Nashville pt. 1

Nashville Night – 5 years ago – pt. 1

I walk into one of the local dive bars that Adam is dragging me and Justin to. It's a bar called… I don't even know the name of this place, but there are peanut shells and spilled beer all over the floor, a mechanical bull in the corner, and bad karaoke going on in the front.

Adam insisted I had to go out at least one night this weekend. We flew in from Seattle yesterday for a fundraiser for one of my old teammates' foundations he got started this past year.

We grab an open table and order some loaded nachos and drinks. "Can I get an Old Fashioned with Woodford?" I ask, and the waitress nods.

"And some shots of Patron, please," Adam orders before the waitress walks off.

I give him a look questioning if shots are exactly our best idea .

"What? It's one round. Loosen up, will you?" Adam shakes my shoulder.

"Yeah, Jett, just enjoy the party for once. You never come out with us anymore. You're twenty-nine, not dead," Justin says across from me.

I take one of the peanuts out of the bucket in the middle of our table and chuck it at him.

"Ah, fuck. You don't have to be so aggressive." He tosses a peanut back at me.

"Come on, Jett. We've got a day off for travel tomorrow, and one shot won't kill you." Adam takes the bucket of peanuts to his side of the table, out of reach. "Take a shot, drink one drink. Hell, take a girl back to your hotel."

"Oh yeah, I'll get right on that." Last thing I need is a cleat chaser in my sheets that will refuse to leave in the morning without some sort of promise of a future. Nah, I'm good.

The waitress drops off our drinks and a round of shots. Thankfully, the world's worst singer ends his karaoke debut and leaves the stage.

"Okay, okay, give it up for Alex, guys," the announcer says, and there's some applause—why, I don't know. "Alright, we're gonna take a little break and be back in twenty."

Thank fuck. I reach for my drink to take a sip and nearly spit it back in my glass. Fuck. "Mm, this is not my drink."

"What?" Adam asks as he downs his tequila shot.

"I think they made the wrong drink. I'm pretty sure this is a Manhattan."

"Want me to get the waitress?" Justin asks. "She was hot."

I push back my chair, figuring I'll save her the trouble of any unnecessary interactions with my man-whore of a teammate. "Nah, I don't see her. It's not a big deal, I'll just go up to the bar."

I make my way out of the tight tables and chairs. Honestly, I'm tempted to drop my drink off and sneak out the door.

I weigh my options. Adam would give me hell for ditching but I don't really care. Alright, leaving it is. I'm nearly to the bar when suddenly, something spears into my side.

Drinks splatter between us and a small squeal comes followed by the sound of a thud. "Ow."

I look down at the woman on the floor. "Shit, you okay?" I ask as I kneel down beside her.

The brunette leans forward on her hands and starts to laugh. "I'm fine. I think I just ran into a wall."

Oh great, she's drunk. "No, that was me, you ran into me. "

The girl turns her head to me and snorts a laugh. "I ran into you?"

"Um, yeah, I'm wearing the alcohol to prove it."

She reaches one hand forward and touches the wet stain on my navy t-shirt, then throws her head back in laughter. "Oopsies." She moves to stand up but with the mix of her current state and the spilled drinks on the floor, she starts to slip again.

"Okay," I say as I catch her, helping her stand back up safely. One arm wraps behind her back, and my other hand wraps around her arm to steady her. My stature practically swallows her.

She looks down at herself. "Ah, damn it, look at my shirt."

I glance down at the soaked white t-shirt where "cowboy pillows" is written across her chest in small black letters. With fabric now translucent and clinging to her skin—let's just say I wish I were a cowboy.

"You think the whiskey will stain? I really like this shirt." She pulls it out, holding wet fabric away from her body and pouts.

She's fucking pouting. I should be annoyed, but why is my first thought about biting her lip? I need to keep this conversation short. This girl seems entirely too tempting.

"Do you have a jacket or something to change into? "

She pulls her arm out of the grasp I didn't realize I still had. "I'm good, Dad. This is my ‘let go' weekend. Nothing is going to ruin my time, and no one is telling me what to do. Although, considering this $40 shirt is now ruined, and I didn't even get to drink my $12 drink… but I guess you didn't get your drink either. Sorry ‘bout that." She scrunches her nose. "If I offer to replace your drink, will you not turn creepy and think it's a secret code for me being interested in you?"

Well, that's new. Not to sound like a complete asshole, but usually I have a tendency to attract cleat chasers and stage five clingers. But this girl doesn't scream either of those to me.

"If I offer to buy your drink, will you call me sexist for not wanting you to pay?"

"Possibly." She shrugs. "Compromise? I buy yours, you buy mine?"

I should say no, but something about her is so intriguing. "Alright, deal." I step aside to let her lead to the bar, and I can't help the tug of a smile on my face.

I follow behind the brunette. She's wearing blue jean cut offs with black cowboy boots and fucking fishnets. She's petite, got to be barely over five foot, and her brown hair falls just below her shoulders. I don't know what it is exactly, but I find her so incredibly sexy.

