Page 1 of Fumbled Beginning

CHAPTER1

JP

“We’ve been spotted,”Rhett whispered into my ear as we entered the crowded pub.

“Fucking fantastic,” I grumbled, noticing a few cameras pointed our way. I was tired, sore, and in a shitty mood.

The bar was packed, which was no surprise for a Friday night, and I knew the second I stepped inside, we would have to fight for a place to sit. You could feel the stares and hear the hushed conversations about our presence, even though there was a Taylor Swift song playing at an uncomfortable volume. There was nowhere in the state of Georgia where ten Atlanta Arrow players could sneak in unnoticed.

“Am I the only one who thinks this is nuts?” Rhett asked as we edged our way toward the back bar, trying to minimize his six-foot-three tight end body from drawing any further attention.

“No more than the actual marriage itself.” I glanced around, my level of irritation spiking because I allowed myself to get dragged into this fiasco in the first place.

Our teammate Beckett’s soon-to-be wife insisted that this little bachelor party be low-key.

No strippers and no dance clubs. Just a few cigars and a little booze with the boys. If you thought that was weird, that wasn’t even the craziest part. Carrie and Beckett were already married. Tomorrow was their “vow renewal” ceremony, but after the rough patch they went through last year and almost getting divorced, they thought this would be a good way to start fresh.

“At least they scheduled it during our bye-week. Lord knows we need one after that press conference. Rogers really knows how to rattle your cage.” Rhett grinned.

“Probably needs to find ways to compensate for his small dick and even smaller brain,” I grunted out.

Tristan Rodgers was a hungry sports reporter who was always looking to create a headline for himself. The guy would get a boner anytime he’d get a reaction out of me during our team press conferences. He pretended to ask tough questions about mistakes I’d made on the field. When he brought up the team delaying my contract extension next season, he successfully pissed me off. Instead of giving him a snappy comeback like he expected, I just smiled and gave him a politically correct answer. He wasn’t happy with my response, probably because he wouldn’t be getting a boner like he had hoped.

We squeezed into an open space at the bar just as a group of girls dispersed. They didn’t look old enough to drink and practically had “fake ID” stamped on their foreheads.

“What’s your poison?” The female bartender leaned forward, eyeing us impatiently. She had a scowl across her lips, most likely from dealing with assholes like us all night. While my eyes went to the liquor bottles lining the back, Rhett’s drifted to her cleavage.

Not wanting to come across as a creep like my buddy next to me, I pretended to look over my choices even though I already knew what I would order. “We’ll take two buckets of Corona and a bottle of Patron.”

She lifted a brow. “You want the whole bottle?”

“Yes, please.” I pulled out my wallet and dug out two crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. “Don’t forget the lime.”

Rhett slapped me on the back and turned his sly smile on her. “We’ll also take a bottle of Jack.”

She leaned back, folding her arms along her chest. “What does this look like to you, a liquor store?”

She was a little over five feet tall and weighed maybe one hundred and ten pounds soaking wet. Her size wasn’t close to being intimidating, but with her fiery red hair and cunning voice, she came across as a no-nonsense operator.

“No, it looks like a packed bar, and my buddies and I are celebrating tonight, so the fewer trips we have to take to get refills, the easier it will be.” I handed her a fifty-dollar tip.

“Suit yourself.” She stuffed the bills inside her shirt and walked to the back room. Damn, I sounded like a grump. Probably because I’d been working extra hard in the weight room, pushing myself harder than I ever had in my life. With our season winding down, and playoffs starting, I’d spent all my free time focused on the game. I couldn’t even tell you the last time I got laid.

Rhett bit the inside of his cheek. “She’s kinda cute.” My eyes rolled of their own accord. The guy was a walking, talking stereotype. He grabbed his phone out of his back pocket. “Think she’ll give me her number?”

I clapped him on the shoulder. “Easy there, Romeo. We’ve only been here less than five minutes. You don’t need to try to get in the pants of the first woman to speak to you. Let’s unwind for a few minutes before you start propositioning the ladies.”

He rolled his eyes. “Okay, Grandpa.”

The object of his affection strode across the bar, carefully balancing the two trays. “Where are ya’ll sittin’?”

I grabbed one of the round trays out of her hands and led the way.

Rhett started rattling out a series of pickup lines, which weren’t going over very well. I was pretty sure he was going to crash and burn before he even sat down.

I slid my tall body into one of the four booths we had managed to take over and sprawled my legs out as far as they could go. Let’s just say the booth would be better at accommodating a team of horse jockeys than football players.

I listened as the guys complained about the drills Coach put us through today, but I didn’t join in. I loved the sport and every minute I got to play. I’d seen too many dreams end before they started, and I learned never to take getting paid to do what I loved for granted.

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