Knot so Lucky (The holidates series Book 2)
Knot so Lucky: Chapter 9

eleanor

Samantha: Quit playing. This better be a joke.

No matter how many ways I’ve explained to Millie and my sister what just happened, they seem incapable of believing me.

Me: 30FUCKINGDAYSSAMANTHA!!!!!!!!!

Mills: Oh shit. Swear you aren’t fucking with us?

Me: NOOOOOOO. I’M LOSING MY SHIT HERE.

Mills: Okay. First—calm down before you get arrested. Second—answer your FaceTime.

I hit the button on my screen, immediately dropping my head back, my eyes hitting the ceiling as my sister and Millie speak simultaneously.

But I can’t even focus on what they’re saying because my head’s about to explode. I’m so pissed. This wasn’t supposed to happen. We were supposed to get married, then divorced. The latter being the most important part of that sentence. But now I’m fucking collateral damage because of some dumbass football vendetta.

Fuck.

Alcohol is bad. So. So. Bad.

“Shit, what are you going to tell Mom and Dad?” Samantha mutters from the little box her face is in.

“Who cares! That’s the least of my worries right now, Sami. What am I going to do about all my clients at the salon? I’m going to lose them when I tell them I won’t be back for a month. I can’t leave the fucking city limits. And that’s not exactly ideal when you’re about to start your own fucking salon.”

Millie’s shaking her head as she cuts in.

“I won’t let that happen. I’ll explain or make shit up to keep them. Listen, if you have to come back and live out your days with everyone thinking you single-handedly saved the world on the president’s command after you met a secret service detail in Vegas, bitch, so be it. You won’t get fired, and our salon will not fail. I have zero problems lying for a good reason. And what’s better than for a best friend?”

My shoulders start their descent down from my ears, a tiny bit relieved. I trust that Millie will hold it down for me. Plus, I’d kept my July light client-wise so I could focus on starting our own thing. But this is still the most fucked situation.

I’m still frowning as I glance at Crew. He’s been talking a mile a minute about ten feet away on his phone, arms flying in every direction. Clearly, he’s just as mad as I am. Which is rich since this is all his fault.

As if on cue, I hear him say, “This is a fucking disaster. I’m stuck with a girl I picked up at a goddamn nightclub because the good ole boys club is real. The owner can kiss my ass, and so can that judge. They’re literally trying to ruin my life using last night’s pussy.”

My eyes narrow. Using my pussy? Is he serious? Dick. How about using your stupid fucking temper tantrum because you lost a dumbass game nobody but a bunch of old dudes cares about. In fact, this unholy matrimony consequence is everyone’s fault but mine and my pussy’s.

All I did was marry some dude who grown-ass men would let spit on them, just so they can tell their friends about it. The penalty for that is a next-day divorce and some ribbing from your friends—not sanctioned corrupt-ass revenge.

Again, I say…I hate football. I’m banning it from my vocabulary. I won’t even read about it anymore. From now on, I’m only reading hockey romance.

I’ll take those toothless, ice-skating yahoos over lame-ass quarterbacks any day. Or those linebacker guys with the thighs that could crush steel. I mean, nobody loves those football pics where they’re always wearing half shirts showing off their sweaty abs, holding balls and putting those veiny arms on display. The ones that could probably never tire of holding me up against the wall while I was basically getting fucked through it—goddammit.

I give my head a tiny shake, trying to ward off my traitorous thoughts. But my pussy is literally an enemy of the state. The state being my anger.

He was just blaming you, you dumb bitch.

My sister saves me from my thoughts as she chimes in.

“Okay. We’re not freaking out. We’re here now. And there’s nothing you can do about this. Everything will be okay. We’ll work it out. Okay?” I’m staring into the phone, nodding, knowing she can see my worry, but she does the one thing only a big sister can do—states the obvious, then pivots. “I second what Millie said, Elliebelly. We got your back…but only because you’re a dumbass and couldn’t help but lie on it.” A grin grows on her face. “If you think I’m ever letting you live this down…wrong. Dead wrong. This will be like when you found out that I inadvertently named the hamster in my eighth-grade science class Queef because I didn’t know what it meant.”

Millie’s mouth drops open as she laughs, and Sami smiles. I know what she’s doing…trying to pull me into the bright side. But I’m not going, half shrugging and digging in my heels as she continues.

“Remember that? You took out a whole page dedicated to Queef in the back of my senior yearbook with the title ‘Never forget how far you’ve come.’”

I chuckle. I can’t help it—that was my best troll work to date. But I don’t want to laugh. I want to be angry. Very angry. Living in the feeling until I morph into my villain era. An airy breath drags from my lungs just as my eyes tick back to Crew.

