Knot so Lucky (The holidates series Book 2)

crew

TJ: *video loading

A smile grows on my face because Eleanor’s dancing in the fucking Caesar’s Palace fountain, wearing a boa, cowboy hat, and a T-shirt that says, “If you like my meatballs, you’ll love my sausage.” All with the Friends theme playing in the background.

What the hell are they doing?

I’m laser focused on the video, listening to them and trying not to laugh.

“Nate…come be Ross!”

She’s belting out the song, waving her hands in the air, before TJ shouts, “Oh shit, security.”

Water splashes, and the camera jostles before TJ’s face comes into frame.

“Damn, she’s never boring. Don’t worry, we’ll keep her out of handcuffs…until later.”

Claire’s voice interrupts my focus just as the video cuts.

“Why the frown? I thought we agreed no complaining.”

I look up and shake my head.

“It’s not you I want to murder.”

I type out a message, my fingers hitting hard enough to make a thumping sound on the screen.

Me: She goes to jail? You two get cut from the team.

I let out a breath and put the weights back onto the rack as I relax on the bench. Until I hear my phone ding, so I swipe it off the floor and open the message.

Nate: *a photo of Eleanor cozied up to TJ on the Ferris wheel.

Nate: I paid the guy to stop at the top and give us an extra fifteen minutes. What do I get if she screams my name?

I might chew a hole through my cheek with the viciousness I’m gnawing on it as I stare at the picture. These motherfuckers. I should’ve known they’d torture me. My eyes tick up to the top of the screen…fuck, two more hours.

Me: You get thrown from the fucking bucket.

Claire yells, even though she’s next to me. “Crew. What the hell? Are you listening? I said another rep.”

I let out a breath, tossing my phone on the ground before I grip the fucking barbell to grind out another ten presses. The bright side is I’m going to need to build more muscle because throwing Nate off anything will take superior upper-body strength. Motherfucker.

They took her to Hoover Dam. Come on.

Eleanor’s straddling the Arizona-Nevada border. But not really—her foot is hovering as TJ holds her hand like he’s saving her from teetering over. I stare down at the photo, smiling at how wild her hair is. It reminds me of the night we met. When she was lifted over the back of the booth with a sparkler in a fucking bottle, dancing to “Get Low.”

Her text comes in as I’m looking.

That girl I married: Not one foot outside the city limits that judge said…does this count?

I laugh. TJ’s right. She’s never boring. Damn, but the FOMO is real right now. I’m getting played so hard. And it’s working because I want to cut out and have a good time.

They’re the worst. Full of bad ideas and trouble… although maybe I should cut out early. What’s the worst that happens? I can’t really throw Nate off a building; I need him sacking quarterbacks. And I really only have another hour left.

An hour isn’t making or breaking shit.

My phone is snatched out of my hand, grabbing my immediate attention.

“The fuck? Do you need to make a phone call?”

Claire stares me down, figuratively speaking, seeing as she’s looking up at me from her munchkin stature. Her brows raise.

“No. And neither do you. Or have you forgotten that this is my time? You can have it back when it’s not interfering with my time. And I’m adding another fifteen for all the texting.”

I start to laugh, but then I stop. Jesus Christ. Claire could put a fucking drill sergeant into a fetal position, questioning his whole life.

She tosses the weighted vest and points to the treadmill, and I can already feel the vomit giving me a salute like, see ya soon, fucker.

“Fifteen-minute jog. Forty-five sprint,” she grinds out.

Fuck. My. Life.

The whirl of the machine hums before my feet hit the belt. Sweat’s already dripping down my chest, but all I can think about besides the fact that I might die is what they’re doing.

Are they sending the photos in real time or strategically trying to torture me? Because that would mean they’re heading back into town. But it’s almost feeding time for my wifey, the ogre, so… Ah, I fucking hate them. This is inhabiting my brain.

The smile that’s peeking out is completely against my will, but honestly, game well played, assholes.

My eyes are fixed on the wall, arms slicing the air as the pace starts picking up. But I’m still only barely winded, focusing on form until midstride, I hear that ding. Like a fucking siren’s call. My face snaps to my cell, taunting me from the counter, and my whole body buckles.

“Fuck,” I shout as my feet topple over each other in a tangle, and I grab the treadmill handles, saving my ankle but not my pride. I still manage to pull the emergency cord, stopping the belt before I jump off and stumble toward my phone.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Claire barks, but I’m nodding and waving her off.

“Sorry, I just have an important message…” What I’m saying is cut off because, this time, it’s Barrett proving me true.

Barrett: We have an impromptu phone call with the Niners. Drop what you’re doing and get to my office. I don’t know what to expect, so just prepare yourself for anything, Crew.

Claire’s voice bounces off my back because I don’t give an explanation as I stalk toward the locker room to grab my shit and see if my future just went up in flames.