“Managed it how?” Her cleavage is amazing, so it’s impossible not to stare. I hope by the end of next week I’m not so stiff. Then maybe we could do boob sex. I miss it.

“I did her hair for her this morning.”

“You what?” I’m getting hard again, which is a good sign.

“You can hold one if that’ll help you pay better attention to this conversation.” She takes my hand and puts it on her left boob. Then she puts a finger under my chin and gently encourages me to look her in the eye. “I styled her hair for her. If you could mention how nice it looks, it would be helpful. Hopefully your dad likes it, and we can convince her not to go back to her eighties time warp.”

“You styled her hair? When?”

“Six-thirty this morning. She came knocking when she couldn’t find hairspray.”

“That was nice of you.”

Violet shrugs. “I had selfish intent. I don’t want her to have helmet hair for our wedding photos. Besides, it’s time she dove hair-first into the twenty-first century. Next we’ll have to take her clothes shopping. I’m going to get my mom in on that.”

I stare at Violet and continue to hold her boob. First of all, I don’t know why no one else has ever thought to do something like this to cure my mom of her eighties-hair-band-reject ’do. Second, Violet mentioned the wedding without making a face like she’d eaten something rotten and without any external prompting from me.

She drops my hand and leaves me standing in the middle of the room while she picks an outfit. She chooses a pair of jeans, which I had tailored specifically so they hug her ass, and a sexy red shirt that shows a tiny hint of cleavage.

“Aren’t you going to put on pants?” She motions to my bottom half. “You can’t hide a hard-on in those.”

I glance down. She’s right; I have an obvious semi. I haven’t worn anything but sweats since coming home from the hospital. Zippers and buttons are a challenge. Violet disappears into the closet and returns with a pair of jeans. Then she helps me out of my sweats and into my pants. It puts her at eye level with my dick. She doesn’t do anything but give it a pat and rearrange it so it’s sitting at a nice angle.

I’m still slow on the stairs, but it’s better than when I first came home. We’re in the kitchen when my parents come in.

“Just act natural,” Violet says.

“Okay.” I can’t imagine a change in hairstyle is going to make that much of a difference when my mom still dresses like it’s 1986. I guess I’m so used to it that it’s become normal for me.

We wait for them to appear, but all I hear are giggles from my mom and then nothing. Violet and I look at each other and head for the foyer. Now I’m seriously curious as to what’s going on.

We catch them on the stairs. My dad looks like he’s trying to hump her from behind.

“Hey, where are you guys going?”

My mom startles and moves to the next step, away from my dad. “Oh, Alex! I didn’t expect you two to be awake! We were taking your dad’s bag to the room.”

I glance at the front door where my dad’s suitcase sits. “Kinda helps if you take it with you.”

“Oh! Oops! Well, that’s okay. We can do it later.”

My dad doesn’t seem all that excited about doing it later. He looks more annoyed than anything, but he comes back down the stairs, turning on a smile for Violet.

“Hi, sweetheart. How’s your week been? Alex is a mopey shit when he’s not feeling well. I hope he hasn’t been driving you insane.” He pulls her into a hug and shoots a glare at me over her shoulder.

“He’s been good, keeping the moping to a minimum for the most part.”

My mother clears her throat like she’s choking on something. I haven’t been that bad. I don’t think.

He whispers something to Violet, and she chuckles.

I turn my attention back to my mom, who’s come down the stairs to join us. She’s touching her hair, twirling it around her finger like Sunny often does when she’s nervous or thinking. She looks ten years younger.

“Wow, Mom, you look great.”

“Doesn’t she?” My dad checks out my mom the way I do Violet after I’ve been at a series of away games—like I want to get her naked and do dirty things to her. It’s a little weird. They must’ve been on their way upstairs to get their freak on before we stopped them.

My dad hugs me and grumbles something about me being a cockblocker, then slaps me on the back, making me groan. He eases up. “Still pretty sore?”

“It’s getting better.”

He nods and doesn’t push me to say anything else, which is good, because talking about how long it’s going to take to recover from this injury puts me in a bad mood. After the first couple of days I was sure I’d be fine by the end of the month. But considering the slow progression this week, and the reading I’ve done, I’m starting to come to terms with the fact that I’ll be on the bench quite a while. I can’t even start rehab for at least two more weeks, and that’ll be limited to the recumbent bike and lower body only. Dislocated shoulders are almost as bad as broken bones, and concussions as serious as mine mean a significant recovery period. Next season has never seemed so far away.

My dad and I sit at the island and eat the fruit platter Violet’s preparing while my mom puts fresh bread in the oven to bake. My dad eats the fruit almost as quickly as Violet cuts it up. Everyone should be here soon. Along with Violet’s parents, my sister and Miller, Charlene, Darren, Lily, and Randy are all coming over. Lance might even stop by. I have a newfound respect for him since he was benched for five games after beating the shit out of Cockburn.