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.”

“Thank God for that,” I say, wiping my brow in a whew gesture.

“Do you remember the day you met Cooper?” Sierra asks.

Violet nods. “I was riding my bike with the purple tassels and pink wicker basket, and I saw him moving in down the street. All I thought was boys were yucky.”

Laughter floats from the tables, and Holly shouts, “I used to think that, too.”

“We’re still yucky,” I say with a smile.

“You’re adorable,” someone shouts from the audience.

“And what do you do now, Violet?”

“I’m a hairstylist,” she says with a smile. She’s humble, too, since she’s more than a stylist. She’s a business owner.

“She’s not just a stylist,” I chime in. “She owns a salon.”

Sierra flicks her hand through her auburn locks. “I’ve been looking for a new hairdresser.”

Violet laughs. “I’ll give you your first cut on the house.”

Sierra beams. “I’m there!”

Another person yells, “Violet, I want your boyfriend. Can you share him?”

Violet swallows and blinks at that word. Boyfriend.

The hospital rep thanks Violet again then exits the stage while Sierra continues her questions. “Tell us what made you bid so high for Cooper.”

The hostess thrusts her mic at Violet. She looks at Sierra, then me, her eyes saying you decide, Coop. I was just trying to save your sorry ass.

“She wanted to make sure no one else got me, of course,” I say, as if there can’t be any other answer.

“Well, naturally, that’s the point of a high bid. But does that mean you’ve been wanting to bid on him for a long time?” Sierra asks, and as soon as the question comes out of her mouth, I know what’s happening. She’s constructing the story everyone wants to hear. The hometown girl crushing on the guy who made good. Before either of us can correct her, since that’s not the case in the least, Sierra’s eyes light up, flashing with the thrill of discovery. “Wait! You two are together. You’re boyfriend and girlfriend, aren’t you?” Sierra asks, then points to Violet. “And that’s why you didn’t want your man to go home with anyone else tonight. Am I right?”

She’s wrong. She’s so wrong she’ll never be right. Violet shakes her head, but when she sees Maxine in the crowd, still staring at me, Violet’s no turns into a maybe as she looks at me, her eyes asking me if that’s the new story.

I glance at the woman who wants me to be her hallelujah and make a split-second decision.

Fuck yeah.

Sierra has handed us the perfect cover. Who cares that Violet and I would never happen? God bless reporters and their hunt for a story.

I smile brightly. “That’s right, Sierra. That’s exactly it. We might as well admit it now.” I drape my arm over Violet’s shoulder and tug her closer. “She’s my girlfriend, and I couldn’t be more thrilled she won me, since she’s the one I want to spend every night with, but especially for a good cause.”

I hope to hell Trent isn’t pissed at me, but when my eyes find him in the audience, he looks more like he’s rubbernecking. No surprise—he knows Violet and I would never be together. I’ll just make sure he knows the score later, on all counts.

Sierra gives me an expectant look. “Well?”

“Well, what?” I ask, knitting my brow. What else does she want from me? She’s got the story, she has a record-high bid, and the auction was a hit. Time for us to strut off stage, toast to our little ruse, and go our separate ways home. Problem solved, game over.

Right?

But Sierra pins me with her journalistic gaze. She gestures pointedly to the lady in my arms. “Don’t you want to kiss the girl who just gave ten thousand dollars for a date with her boyfriend?”

That was a play-action fake I wasn’t expecting.

I square my shoulders, clear my throat, and sneak a peek at Violet. Her amber eyes are unreadable, and I’m honestly not sure what to do next.

Then, someone starts clapping. Another woman cheers. Hoots and hollers bounce off the walls.

Seems the audience wants a show.

When you play a game on TV in front of millions, and in front of fifty thousand people in the stadium, you aren’t uncomfortable with an audience witnessing your failures and your victories. But when I angle to look directly at Violet, nerves spike inside me, and I’m not sure why. I’ve known her for more than twenty years, since that day she thought I was yucky.

Maybe I’m still yucky to her, and that’s why she’s frozen.

Hell, the woman saved the day, but I can’t imagine Violet wants to amp up the ruse. Maybe she’ll want to come clean this second, and admit we aren’t really a couple.

I swallow, prepping for the unraveling of our little fable. Instead, her gaze shifts to the audience, as if she’s pointing at them. As if she’s saying give them what they want.

I blink. Holy shit. She’s serious?

“Kiss me,” she whispers so damn quietly.

She’s serious.

“She’s open, Coop. Give her a kiss!” someone shouts from the crowd, and I suppose I should ask for Trent’s permission. I should check and see if he cares that I’m about to kiss his sister. But she’s already signed the permission slip, and she’s the one calling the shots.

As I bend closer to her, I don’t think of a damn thing but her lips, and her request.

Kiss me.

I tell myself to keep it chaste. Keep it tasteful, because this is being simulcast. But hey, it’s local cable access. So maybe a little tongue is fine. TV tongue, not porno tongue. Just a quick kiss to seal this charade. No one will know she’s just my best friend’s sister.

Her chin is tipped up, her amber eyes are inviting, and there’s that scent again. Peaches. It does something to me. Floats into my nostrils. Scrambles my brain. Makes me want to taste her pretty peach lips for real.

Kiss me.

I brush my lips to hers and tell myself to pull away, pull away, pull away. All we need is a kiss for the cameras. For the show. To put a neat little bow on this night. Then, we can dust off our hands and return to what we’ve always been.

Buddies.

But I don’t pull away.

I don’t break the contact. Nor does she. Neither one of us makes a move to stop. And that, right there, changes the game. This isn’t a peck anymore. It ratchets up the kiss scale. Violet slides her lips over mine, and I groan from the feel. My head is a haze, and I’m not sure I can move. She moves, though. She kisses me as if she’s telling the whole crowd I belong to her. As if she wants everyone to know she’s claimed me. That she’s taking me home tonight and every night.

Hell, this girl can act.

The problem is my dick is a method actor.

Because this should just be an ordinary staged kiss.

But he’s gone rogue.

The idiot between my legs is malfunctioning, pointing at the wrong person in an absolutely inappropriate manner. Violet resides in the not-allowed-to-think-of-as-hot category. I’m friends with her whole family, for Christ’s sake. I’m not supposed to be attracted to her, I shouldn’t be turned on by her, and I’m not going to let myself get carried away with this performance. But tell that to my body, because I’m immensely turned on as Violet and I kiss more deeply. I’m sinking into this kiss, and I need to wrestle some control back. It’s not possible for me to be this goddamn attracted to a woman who’s been like a sister to me.

I let that word echo in my head. Sister.

Except, there’s nothing sisterly about the softness of her lips, or the peach taste of her gloss, or the scent of her fresh and minty breath.

I’m not thinking of sisters. I’m thinking of this woman.

I take over, cupping her cheeks with my hands. I hold her face and seal my mouth to hers with a deeper, more passionate kiss. I forget where I am. I forget the crowd. The attendees. The emcee. My teammates. Jillian. Maxine. Trent. I kiss Violet on stage, savoring her taste, reveling in the sweetness of her lips, delighting in the scent that engulfs me. I kiss her like she is my girlfriend, like she’s the only one who should be winning a date with me, because she’s the only one I could possibly want.

When our lips slide apart, her lip gloss is smudged. Her amber eyes are glassy and dazed. I wonder how mine look and if they match hers.

The crowd goes wild.

Sierra cheers, then says, “The quarterback and the hometown girl. Now, that is a winning bid.”

The collective awww tells me this is a story they like.

But when I head backstage, Violet’s hand in mine, I see we’ve slid into a whole new pack of problems.