She hops on an open bar stool, then pats the empty one right next to her motioning for me to take that one. "Whatcha drinking?"

"Old Fashioned with bourbon, you?"

"Blegh, I'm a Jack and Coke girlie. I love a good whiskey."

I hold back a laugh. "You know… Jack is technically a bourbon."

She turns to face me with a snark. "No, it's a whiskey. It says whiskey on the bottle."

The look on her face tells me she's ready to argue about this, and I'm dying to indulge her. "It says Tennessee whiskey, but it's really a bourbon."

Her mouth quirks up. "Check their website."

"Check their website? Why? I know I'm right."

She leans back, offended. "Um, excuse me sir, you are not."

"Sir?" I laugh.

A way too confident smile crosses her face as she reaches in her pocket for her phone. Her thumbs tap on the screen, and then, somehow, her smile grows wider. "Here, read it and weep." She hands over her phone with an article from the Jack Daniels website pulled up. The title of the article says in giant letters "It's Not Bourbon. It's Jack. "

I laugh. "You've had this argument before, haven't you?"

"Yes, and I can tell you now this is a hill I will die on," she says as she pulls her phone back.

"You know it meets all the qualifications to be considered a bourbon," I say, egging her on.

I can see the spark igniting in her eyes. "But it… you know what? I'm not arguing with you."

The bartender comes up before I can poke at her some more. "What can I get you guys?"

With no hesitations, she says lightly, "He'll have an Old Fashioned with Jack Daniels."

Oh, okay. "And she'll have a Woodford with Coke." She bites her lip as if she's trying to stop a smartass comment.

"Coming right up. Y'all want to start a tab?" the bartender asks with so much hesitation. I know it's about to hurt this bartender's soul to make these drinks, but it's too fun not to.

I slide my card to the guy. "Yes, please."

He takes my card and walks off with a nod. I turn toward my mystery girl. Everything about her is intriguing. Her voice, her smile… and suddenly, I don't mind being out anymore. Well, until the DJ comes back and announces that karaoke is opening back up in five minutes.

"Ugh, fucking karaoke. It shouldn't be a thing. "

Her head whips to me. "You don't like karaoke?"

"Listening to random drunk people slur along to ‘Don't Stop Believing' isn't what I'd qualify as entertaining."

The bartender returns my card and drops off our drinks.

She picks up her glass and takes a sip. "I'm curious, are you like, a serial killer? Or maybe the Grinch in disguise?"

I maintain my laugh while I take a drink. "The Grinch didn't like Christmas, not karaoke."

"He didn't like anything. I'm sure karaoke was on the list." She smirks and her nose scrunches. Damn, that's cute. "I bet I can change your mind," she says with such confidence.

"I doubt it." But I'd love to see her try.

"I bet I can. I bet I can get you to stand up from this chair and give me a standing ovation, maybe even a whistle." She nudges my arm. I practically feel that small touch through my whole body. I may have to stand up before she even gets up there so I can adjust my pants.

I set my drink down and turn to face her. "Alright, but if you don't, you have to admit that Jack can be considered a bourbon and then you have to drink bourbon and Coke for the rest of the night."

She smiles that smile that lights her whole face up. Damn it, a smile shouldn't be this beautiful, but I think I'd give anything to always see hers.

"And when I win, you have to take me to get strawberry ice cream from the shop across the street and I get to pick your flavor."

I check the watch on my wrist. "It's almost ten. They're probably closed."

"Nope, they're open until eleven pm on weekends. I checked earlier. Ice cream is another vice of mine." She shrugs, but now all I want to know is what her vices are. "So, do we have a deal?"

"Deal." I hold out my hand for a shake, sealing the bet.

She slips her hand in mine then hops off her stool with a smile. "Be ready to eat your words."

"We'll see." Her hand is still in mine and as much as I'd actually like to see her lose this bet, part of me wants to skip it and take her to get her ice cream as long as that means I get more time with her.

Before I can say anything else, she walks away and I feel like a real dick for the way my eyes follow her as she does. She leans over to the stand to talk to the announcer, and the combo of her smooth legs and ass is enough to make me need to readjust in my seat.

The guy hands her a microphone, and she walks up on the stage. "Alright, to kick us back off, we have one of tonight's favorites. "

She makes it to the center of the stage and a group to the side starts to whistle and yell for her. I'm assuming that's the group she's here with tonight. I'm praying that one of those guys is not her boyfriend.

When she winks at me, I shake my head. I'm determined to win this bet, but I can't take my eyes off of her. I haven't been able to since she rammed into me. As she keeps singing a song about keeping your boots on during certain activities, the thought of her keeping her boots on in my bed makes my hard-on worse. Before I even realize it, I've stood up and walked a few steps closer to watch her.

How can someone be so enticing? She's fucking amazing. She keeps singing the song, and I'm captivated.

When she finishes, she shoots a little smirk my way, noticing that I'm standing. I've already lost, and I'm not even mad. I bring two fingers up to my mouth and let out a sharp whistle. Her head falls back in laughter. I'm so fucked.