Most Valuable Playboy

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 three thousand five hundred dollars.”

I’d take him at this point, and I’m not into dudes. But Harlan was chill when a man won him, and I could deal with having dinner with this guy, talk about sports and stats and shit. But Maxine wants more than dinner, and I don’t want to keep turning her down over and over, in case her brother decides he doesn’t like me dissing his sister.

The man keeps vying with her 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 to four thousand, and I bet Jillian is jumping for holiday joy as she adds up the moolah.

The business suit woman raises a hand, offering forty-one hundred.

Maxine’s eyes laser in on me, and she slashes an arm through the air. “Five 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. She winks at me, as if we have a secret. Holy shit. She thinks I want this. She thinks I want her to win me.

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 finger to her nose. And she’s tapping it, like fucking Santa Claus coming down the chimney, and Harlan tapping his nose to signal his agent, and all the greatest solutions in the universe at once.

My heart goes crazy.

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 tap my nose, too. Violet is the only one who knows I need to get out of this jam. She’s the only one I mentioned it to. And she’s the only one now who can save me.

“Ten thousand dollars.”

Holy shit. Violet does not mess around with my money. 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. “Ten thousand dollars. Do we have ten thousand, one hundred?”

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 counter bid.

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 ten thousand dollars.”

Talk about a Hail Mary.





4





In the movie Bull Durham, the veteran catcher Crash Davis taught a newbie pitcher what to say in interviews. Phrases like play it one day at a time. Just happy to help the team. I want to give it my best and Lord willing, it’ll work out.

Forget that it’s a movie about baseball. My point is, there’s nothing a baller ever needs to say to the press that hasn’t been covered by the Crash Davis School of Public Relations.

I channel the fictional legend when Sierra declares she’s gobsmacked.

“Simply gobsmacked.” Sierra shakes her head like she still can’t fathom this turn of events. She places her hand on my arm. “That’s the highest amount anyone’s ever gone for.”

And I’ll be paying it all myself. Gladly.

“I’m just happy to be able to help,” I say.

“That’s more than helpful. That’s astonishing. In fact, we have a representative here from the Children’s Hospital, Connie Wolfson.”

Sierra calls a woman onto the stage who strides out from the audience in a prim royal blue suit. Connie shakes my hand, then says, “I’m so grateful. Where is the lovely lady who bid so high on you for such a good cause? I must thank her personally.”

Yes, me, too. She’s a savior.

I knew hair stylists were heavenly, but I think Violet might have earned sainthood status today. I’m so jazzed up about this turn of events that I feel buzzed and light-headed as Violet weaves through the crowd, women and men parting like the Red Sea for her. She looks dazed, like maybe she can’t quite believe she pulled this off, either. Trent appears about the same, too, rubbing his eyes, shell-shocked. As Violet walks past Maxine, the woman in red narrows her eyes and folds her arms over her chest.

Violet makes it to the front, and since the stage is two feet off the floor, I bend and offer a hand. Then I think fuck it.

I grab her slim hips, lift her on stage, and plant a quick kiss on her cheek. I catch a faint whiff of her shampoo, or maybe it’s her perfume, like peach and a soft breeze. It flutters across me and catches me off guard. I wasn’t expecting to enjoy her smell so much.

She gasps her surprise, and Sierra emits a small eek. The hospital rep beams, as if she’s a proud matchmaker. She extends a hand to Violet. “We are so very grateful for your generosity.”

“It was truly my pleasure,” Violet says, and I can tell from her voice she’s still surprised she’s on stage. “We’re so happy to give our support.”

Sierra arches a brow at the word we’re.

“I mean, I am,” Violet corrects, bringing her hand to her chest, even though, of course, I am so happy to give the support. I tug her in close, my way of letting her know her we comment was just fine. She fits nice and snug next to me. Sierra notices, her green eyes sliding over us. “You two are so adorable together. You know each other, don’t you?”

Sierra sure knows how to read a situation. Violet and I have always gotten along well. Even though she’s Trent’s sister, the three of us have been buds, and I consider Violet one of my closest friends, too.

“She’s from my hometown,” I answer quickly. “I’ve known Violet my whole life.”

“Well, he moved to Petaluma when I was five and he was six,” Violet interjects. “Not entirely our whole lives. For instance, I never saw him in diapers.”