Knot so Lucky (The holidates series Book 2)

eleanor

“He didn’t text back.”

My bottom lip protrudes as I pout. It’s been hours of us torturing Crew. And every time, he texts back.

Mostly it’s threatening to end TJ and Nate in more and more inventive ways. But it’s still encouraging because it means we’re getting underneath his skin.

And that’s the whole point.

We don’t have to send pictures to him. He doesn’t need to know what the hell I’m doing. I might be his wife, but I sure as hell am not his girlfriend. But when Nate presented this plan to drive him crazy, to get back at him for keeping our love apart…

I wholeheartedly supported it. Am I a menace? Yes.

But I am also the Justin to his Britney—what goes around comes around, motherfucker.

People don’t forget, to quote my all-time favorite movie.

Get me to scream your name now, beyutchhh.

TJ looks down at my phone and scowls.

“Boo, you whore.”

I smile, my mouth falling open for a minute, surprised.

“Wow…TJ…you’re a man who, by all arguments, is a prime physical specimen, but you know your Mean Girl quotes. It’s proof god really is a woman.”

He laughs, holding my hand and letting it swing between us as we walk toward our next stop. Today has been an unexpected blast. Well, maybe not totally unexpected. TJ and Nate did promise a good time, and I can say with certainty that they always deliver.

Nate throws his arm over my shoulder. “If god was a woman, then men would be able to find a woman’s clit.”

The laugh that rips from my chest makes TJ join.

“Now,” Nate adds in his Scottish brogue, “don’t fret, lass. If we can’t lure Crew out with those other videos and pics…this place should do the trick.”

My head lifts, taking in the signage.

According to TJ, this place has the best chicken wings in town. Which is awesome because I’m starving. About twenty minutes to hangry. But I have to wonder if chicken wings are code for hot ass since the Spearmint Rhino is a strip club.

crew

I walked into Barrett’s office with my stomach in my throat. But thankfully, the call was positive right out of the gate. And now it’s been an hour of hype and game planning.

Of all the fucking days for this. The universe really has it out for me today. And to make matters worse, I felt my phone vibrate about ten minutes ago, but I can’t look because I have to stare at the three faces on the video call that belong to the Niners owner, my new head coach, and the assistant coach.

My knees bounce a mile a minute as the owner speaks.

“We couldn’t be happier, Crew, to welcome you to this team. We really just wanted to have this call to reassure you that TJ and Nate’s place here with our organization is solid. Everyone on this side knows what’s going on there over at the Raiders. And we see this as a bump in the road.”

Barrett reaches out and claws my knee to stop it from moving before withdrawing her hand back to her own lap. I feel like a kid who’s getting in trouble with their mom.

God, Barrett, let me live.

I’m smiling at the stupid fucking thoughts in my head as my eyes tick down to my phone as it vibrates again, hearing the coaches drone on.

“We’re extending some time before preseason for you to get your feet wet, and the plan is to have you hang back and not play those games. We want to keep you healthy and ready for the regular season.”

I smile and nod, looking up again before I feel Barrett tap my leg.

“I appreciate that, sir,” I rush out, smiling at the camera. “And I couldn’t be happier, really. You guys don’t have to worry about me. Claire, my trainer extraordinaire, is keeping me game ready. I’ll be ready for the season.”

My new coach chuckles.

“I bet, and I’d also bet that being a newlywed has a way of putting a spring in your step. Congratulations from all of us, by the way. I only know what I saw online, but she looks like a sweetheart of a girl.”

Oh yeah, a real sweetheart.

The smile on my face is saying too much because like an asshole, I flipped my phone over and saw the group message…the one fucking labeled Gang Bang Niner Gang.

I swallow, trying not to give away what I just saw. But damn. It’s impossible because a 4K photo of Eleanor with a plate of chicken wings in front of her and tits in the background is now permanently imprinted on my brain.

They took her to a fucking strip club.

What is wrong with them? Who the fuck… Actually…the funniest part is I’m not sure whose idea it really was. Each one of them is capable of this ridiculous shit. Equally.

“Crew,” Barrett whispers, guiding my eyes back to the screen as the owner speaks.

“We’d love to let the media have a taste of you two during the game opener. Maybe a photo op or some reel of her watching you on the field.”

I must frown because he adds, “Unless she isn’t planning to come to the games?”

Well, she can come but as my ex-wife.

But I don’t say that; instead, I nod and lie. It’s really only a partial truth because I have a feeling Wild Card and I might be long-lasting roster buddies.

“Absolutely.” I grin. “The little wifey is up for anything.”

Like a gang bang.

My phone vibrates again as they start talking about capitalizing on the media attention. But I’m not listening, again, because I’m too busy reading my texts.

Nate: Hope that workout’s working out.

That girl I married: Dolla dolla bills y’all.

TJ: You didn’t tell us she could suck the meat clear off the bone.

That’s it. I’m done. My face shoots up, the excuse to bail on the tip of my tongue. But I’m circumvented as the screen suddenly shifts to a play board, and the coach throws out his plan.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to take this next hour to go over some plays and get your thoughts on how to best utilize TJ.”

Shit.

What I want to say is the best way to utilize TJ is to let him finger fuck Eleanor from behind, keeping her bent over as she sucks me off. But I can’t fucking say that, so I opt for, “Absolutely. Let’s talk about the man with the hands.”