Rough & Tumble

Rough &

Tumble

By Kristen Hope Mazzola

Rough & Tumble

Copyright ©
2015 Kristen Hope Mazzola

Published by Kristen Hope Mazzola

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

Published: Kristen Hope Mazzola 2015

Cover Design: Kristen Hope Mazzola

Cover Images:

File ID:
77964488
© efks / Dollar Photo Club

File ID:
71060921
© Andrei vishnyakov / Dollar Photo Club

Formatting by:
Kristen Hope Mazzola

Editing by:

C. Marie
[email protected]

Proof Reading by:

Marla Hancock Wenger

Dedication

To anyone that believes in second chances, fairytales and real happily ever afters.

Chapter 1.

Holy.

Mother fucking.

Shit-balls-of-fire.

How can this really be happening right now?

I sat in front of my computer desk in my squeaky rolling chair on Monday morning, trembling as my chocolate Labrador looked up at me like I was the craziest person in the world, but I didn’t care. Nothing mattered other than the news I’d just hung up the freaking phone from getting. It was a dream come true
—my
dream come true, and it was finally sinking in that it was a reality. That coming Sunday I would officially be one of the photographers for the North Carolina Hogs. I excitedly texted my best friend to share the good news.

How did a girl like me, fresh out of college, land an NFL dream job right after graduating?

I shrieked a little and Molly whimpered at me with her leash hanging from her mouth. It was way past her normal walk time and gosh darn it she was going to let me know, come hell or high water she needed to go outside and read her emails—at least that’s what Mom always called it.

“All right…all right…” I muttered, shuffling into my sandals by the door of my row home as I clipped Molly’s leash onto her collar.

It was weird living alone, boxes still packed up, lining the walls and taking up most of my floor space. It had been almost a month since graduation and growing up was in order. Being in the limbo between being an adult and not knowing what the hell being an adult actually meant was unnerving, but that morning I’d taken the biggest step into adulthood: my career was starting. I looked over to the empty living room before heading out the door and sighed; I still hadn’t found the right furniture to fill the large empty space in front of the old brick fireplace.

All in due time.

Molly dragged me down the steps and swiftly onto the dampened concrete of the sidewalk. She zigzagged and bobbed along, sniffing every blade of grass she could. The neighborhood was quiet; most of the people had already ventured off to work or school. Being a freelance photographer made my schedule wonky, to say the least. If it wasn’t for Molly keeping me somewhat on point with seeing daylight, I was sure I would have turned nocturnal by then.

My cell vibrated with a text from my bestie, Brittainy.

Brittainy: Holy moly! That is freaking incredible!

Me: It doesn’t feel real. I feel like tomorrow morning I am going to wake up and it is all just going to be a dream.

Brittainy: Get a grip, Peyton, this shit is really happening!

Me: What if I suck?

My biggest fear in the world was sucking so bad that my dream job would be thrown out the window before it really had a chance to take off. It was totally possible. Everyone has a sucky day every once in a while, or the weather could be shit and the lighting could be completely off, or the shots could turn out blurry.

God, I am going to be sick!

Brittainy: You don’t suck! You were the best in our class. Come on love, it’s going to be great.

Me: Yeah, I hope you’re right.

Brittainy: I’m always right. The big question is, how is it going to be shooting your hunky ex all day?

Fuck. Bo.

I hadn’t even thought about that. Bo Briggs and I had dated for part of high school and a good chunk of college. He was the quarterback and I was a cheerleader—so freaking cliché, it could make a Care Bear puke from its cuteness. But, when I’d decided to get more serious about photography and a real career, Bo and I just saw different life paths. I had dreams of traveling the world photographing ancient ruins, and he was definitely going to be drafted when he was done with college. He was my fucking great white buffalo and I was going to be working for his team.

The rookie quarterback and the sports photographer…not as cliché.

Me: Ugh. It will have to be fine. We’re both adults and professionals.

Brittainy: Yeah, professionals that used to bang. He’s hot, you’re hot. This might be a rekindling in the making, sweets.

Me: He’s engaged to that hotter-than-hell model.

Brittainy: So what? You know that isn’t going to last!

It’d lasted since five months after he and I had broken up. She was his arm candy trophy wife just like freaking Ryan Tannehill and his Barbie Doll look alike. Of course it was going to last. He and I were a thing of the past, and it needed to stay that way.

Me: Let’s drop the Bo issue. Are we celebrating tonight or what?

