AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I’m holding Blair’s hand. Fans are waiting by the fence, wanting autographs and shouting our names.
“Oh,” Blair jokes back, “I don’t want a wedding, but I’m all about a topless beach vacation. Or a fake wedding role-play. Some golden cock rings. Some diamond anal plugs. A wedding dress we can trash while I’m the naughty bride, and y’all are two dirty grooms. Wait? Please tell me you own tuxes.”
“Two grooms? I like that idea.” I lift her hand to my lips, planting a kiss. “And yeah, we own tuxes.”
“Hell, no,” Colt scoffs. “I’m not ruing my Dior with cum stains. We can rent role-play tuxes.”
“So,” I laugh, “you’d rather start wild rumors when Atlanta’s QB and running back rent tuxes from the mall and return them covered in cock snot? I can see the Touchdown panties and tapioca pudding fans would throw on the field after that.”
Blair starts laughing, too, but then Colt stops, pointing to the fence at the edge of the lot. “Dude,” he says. “Look at all those kids. We gotta say hello.”
“We will,” I answer, beeping my truck remote. “Let’s toss our shit in the cab and get the A/C running. I don’t want more swamp ass.”
September is still hot as hell in Atlanta. We’re showered and fresh, and I’d like to stay that way.
I open the passenger door for Blair, but she rummages through her purse. “Just a sec,” she says. “I gotta make sure I didn’t leave my phone in the suite.”
I think nothing of it, aiming for the driver’s door while Colt opens the back door. But he also hangs back, checking his phone.
“What are you doing?” I climb in, starting the engine. “Watching the postgame already?”
But Colt doesn’t answer. Neither does Blair. They don’t get in the truck. Something’s off. I sense it, pressing the big A/C button, and BOOM!
The A/C vents explode with confetti. Red, black, silver, and gold glitter showers my truck.
Blair starts howling. So does Colt. He’s got his phone up, recording my face that looks like a million sparkling fairies farted on it.
“Okay, Ziggy Stardust!” Colt laughs, his phone shaking. “Now, let’s sign autographs.”
These fuckers.
Think I’m afraid?
Hell no. I grab the Sharpie I keep in my center console and proudly jump out of my truck, strutting toward the fence and our fans.
“Beau! Beau!” Two boys shout. “Will you sign our T-shirts?”
“Will do, little buddy.”
I reach through the hole in the fence, signing T-shirts, balls, and more, until one girl asks, “Are you wearing princess makeup?”
“Sure am,” I answer. “I borrowed it from Colton Hawke. He loves glitter.”
The crowd laughs, and Colt joins me. Other players gather at the fence, too.
It’s funny. Blair makes sure of it. She laughs all the way home while I bitch, “I’ll be cleaning up this glitter shit for months.”
“Nope. Years,” Blair corrects me, sitting in the passenger seat, sprinkling some in my hair. Like it needs more.
“Let’s scoop it into a bag and save it for your wedding,” Colt jokes.
“Alright,” Blair almost scolds. “Enough wedding talk. That’s just my dad having diarrhea of the mouth. Ignore him. I do. No one’s getting married. You’re winning the Super Bowl.”
But I’m quiet, half-focused on the traffic. Sometimes, I wish I had a chopper to take us home—it’s that bad. We’re crawling in six lanes down the interstate, and it’s awkward.
I’m making it awkward, I know.
But I don’t want to marry Blair without Colt. There’s no hierarchy in our relationship. It’s the three of us, equally. If we marry, it won’t feel right. I won’t leave Colt out. I can’t. Half my heart beats for him, the other half for Blair.
