Most Valuable Playboy (Ballers and Babes) by Lauren Blakely

Author:Lauren Blakely [Blakely, Lauren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks
Published: 2025-02-18T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

My day off is glorious, even though Violet leaves before the sun rises. She dusts a quick kiss to my forehead, whispering, “I need to open the salon by eight.”

I’m so exhausted from playing ball yesterday, as I am every Monday morning during the season, that I barely manage to drag my ass out of bed to say goodbye when she takes off. I put on my game face a couple hours later when I hit the links with my boys on a crisp December morning.

That’s when the real pretending comes in. Ironic that I’m not faking a single moment with Violet, but now I need to act like I didn’t do unspeakable things to my best friend’s sister when I meet him for a 10:00 a.m. tee time.

Thank fuck Trent and I aren’t playing solo, because it’s hard to look him in the eye. Some voice in the back of my head tries to speak up, telling me that sooner or later I’ll need to come clean with him. Trent is my rock. He’s my solid, steady best friend in the whole damn world. I grew up with him, sneaked beers with him, shot hoops with him, and leaned on him. Hell, I was the best man in his wedding two years ago, and Violet was a bridesmaid. And damn, did she ever look stunning in a pale-yellow dress with little straps that showed off her shoulders.

There I go again. Drifting back to her. I chase away thoughts of the woman I want and try to focus on being in the moment with my friends. Today’s not the day to fess up.

Jones adjusts his glove as he chats with his brother. Nearby, Rick and his best friend from college down their morning coffee, while Harlan ambles over to us, along with his brother-in-law. This is our regular crew, and we try to play once a month.

“Hey, man, any word on the contract?” Trent asks as he finds his club.

“It’s anyone’s guess. The GM might be waiting to see if we make the playoffs. I’m trying my best to keep it out of my mind.”

“The real judge of a quarterback is whether he takes his team to the postseason,” Trent says absently. He takes a few practice swings as if he hasn’t just hit the nail on the head with regard to the waiting game I’m playing with the GM.

“Don’t I know it,” I say, a small prickle of nerves skating up my back. I’d really like to know if I’m going to be in San Francisco after this season. It’s entirely possible the Renegades won’t pick me up, and I’ll have to fly where the free agent skies take me. Baltimore, Buffalo, Houston, New Orleans—who knows? Tension winds through me. I’m a lucky bastard to play in my hometown, and I don’t want to give up seeing my friends and family this often. I raise my gaze to my teammates. I love these fuckers too. I want to stick with them.

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