Chapter One
Buzz.
Buzz.
Tank Phillips groaned as he slapped in the direction of the nightstand, not bothering to open his eyes. Rather than wood, he hit bare skin...and grinned.
Buzz.
Buzz.
“Make it stop,” a sleepy female voice mumbled next to him.
He blearily attempted to open his eyes, snapping them shut again quickly as sunshine from the window burned across the bed.
“Too bright,” he grumbled.
Another female voice sounded behind him, twisting away to pull the pillow over her head. “It’s too early,” she whined.
Tank drew in a deep, somewhat unsteady breath, covering his eyes with a hand before trying to open them again.
No more tequila, he vowed—not for the first time in his life.
Last night’s celebration ran into overtime and then some.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Tank managed to keep his eyes open this time, though he was squinting hard against the bright light. Pushing himself up to sit, he took a moment to admire the two shapely bare asses on either side of him.
Buzz.
“Fuck,” he muttered, reaching over Lara to grab his phone.
Glancing at the screen, his eyes widened in shock because his phone was literally blowing up with texts and calls. For a moment, his chest tightened in fear, wondering who had died.
He clicked onto one of the six or so texts he’d gotten from his best friend, Blake.
Wake the hell up.
Tank looked at the time stamps, discovering Blake hadn’t given him more than a minute or so between each text before sending the next. So Tank read through the entire thread, somewhat amused by his friend’s increasingly irate comments.
Seriously.
Get your ass out of bed.
Shit is hitting the fan.
Where the fuck are you?
I’m serious, man. Call me. This is bad.
Management is losing their shit over your escapades last night.
Tank frowned, confused. His escapades? What the hell did that mean?
Clicking off Blake’s text thread, he glanced at the countless others. No less than seven other teammates had texted, their comments running along the same theme as Blake’s.