“What are you looking at?”

I whisper my answers back to my sister, half under my breath.

“Him. He’s mad.”

I flip the camera, letting them see him pacing as he runs his hand through his hair, half facing us as he talks on the phone. His head falls back for a brief second as he lets out an irritated groan before he grips the back of his neck. If I didn’t currently dislike him so much, I would think it was sexy.

I bring the screen back to me, rolling my eyes. “He has some fucking nerve acting like he’s a victim. This could’ve all been avoided if he wasn’t a dick to the owner and did a whole underhanded trade thing…I don’t know. All I do know is that if I ever hear a man make fun of a woman for loving Harry Styles or anything, for that matter…I am going to out them for the fangirls they are. My life is being ruined because this judge is the equivalent of a Swiftie. The Raiders are basically his Taylor, and I’m paying the price for Crew’s betrayal.”

“Yeah, that judge is a real antihero…” Mills throws out, making my sister smile before she answers in the exact way I knew one of them would the moment I made a fucking Taylor Swift comparison.

Here we go. They’re always like this together. I’m already shaking my head, but there’s no hope that they’ll listen.

“You’d think he’d be more understanding of their love story.”

Millie laughs harder as she piggybacks off my sister.

“Right, but he was basically ‘You’re on your own, kid.’”

Samantha’s almost wheezing as she answers.

“Exactly, it’s not like she was the mastermind either.”

Millie’s picture is shaking, probably because she’s smacking the bed she’s lying in as she laughs harder.

“He knew all too well she wasn’t. But ruining Crew’s reputation was better than revenge.”

Samantha can’t even speak—neither of them can as they say three words, then stop in a fit of laughter before a few more words come out.

“I bet our girl… I bet our girl was wishing…wishing she was… in a lavender haze.” They’re laughing so hard you can’t hear them making any sound anymore.

I hate them. I roll my eyes, trying not to smile. Trying really hard. Whatever. I drop my phone down by my side, letting out a harsh breath and shaking my head before I lift it and hiss at them.

“Assholes.”

They scream. It takes everything in me not to join in the laughter because they’re too much. But I’m staying mad. I don’t care how hard they try to pull me out.

“I’m dying a slow death, and you’re doing Tay Tay puns. Really? You guys are the worst.”

They still don’t care, more laughter spilling out. Dammit. It’s happening…I’m buying in. I swear to god. It’s impossible to be angry when I’m surrounded by clowns.

“Fine, consider this my Dear John letter. Where my love for you once existed, there’s now only a blank space.”

Clapping. They’re fucking clapping.

My sister raises her eyebrows, doing a little shimmy as she veers in a totally different direction.

“Can we also acknowledge the elephant in the room?”

“Yeah,” Millie cuts in. “When am I getting picked up because I’m not staying at the house of horrors without you.”

“I’ll let you know as soon as I know where I live.”

My sister shakes her head.

“No, I meant that the guy is fucking hot.”

I scowl, kind of nodding but still rolling my eyes as Millie chuckles.

“Yeah, he totally is. And his personality is Eleanor’s kryptonite. Super cocky, flirts by giving her shit, and can’t keep his hands off her. At least last night, he couldn’t.”

I huff a tiny growl.

“Would you two read the room? Look where that got me. I’m living the dream, hitched to a guy who regrets me about as much as I regret him right now. My life is ruined. Focus.”

My sister and Millie laugh. Again. I might as well be a damn HBO comedy special with how much these two are belly-laughing it up. I’ll be here all night, folks, and twice on Sunday.

“Okay. Settle down,” my sister teases. “Inconvenienced, yes. Ruined? Take it down, Meryl. You can’t exist in hyperbole when you probably can’t even spell it.”

“Y-o-u-a-r-e-a-t-w-a-t. Am I close?”

“Shut up. You’ve basically been ordered to an extended vacay…with a hottie who’s paying. So, while I want to be sad for you…”

Is my sister right? A little. While the situation is very much fucked, I’m aware it’s not apocalyptic. But I am not at all ready to bright side or listen to reason.

Absolutely. Fucking. Not.

“Excuse me,” I snarl sarcastically. “Roll it back, Samantha. This is not the time for reason. We need revenge plans and shit talk. Get on board. Mills…you need to handle your bestie.”

Millie points to herself, chuckling.

“Oh, she’s mine now?”

“Yes, when she’s dumb, she belongs to you. That’s how it works when you’re raising children together.”

Samantha smiles back at me as I contemplate throwing my phone in the trash so I don’t have to witness this traitorous conversation anymore. Obviously, she knows I’m not really mad at her, but I am mad at Crew.

