Rich Groom (The Dirty Thirty Pledge 1)

And probably more importantly, I don’t want to make any more fucking life decisions over this stupid fucking pledge. It already cost me the woman who was probably the love of my life, and it almost wrecked me. It’s been eight years, and I’ve had to live with it. I’m not going to let this drag me down. There has to be a way out of this, I just need to sleep on it first.

Once I’m in my hotel room, I toss my jacket on the chair in the corner and hear a crackle. What?

Right. There’s that piece of paper in the pocket, and I almost see red when I start reading the list of names that Glenn made like these women are just free for the taking. I crumple it in my fist and toss it across the room. It lands on top of my suitcase, but I ignore it. I don’t even want to touch it. Just the idea of it makes me want to be sick.

I have to get Glenn to call this off. I need to.

I don’t have high hopes for it. I’ve known Glenn for a long time. From elementary school through college. The three of us went to the University of Nashville together. In the entire time I’ve known him, I’ve never known him to go back on something he’s set his mind to. So whatever his real reasoning for trying to get me to fuck thirty women or sue me, he must have one. And I need to figure out what it is.

My conversation with Wallace floats into my mind. He suggested that I just find someone to marry. Well, I want to marry Annabelle. I’ve always wanted that. No matter what I told myself, she was always there in the back of my mind as the one person I imagined that I’d end up with. I want to believe that maybe she still loves me too. I don’t think she would have kissed me tonight or given me any hope at all if she still didn’t have any feelings for me.

Is it possible?

I have no idea, but right in this moment, I know that I’m going to try. I want to marry Annabelle Hughes, and I have fourteen days to make it happen before I’m sued within an inch of my life.

3

Annabelle

I wake to my cell phone ringing. Dragging my eyes open, I look at the screen and ignore the drop in my stomach. It’s a number that I don’t know and one that I’ve already marked as one to never answer. They’ll call again. They always call again.

Light peeks through the blinds on my windows, and I stretch, feeling the aftermath of performing. I always feel exhausted after a performance with that many people. It’s like having lightning go through me and having to stand there and hold the current. Pair that with running into Frankie and I’ve been shocked enough that I should frankly be burnt to a crisp.

It’s been eight years since I saw him last, and those eight years have been good to him. He’s grown into himself. I can see the confidence in the way he carries himself, and I’d be a goddamn liar if I didn’t say he was just as hot as the day I left him. Hotter even. I’ve always been a sucker for a sharp jaw and blue eyes, probably because of him. And being pressed up against him last night made me think about all the good times that we had together. In bed, out of bed, and everywhere in between. He’s been all I can think about since I left him, which has driven me a little crazy, since last night was easily the biggest night of my career so far. Having a prime spot at Green Hills means something, even if the festival isn’t as prestigious as it used to be.

But this can’t happen. We’re not the same people, and I’m…what I am now.

I slide out of bed and feel the smooth fabric of the jersey run across my skin. It’s Frankie’s. Back when he played in college and I was with him, he gave it to me. I never had the heart to get rid of it, even after I broke it off. I haven’t touched it before now though. It’s been in the back of a drawer and I’ve avoided even thinking about the fact that it’s there.

But when I came back last night, I couldn’t not take it out. And then I put it on, and even though it’s impossible after eight years, I swear that it smells like him still. Or maybe it’s that I can imagine his scent after being so close to him last night. There’s something erotic in sleeping in something that belonged to someone else. It’s so big that it’s falling off my shoulder, and I remember more than one night with him when I wore this and nothing else. It drove him crazy, with a little role-play of the football groupie thrown in the mix. It was some of the best sex that we ever had.