Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 6

his being a professional athlete who was often on the road, but nope. Fontana only had eyes for his Connie. Didn't hurt that Connie was stacked and also only had eyes for Mike.
    It hadn't seemed odd or ill-advised when Fontana had mentioned he'd be ducking out of a practice next week– in the middle of the season– because he and Connie were pregnant and getting married. Nope, just seemed like what Fontana and Connie were meant to do. Well, maybe not the haste, but the rings and everything, sure.
    Even with no notice, the boys had wanted to take Fontana out on the town in honor of the occasion. After some heckling, during which the phrase "pussy-whipped" may have made an appearance, Fontana had consented. And that's how Brad had ended up at this dive with its cracked vinyl booths, dart boards, and 1950s movie posters decor rather than a place where some half-naked chicks would be flashing their tits in all of their faces: Fontana had insisted they keep the chicks– half-naked or otherwise– out of the picture. If and when Connie heard about that, she was sure to beam with pride.
    Noticing he'd run empty, Brad excused himself from the group and made his way slowly through the milling wall of muscle otherwise known as his offensive line as he headed to the bar. God, his calves, biceps, glutes, even his fucking knuckles were sore from the brutal workout that Coach Fletcher had insisted upon and the trainers had sadistically carried out earlier that day. The relentless hip hop beat wasn't helping, either.
    The bar area was crowded, and a bartender sporting a buzz cut and a colorful half sleeve tattoo of a Japanese koi fish was pouring drinks and popping bottle caps. Brad bellied up next to a hipster in suspenders and was about to catch the bartender's attention when a soft voice spoke up.
    "'Scuse me, a Maker's Mark, neat, and a Coke, please."
    Brad stiffened. What the fuck? He'd recognize that Southern drawl anywhere, even in this most unlikely of places. The hipster turned away to reveal the strong, rugged profile of none other than Cam Hunter, who was clad in jeans and a crimson V-neck sweater over a white button-down.
    "A Coke? You want some fucking milk and cookies with that, too, Girl Scout? And maybe a juice box chaser?" Brad found himself taunting before he even realized his mouth had opened to do it.
    Hunter's shoulders hunched then relaxed before he turned his head towards Brad. His brows lifted as he replied, "And you, Jameson? You want another or should I just tap the keg and call it a day?"
    His blue gaze locked with Brad's hazel before he gave a pointed look at the empty dangling from Brad's hand. Brad grunted. Cam Hunter was as well known for his teetotaling as Brad was for his fast living.
    "You do know you're in enemy territory, don't you, Hunter? What the fuck are you doing here, anyway? Isn't it past your curfew?" he asked, his lip curling.
    Hunter dropped a twenty on the counter and grabbed the drinks. Turning to face Brad, he nodded his chin towards a booth near the entrance where a small group sat, gathered around a tall muscular guy who was grinning and had his arm around a petite brunette.
    "Look, Jameson, I'm not here to make trouble." Hunter's tone was placating, as though he were talking to a particularly stubborn horse. "I came up to see my buddy off to the Army. That's all. Let's not start anything, not tonight. Just leave us alone, and I'll see plenty of your pretty face come Sunday."
    "Well well, if it isn't the NFL's favorite Boy Scout." The Diamonds' running back Archie Masterson came up from behind Brad to clap a hand on his shoulder. "Everything okay over here, QB?" he said to Brad, eyeing Cam speculatively, a look which Cam returned warily.
    "Oh, just fan-fucking-tastic," Brad drawled with a smile, "catching up with old friends, the usual." He reached out a hand and gave Cam's arm a seemingly friendly pat that caused his Coke to slosh over the sides of his glass. Cam scowled; Brad's grin widened.
    "Uh, Cam, you need a hand here?" All three of them turned at the sound of the new voice. A clean-cut young man, his thick blond hair brushed back and his well developed shoulders covered with a tan corduroy blazer, was looking at Cam with raised brows. Catching their attention on him, he swallowed noticeably, but stood his ground, keeping his eyes on Cam.
    "Hey, Seth, nah, everything's fine here," Cam replied easily with a smile. Seth smiled back at him, which Brad eyed with a frown.