“Let’s put him in the shower. Fuck it,” Nate groans.
I shake my head. But my eyes are still closed as I flip him off, barking, “I’ll break your jaw if you try to get me outta this bed.”
My hand smacks down on a pillow next to me before I drag it over my face.
“Nooo,” TJ spits. “Nope. You gotta wake up.”
He jerks the pillow off and starts slapping my cheek. Hard.
For fuck’s sake.
“I’m up,” I bellow, smacking his hand as my eyes finally open. “Damn. All right. I’m up.” I rub a hand against the stubble on my jaw roughly, grinding out my words, “What the fuck is so important that you’re in here making me hate you?”
I blink up at them, suddenly grinning because they’re staring down at me, looking haggard, like in a scene straight out of The Hangover.
“You two look like there’s gonna be a tiger in the bathroom.”
Nate’s wearing his boxer briefs and last night’s shirt, despite missing all the buttons. But TJ takes the cake because he’s wearing an Elvis jumpsuit. Except it’s only half on, hanging at his waist with stains on the legs…pizza, maybe?
“What happened last night?” I say with a yawn, hearing them chuckle. I’m still half asleep, wiping my watery eyes, but even all teared up, I catch something.
Something on my left fucking hand.
Hold up.
I shoot to sitting like I’ve been jolted with a thousand volts. But as I do, the whole debaucherously insane night plays out at hyper speed through my mind until I land on the most important part.
“Holy shit. I got married…” My eyes lock with theirs. “And you two fucked my wife.”
“Yep. There it is,” TJ rushes out, clapping and looking at Nate. “He’s with us now. Welcome back, buddy. And the tiger ain’t in the bathroom. She’s in the fucking living room. You gotta get up. Claire’s here.”
Shit. Claire. A five-foot-three austere trainer from hell who prides herself in making grown men cry…in the NFL.
My head swings toward the nightstand as I tap my phone for the time. It’s 7:00 a.m. I’m late…but that’s not what’s got my attention. It’s the stained, scribbled-on bar napkin.
I swipe it up, unable to hide my smirk as I read it, seeing the wildest girl I’ve ever met left her number and hotel info.
Dear hubby,
I’d like a divorce. Since you’re rich and famous, you’re paying for the lawyer.
And since I’m not a gold digger, there’s no fee for the memories.
Love, your future ex-wifey
Hit me up when you rise and shine, sleeping beauty.
I’m at The Palm Tree Motel, rm #17
408-242-8381
“Dude. Focus on the immediate issue,” Nate blurts out, lowering a hand to cup his junk as I toss the note back. “Claire’s pissed, and her aim is as good as yours. She threw a fucking paperweight at me and told me she was aiming for my dick before she hit it.”
TJ touches the back of his head like he’s traumatized, cutting in and talking over Nate. “I’m pretty sure she punched me in the back of the head to wake me up… she’s so mean. I’m probably gonna have to do concussion protocol now. That means no television. The season finale of Love Is Blind is this week. And shit is messy.”
Nate motions to TJ, nodding at me like it’s the most reasonable thing ever said.
These fucking two. But the way TJ’s voice broke at the end, like not watching his fucking show is a tragedy, paired with the fact that he’s six two and a hundred and ninety pounds…with a beard…almost makes me laugh.
Almost. Because this is actually a crisis. Claire will make me train until I vomit multiple times today. Fuck. My stomach turns over at the thought, and my head pounds as I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, keeping my lap covered with the blanket and holding up my hand.
“Okay. One of you tell her I’ll be right out. I’ve gotta call my lawyer and my fucking agent—”
“Shit,” they say together, but Nate adds, “How bad did we fuck up?”
Calling my lawyer, Josh, is one thing. Calling his sister Barrett, my agent, is another. Now’s not the time for what I did last night. But I’ve learned that shit’s not a problem until it is. So I’m not going to overreact…yet. But before I can answer, my bedroom door flies open, and the tyrant of the hour barges inside.
“Shit,” TJ shoots, throwing up his hand as Nate covers his dick, whispering, “Here we go.”
Claire holds up her cell, stalking toward my bed.
“What time is it, Crew? Because last I checked, it’s my time…and that’s important.”
I bring my hand to my head, trying to add some more soundproofing. But she keeps going.
“Your coaches will not be happy. This is rookie behavior. Arrogant, irresponsible bullshit. I thought you were past this kind of shit. What was so important that you had to miss the morning training?”
I grin. I can’t help it. Because answering “pussy” isn’t an option, even though that’s my answer. Damn, that girl was something else. And the shit her mouth did. Fuck. I’ve never had better. The thought makes blood rush in the wrong direction, so I look up, clearing my throat.
And thank god I do because the guys provide the perfect entertainment for my cock to behave itself.
TJ half raises his hand like he has to ask permission to speak. But Nate smacks his shoulder, making him add, “My bad. Right. That was rhetorical. Got it… Don’t hit me again, mommy.”
Claire shoves her phone back into her pocket, snapping, “Shut up, TJ.”
Jesus. I know she’s pissed, but…one day isn’t the end of the world. I’m well aware of my reputation. Shit, some of it is well-earned. But I haven’t missed a single day during the off-season, so Claire needs to fucking relax.
I run my hand through my hair as I lock eyes with her.
“I have to make a few calls. We can pick up the afternoon session. I look forward to the torture.”
She huffs. Overstepping.
“Yeah? Great. Just remember there are a lot of people watching your every move. Me being one of them. And I’m unimpressed by this. People warned me you would go out of your way to sabotage your own talent. They said, ‘He’ll be your biggest disappointment. Never live up to his potential.’ Shit like this makes me believe they’re right.”
The muscles in my jaw tense as I shoot to my feet.
“Whoa, whoa,” TJ rushes out, adding, “Nate, run block.”
Nate grabs a pillow shoving it in front of me to cover my dick because I’m suddenly too mad to fucking remember or care that I’m nude.
“I missed one session,” I grind out, gripping the fuck out of that pillow as my blood pressure rises. “You go ahead and tell the fucking coaches whatever you want. I’ll still send you a bottle every time I win, sweetheart. I haven’t sabotaged shit, but it’s good to know you’ve been listening to the bullshit they leak to the press.”
I chuck the pillow across the room as I walk into the bathroom, rubbing a hand over my abs and hearing TJ apologize to Claire.
But from over my shoulder, I toss out, “She’s not offended by my dick. She wouldn’t be trying to compare hers to mine right now if she was.”