Her heels click across the concrete floor as I head to the locker room.

I clench my teeth. Jillian must have found out that Violet and I are a sham, and now she’s going to lay into me for lying to her.

But am I lying? I flash back to this morning and the texts, to last night and the kisses, and there’s nothing made-up about the way my best friend’s sister has staked a claim on my mental real estate in the last forty-eight hours.

I turn around. “Why would I be in trouble when I’m so good?”

“This,” Jillian says, her eyes narrow and accusatory as she brandishes her cell phone at me.

The tension prickles over my shoulders, but I’ve dealt with linemen who want to kill me. Though, in all fairness, Jillian’s eyes right now are as intense as the Dallas defense.

I step closer to see what’s on her screen.

It’s the selfie from last night at the fountain.

She flicks her thumb to another shot on my new Instagram account. This one is of Einstein and me after he kicked a game-winning field goal earlier in the season. I chuckle to myself. Of course Ford would work another of his clients into the shot. But the dude is brilliant. Ford had his assistant post a picture of me from a few months ago, lacing up in the morning with the running shoes from the sneaker company I endorse, and then a shot of me playing basketball with kids at a local community center.

But Jillian fixates on the kiss, stabbing her finger at the screen.

I scrub a hand over my chin. “Yeah, it seems I might have kissed her last night. Am I in trouble now for kissing?” I ask, batting my eyes innocently.

She taps the toe of her red pumps and wags a finger at me. “You’re in trouble for telling me it was none of my business that you and Violet were involved, and then going and posting a kissing selfie.” She pokes my chest with a perfectly manicured silver nail. “And that was the cutest kissing photo ever.”

She might as well be floating right now.

“Did you mean ‘evah’?”

Jillian laughs.

“Also, I’m not the one who said it was none of your business,” I say, pointing at myself. “That was Jones who said it the other night.”

Like he heard his cue from offstage, the man who defended my privacy after the auction rounds the corner of the corridor, appearing behind Jillian. When he sees me talking to her, he slows down and pads quietly, like a cartoon mouse sneaking behind a cat.

She huffs. “Then Jones is in trouble, too.”

Jones narrows his eyes and brings his finger to his mouth. I adopt the stoniest expression ever in the history of stony expressions.

“He should be punished,” I say.

“Absolutely,” Jillian says, while Jones whips out his imaginary flogger and smacks his own ass. I’ve been bad, he mouths behind Jillian’s back.

The corner of my lips twitch. “Anyway, sorry I didn’t tell you all the details. But you know how it goes.”

Jillian brings a hand to her chest, and I swear I see hearts and flowers fluttering above her head. “I’m dying to know more. Off the record. Just for me.”

Might as well serve it up. “We’ve been friends forever, and she’s great. She’s funny, supportive, smart, kind, and she keeps me on my toes. How could I not be into her?” When the words come out, there’s not a false note in them.

Even though Jones wraps his arms around nothing and kisses his air-girlfriend.

A huge smile takes over Jillian’s face. “Oh, this is just too perfect. And that’s why I’m so excited to share some good news with you.” She lowers her voice to whisper, “Since you’re my new favorite Renegade.”

Jones points to himself, doe-eyed, and pretends to cry.

“You mean Jones isn’t your favorite Renegade?” I ask, figuring it’s a perfect time to give Mime Jones as much shit as I can.

Her brows knit in confusion. “Jones? No. Why?”

“Oh, just because he’s such a swell fella,” I say with a too-big smile.

Jones points to her and then to himself, mouths she wants me, then flicks out his tongue.

She gives me a look as if that’s the craziest idea. “Swell? Jones? Maybe you mean swollen head. But enough about him. I wanted to find you because the hospital from the auction called and invited you to take a short tour of its new facilities, and I thought, wouldn’t it be perfect for you and Violet to stop by, show your support, and see the kids? What do you say? Can you go with her?”

I smile. “Of course. I’ll have to check her schedule, but Vi and I love helping charities for kids.”

And that’s not a lie at all, either.

Jillian squeals. “You’re the best! You’re such a good guy. Unlike Jones. Who is right behind me, pretending to be a complete pig, and I suspect also making obscene gestures and being generally grotesque and offensive.”

Busted.

I crack up as Jillian swivels around and points at the man who now holds his big hands in the air like he’s being arrested.

“You’re a total troublemaker,” Jillian says.

“I take that as a profound compliment,” he says, intensely serious.

She marches up to him and parks her hands on her hips. “How did you think I didn’t know you were here?”

Jones laughs and shrugs. “Maybe because you don’t have eyes in the back of your head?”

She taps an earlobe. “I have ears, Jones.”

“It was fun regardless,” he says in a flirty tone.

She shakes her head, though she’s clearly amused with his antics.

“Let me know the details, Jillian, and we’ll be there. Meanwhile, I’ll get this asshole out to the field, where he can make trouble with some balls.”

“You can’t resist throwing your balls to me, can you, Coop?”

I drape an arm around him. “I only throw to you so much because I know how much you love balls. Say it. Say I love balls.”

“You love balls.”

I shake my head and pat his chest. “You’re the one who loves balls. Say I, Jones, love balls.”

“I will never say that.”

I stroke my chin. “Let’s see. I’m pretty sure McCormick would love to become my go-to guy for the pass routes,” I say, naming a new guy on the team. I meet Jillian’s eyes. “McCormick would love to catch some balls, don’t you think?”

She nods seriously. “No doubt the rookie would enjoy some action from you.”

Jones growls at me. “Fuck you, you control-freak quarterback.”

I laugh. “All quarterbacks are control freaks.”

He turns to Jillian and holds his hands out wide. “I love balls.” His voice booms, and he embraces the challenge. “I fucking love balls, and I’m not afraid to say it.”

But I don’t let him off easy. I clamp my hand on his shoulder. “Jones, you look so good catching all those balls. Why do you look so good catching them?”

He squares his shoulders. Taps his sternum. “Because I love balls.” Then he grabs his crotch. “I fucking love my balls.”

Jillian’s smirk is officially priceless. “Have fun playing with your balls, Jones.”

We head to the field and practice our passing routes, where Jones shows off exactly how much he loves catching balls.