Page 3 of Tight Spot

New Year’s Eve.

My team was at The Honky Tonk, a popular country bar on Nashville’s Broadway Street. The single guys like to go there after we won games, usually to sit and be seen in the VIP section, take home women or make out with them there or‌ wherever.

I rarely joined them.

Country music wasn’t my scene. Most game nights I was too damn sore to do much other than sit in my sauna and watch a movie with an ice pack on whatever body part had been pummeled the worst during the game.

Tonight was no exception. We’d flown to Raleigh on Friday night. Saturday, we did a quick walk-through on their field before having a team dinner, watched film in the hotel’s conference room and then lights out by ten. We woke up, ate, played the game, and went straight from their field to the airport.

The sun was already setting by the time I turned down the street that would take me to my neighborhood and my sauna was calling my name.

My phone rang, and I glanced at the CarPlay screen on my Tahoe.

Security. Fantastic.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Mr. Butler. This is Shannon calling from the security station.”

“What’s up?”

“We received a noise complaint from your neighbors this evening and I know it’s New Year’s Eve, so that’s to be expected, but two of our other security guards thought you were out of town tonight. Need us to go check on the place?”

Would have been nice if they would have checked the place before calling. What was I going to do on a normal day?

Except this wasn’t a normal day or night.

This was Crystal.

“I’m pulling into the front security post right now and have family in town. I’ll be home in a few minutes and will shut it down. Please tell my neighbors I’ve taken care of it.”

“Will do, Mr. Butler. Thank you.”

“Yep.” I stabbed at the End Call button on the screen and fisted the steering wheel.

Goddamn, Crystal. Two acres of land, granted it was because my yard was deep and not overly wide, but what in the hell was she pulling where I was getting noise complaints at seven o’clock at night?

Question answered as soon as I turned onto my street.

“Fucking hell.” A party. She was having a goddamn party.

There were so many cars parked in my driveway and on the street out front, I had to drive through my own front yard to get close enough to the garage. Lamborghinis. Ferraris. A McLaren and two G-Wagons took up a few of the spaces. It could have been my team’s parking garage for as wealthy as the cars were, but how in the hell had she found the richest people of Tennessee already?

“Jesus fuck.” I slammed my driver’s door and jogged up to the front door. It was unlocked, not a surprise, and I soon found myself in a crush of people decked in cowboy boots, Wrangler jeans, and my ears bleeding from the country music blasting through my home stereo. Gold and black decorations hung from the ceiling and every piece of available furniture and oh…she had to be kidding me…

There was a girl, legs spread, one thrown over the back of my tan leather couch. All I saw was leather and flesh and a guy still wearing a black shirt on top of her.

“Hey.” I grabbed the guy on the couch by the back of his T-shirt and tore him off the girl he was actually fucking on my couch. “Get the fuck out of here.”

His dick, wet, smacked against his stomach. Oh god. I was going to puke.

“Hey!” the girl cried out, covering her tits with his cowboy hat. “What was that for?”

“Get out of my goddamn house. Now.”

I was ready to tear them apart limb by limb. My face must have shown it because they both scrambled up, grabbing clothes and covering naked body parts faster than I snatched the football out of thin air.

Fucking kill me.

---