And I’m holding on to it. Letting it fester. Because grudges are like comfort blankets for haters. And I’m definitely his hater today.

“Listen to me,” I protest. “The next thirty days will be all-out war because he’s left me no choice other than to make him as miserable as I am right now. That’s the only silver lining I will acknowledge.”

As if beckoned, Crew starts walking toward me, his jaw tense as he pockets his phone. Shit. Did he hear me? Millie calls my name, but I don’t answer.

Crew’s eyes are locked on mine as he starts speaking.

“There’s paparazzi in the front. That asshole judge must’ve tipped them off. We’re being picked up in the back. Get off your call.”

“Um, noo. You can wait,” I spit back, staring up at him.

God, he’s too close, hovering, and for the life of me and despite how angry I am for being in this position…other parts of me, however, are getting too excited at being in this exact position. I’m the definition of I hate his face, but I’d still sit on it.

I take a step back, feeling heat rise up my neck.

“Just get off the fucking call.”

“When you get off your high horse.”

I look back at the screen at Sami and Millie and their eyebrows, slow matching smirks blooming on their faces.

Crew lets out a heavy breath before tossing his words back.

“That mouth is only cute when I want to shut it up with my—”

“Call us back!” they yell in unison, cutting him off, but I shake my head.

“Absolutely not.” My eyes lift back to his, and I dig my heels in. “Absolutely. Not.”

Crew grabs my wrist, extending my arm out so they can see him too.

“Ladies, I need to speak to Eleanor for a hot minute. Privately. I’m stealing her, but I’m more than happy to give her the fuck back when I’m done.”

A laughed Oh shit pops from Millie’s mouth before he ends the call.

I swear I see red as his palm presses to my stomach and I’m walked backward until I’m against the wall. His face comes too close, his body touching mine.

“We need to call a truce. Right now. Before your little war starts.”

So I was heard. Good, because I’m ready to press nukes.

I huff a laugh, crossing my arms, feeling too enveloped by his scent, by him, but ignoring it anyway.

“No.”

His hand presses to the wall next to me, cornering me in even more.

“Eleanor. I’m not fucking kidding.”

“Neither am I. I did you a favor in the chambers place when I climbed up and kissed you to shut you the fuck up so we didn’t get buried further down in your bullshit. You got a favor out of me…so now there are no more fucks left for me to give you.”

We’re deadlocked, eyes laser focused on each other. Crew pushes off the wall and turns around, walking a few steps away and wiping a hand down his jaw before he spins back around.

“If this gets out…that we got drunk-married like two idiots, my entire life goes up in flames. The deal I have in place with the Niners will go south because it makes me look too impulsive and untrustworthy…”

“That’s a you problem, QB. I’m over here fighting for my life, trying to figure out how to keep my job and not get fired. And news flash, I don’t have millions to land on when I fall.”

His eyes search mine as his brows pull together.

“I’ll give you money. Whatever you’d make for the month.”

I instantly recoil.

“Eww. No, that is not what I meant…I don’t want your money.”

“Then what? I get that this fucks with your life. And I don’t want to be stuck with you any more than you want to be stuck with me. But the consequence of what we did is about to hurt two people I care about. So, you need to help me make that not happen.”

He means TJ and Nate. I forgot about them. He said they were a part of his deal. I was so focused on my own shit that I never even considered them.

I might be good at being a twat, and he may be just as good at it too. But I’m not a monster. My eyes close as I nod my head, saying my words on a hard exhale.

“Fine. What do I have to do? But to be clear, this is for TJ and Nate because they’re cool as hell. Even if they have shit taste in friends.”

He lets out a quiet, relieved breath, ignoring my dig.

“Barrett, my agent, is spinning this as two people in love. A real love-at-first-sight kind of thing.”

I huff. He shrugs.

“Yeah, I think it’s dumb too. But the organization won’t. You just have to pretend to like me in public for a few weeks. And keep the truth between us…and the two on the phone. That’s it. Once everything is signed, you can go back to regretting me all over again.”

My teeth find my lip, scraping over it as I consider what he’s saying. It’s not a terrible idea. I could use it to look like less of an asshole to my clients and even my parents.

What’s the harm in a little white lie?

“Fine,” I rush out. “But no kissing or anything like that. Our couple vibe is ‘are they siblings, or are they dating.’ You get me? Close enough but not too close. Because our physical proximity is what got us into this shit in the first place. So, keep your hands to yourself, QB. I’m not even risking falling into hate sex at this point.”

“Done. Trust me, Wild Card. The last thing on my mind is your pussy.”

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