. Why yes, there’s a reason I’ve won the last few years. I play to the crowd. “He also was a superstar in karaoke last year and loves to go on karaoke dates at the local bar.” She brings her hand to her heart. “Cooper, can you sing a little Bon Jovi for us?”

“Why, I never thought you’d ask, Sierra.” I take the mic and give them the first line of the greatest karaoke song ever, about a guy named Tommy who used to work on the docks.

Sierra points the mic toward the audience, and they enthusiastically sing the next line about the union on strike.

I smile, feeling for the first time like I might escape Maxine’s clutches after all. Everything’s going well so far, and the crowd is fantastic. Maybe Vera got it wrong. I don’t even spot Maxine in the sea of people.

“And now, let the bidding begin,” Sierra declares.

Trent blows me an exaggerated kiss from his table. Holly waves too. She was his high school sweetheart, and now she’s his wife. She cups her hands over her mouth and shouts, “Ten bucks for The Coop.”

Sierra chuckles, then chides them. “Don’t we think he’s worth more than that?”

Trent lifts his index finger. “Fine, we’ll take him home with us for twenty dollars. He can do yard work.”

Sierra gives me a serious look. “What do you think, Cooper? Can we get more than twenty dollars for you?”

I scratch my chin and shrug, giving my best self-deprecating smile. “Hard to say. I did mow lawns in high school, though, so I might have to ask for thirty dollars, just on account of my ability to make the green grass in a garden look so very pretty.”

Sierra wiggles her eyebrows. “And somehow, a man this handsome makes everything sound like innuendo.”

I flash a smile.

“Fifty bucks. But we want a money-back guarantee,” Trent says.

Holly thrusts her hands in the air, shouting, “He’s coming home with us as the new lawn boy.”

Sierra peers at the crowd. “What do you say? Would anyone like to bid on an actual date with this star athlete?”

I shake my head, because hell, I’d love if Trent and Holly won with a fifty-dollar bid. I’d gladly fork over the rest to raise money for the charity.

Then, I hear someone say, “Three thousand dollars.”

My blood goes cold at the husky sound. Maxine has powered her way to the front of the crowd, planting herself in the middle of the action. Wearing a tight red dress, she flicks her blond hair off her shoulders, standing tall and proud.

Sierra arches a brow. “That’s quite a jump.”

“He’s worth every penny,” Maxine purrs, her voice bursting with determination, her gray eyes aimed my way, like guns.

My insides coil tightly.

But I remind myself—I can do this. I’m chill. I’m cool. I can fend off the radio host. I’ve done this my whole life—let things roll off me. No father? No problem. No money? Not an issue. No playing time? Slap on a happy face and fucking learn everything until it’s your turn.

I can deal with a local media darling who’s declared me her… husband .

I cringe inside.

But it’ll be fine, especially since others are getting into the bidding now. A brunette in a crisp gray business suit raises her paddle and offers more. A lady with blue hair and pearls trumps her.

Maxine matches them dollar for dollar. She raises her arm, bidding more and more.

A guy in jeans and a black turtleneck jumps in. He looks vaguely familiar. Maybe he’s a well-known tech entrepreneur. “I’ll take him for five thousand.”

I’m not into dudes, but I’d happily go on a platonic date. I could easily enjoy a dinner with this guy, talk about sports and stats and shoot the breeze.

The man keeps vying with Maxine as Sierra plays auctioneer, counting off their bids, while others chime in from time to time like a county fair crowd bidding on my rump roast. The man ups the ante, and I bet Jillian is jumping for holiday joy as she adds up the moolah.

The business-suit woman raises a hand, offering more.

Maxine’s eyes laser in on me, and she slashes an arm through the air. “Ten thousand dollars,” she says, jacking the price up by nine hundred and staking her claim. I shudder inside.

The guy’s eyes widen, and he holds up his hands. “I’m out.”

My stomach plummets when the business-suit woman shakes her head.

“Going once?” Sierra asks, scanning the tables, looking for perhaps one last big spender. My eyes scan the crowd too. Hell, maybe I’ll find an escape hatch. A trapdoor to drop into and disappear like in a magic act. Maybe Trent will learn to read my mind. Trent, I’ll cover you for anything you bid. Just raise that hand, name a price, and save me.

My best friend’s expression is merely curious now as he watches Maxine and Sierra, waiting for the verdict. My opportunity to play yard boy slips through my fingers.

The look in Maxine’s eyes is pure satisfaction as she waits for the final word.

A flash of chestnut-brown hair in the back catches my attention. A flurry of silver. It’s Violet, hands in the air, wildly flapping over her head in the middle of the ballroom. She brings her hand to her hair, tugs on a strand. She’s a miracle worker indeed, and she devised the greatest solution in the universe at once.

Her secret signal.

My heart goes wild.

It hammers in my chest. This is like finding an open receiver a second before you’re sacked.

“Going twice…” Sierra says, trailing off as she waits.

I raise my arm and tug on a strand of hair too.

“Twenty thousand dollars,” she shouts, full of bravado.

Holy shit. Violet does not play games. Her eyes widen, as if she’s surprised she bid that high.

My gaze finds Trent. He’s staring at his sister, slack-jawed.

Sierra’s smile is bright and wide. “Do we have twenty-one thousand?”

The room is hushed. Maxine’s expression is blank. She must be shocked. She probably didn’t expect anyone to vie with her to this extent.

I tap my foot, willing Sierra to close this quickly. Just slam the door shut, please, fucking please.

“Going once. Going twice.”

I say a silent prayer. I cross my fingers. I hope.

Maxine blinks, opens her mouth, and I steel myself for a disgustingly high counterbid.

But there’s only silence. No words come. Violet has shocked her speechless. This type of bid wasn’t in Maxine’s playbook.

Sierra raises her arm. “And a night with the quarterback is sold for twenty thousand dollars.”

Talk about a Hail Mary.