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 ten 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 post-season,” 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. I want to take them all the way into January and beyond.

“Guess that means you’ll be keeping up the dog-and-pony show with Violet for a little longer?”

My golf bag is suddenly the most interesting thing in the universe, and I take my sweet time hunting for my driver. “As long as we have to, I guess. You cool with that?”

“I’m cool with it. Even though it’s really fucking weird to see you with her.”

I look up. “Because I’m such an asshole, right?” I say with a mischievous grin.

“You’re a total dickhead.”

“But seriously. Why is it so weird?” I press him, expecting him to make another playboy comment, like he did at his bar. But that’s not what he says.

“You’ve never gone ass over elbow for a girl. You’re married to football, Coop.” Then he strolls to the tee at the first hole.

I stand, unmoving, smacked upside the head by a hefty dose of reality. I’ve never been head over heels, and that’s why my breakup with Kelly in college didn’t faze me. Briefly, I wonder if my pretend breakup with Violet will hurt when it comes. Immediately, my chest twists at that unpleasant thought. Breakup and Violet are two words that shouldn’t occupy the same sentence, and if I let my mind wander in this direction, I’m going to play a shitty game of golf.

I want to enjoy the hell out of my day off, since I enjoyed every single second of my late night.

I’ve just started to the tee when Jones stops me with a strong hand on my arm. He nods to Trent. “He has no clue how you really feel?”

“What?” I ask, brow furrowed.

“How you feel about his sister,” he says out of the corner of his mouth.

I give him a blank look.

Jones laughs. “That’s priceless. That expression on your face. Almost like you believe your own bullshit.”

“My expression is that you’re about to ruin a beautiful game of golf.”

His chuckles continue. “You might be able to fool someone who doesn’t want to see you’re nuts for his sister, but you can’t fool me. I heard how you talked about her to Jillian. You’re in so far over your head.”

I level him with my gaze. “And I saw the way you looked at Jillian. Think you might be in over your head?”

Now his expression is blank. “What are you talking about?”

“C’mon. You know she doesn’t date players.”

Jones rolls his eyes. “Don’t even try to change the subject to matchmaking games.”

“Watch me change it again.” I point to the green. “Time to take my shot.”

“But you know, Jillian is a badass babe,” he says.

I grin and nod in acknowledgment.

I’d have to say the same is true for Violet, and when I’m done losing terribly at golf, I take off for Sausalito.