Brittainy: Heck yes we are. Meet at your place at eight?

Me: See you then!

My doorbell rang and Molly started crying and scratching at the door while I was putting on my mascara.

“Coming.”

I jogged to the front door and swung it open to see my best friend towering over me, all dolled up with her long red hair curled, knock out nude pumps, and a tight black skirt with a shimmery light blue top. With her six inch pumps, Brit was easily a foot taller than my five-foot-four frame. She could have been a model, but she loved being on the other side of the camera just as much as I did.

“You look great, Brit!”

We hugged and she knelt down to pet Molly, who was rolled over on her back, tail wagging a mile a minute.

“Thanks girl, so do you!”

I glanced over to the mirror to double check my outfit.

Smoldering smoky eyes – check.

Loose black barrel curls bouncing nicely – check.

Tight off-white skirt ironed right – check.

Black blouse tucked in and looking ok – check.

Bombshell bra making me look like I have some kind of curves – check.

Turquoise stilettos – check.

Looking across my kitchen where Brittainy was leaned over to scratch Molly behind her ear, I envied her curvy, tall body. I was still the itty-bitty flyer that had cheered for my squad. I shrugged off my insecurities while putting on deep red matte lipstick.

“So where are we going tonight?”

Brittainy’s face lit up as her freckled cheeks got a little red. “I was thinking Vixens.”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course you want to go to a strip club again.”

“Oh come on, this one is new and classy. Besides, I haven’t gotten any in so long and you know that you have fun too.”

When Brit and I first met, she claimed to be straight, then confessed she was bi about a semester and a half into us being random roommates freshman year, but lately she was leaning more and more toward just liking girls. I had no problem with it; to each their own. She never hit on me, except for that one time we ended up making out at a frat party, but that was mostly because we were lightly encouraged to by Bo and his friends.

“Fine. We’ll go.”

Brit hooked her arm around my neck and kissed me on my cheek. “Besides,”—she giggled, grabbing my clutch off the counter and handing it to me—“you have more of a chance of finding a dude to bang the memory of Bo out of your pretty little head at a strip club than I do of going home with one of the strippers.”

“All right, fine, we’ll go to Vixens. It better be as nice as you say it is.”

Brit’s eyes lit up as she led the way out of my front door. “I promise. We’ll have a good time!”

It didn’t take long for us to get to the club, have drinks in hand, and be right up front at one of the stages. I had to hand it to Brittainy, she was right: Vixens was clean, classy, and seductive. The lighting was perfectly dim with purple and white fixtures on the walls. The artwork was gorgeous boudoir black and whites. The chairs were soft dark leather and I didn’t feel like I needed to sit on a towel to avoid pregnancy.

The music was thumping as the next stripper took the stage in front of us. Brittainy’s eyes got wide and her smile turned lustful as she sucked on her bottom lip. I swear she was worse than dudes when it came to gawking and fawning over chicks she found attractive.

The server came over to us to grab another round.

“I’ll have rum and diet and she will have a vodka soda lime with a splash of cranberry.”

Brittainy was in her own little world and didn’t realize I had ordered her a second drink until it was being placed in front of her. We both nodded and thanked the server as the dancer was getting off the stage.

“Brit!” I yelled over to my drooling bestie. “You need to get a lap dance from that chick. She was freaking good.”

Her lips turned up at the corners as her eyes locked on the tall dancer walking over to us.

“Hi ladies. I’m Roxy.”

Brit took her hand and introduced us.

“Why don’t you have a seat with us? We’ll grab you a drink.” I quickly scooted over one seat so Roxy could be close to Brittainy, and with that, they were in their kismet bubble of flirting and I was completely invisible.

I took a big gulp of my sweet drink and my mind started to get more and more fuzzy. I wasn’t a lightweight by any means; I shouldn’t have been feeling so woozy from a little more than one drink. Looking over, I noticed that Brit and her stripper crush had vanished, probably to the back room for a lap dance.

All of a sudden I was being scooped up into strong tattooed arms that seemed so familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on who they belonged to.

My brain was fuzzy. My eyes wouldn’t focus. I was being carried out of the club by someone that knew my name. A deep voice kept trying to break through the haze, but I couldn’t understand what was going on. My arms and legs were limp noodles and my eyelids refused to stay open. I finally drifted off to sleep, right as I was being put into the passenger’s seat of a car and getting buckled in. The click of the seatbelt was the last thing I registered before dreams started to take over.