Married to the Tight End

Have you ever felt as though you were having an out-of-body experience? An ethereal feeling that you were floating in the atmosphere looking down on a situation? If not, let me tell you, it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
Imagine you were at your best friend’s engagement party in Vegas. You were super excited because you were the maid of honor and the best man was the hottest football player you’d ever seen. Even this guy’s position as tight end was appropriate for his, well . . . tight end.
Anyway, there was something about his cocky attitude that ruffled your feathers and turned you on at the same time. Maybe it was the way he challenged you or because women seemed to flock to the gorgeous man. But according to him, he only had eyes for you. It didn’t matter if he was kidding or not, because you weren’t in the market for a serious relationship.
Then, for some reason, you engaged in a drinking game. Because why not, right? You were in Vegas after all. Well, let me tell you why not, because the next morning you noticed a silver band on your left ring finger. And adding salt to that tequila-induced wound, there was one on his too.
Yes, you read that right. Me, Alexa Barton, preferably always the bridesmaid and never the bride, married the uber-sexy, and let’s not forget cocky, football player, Jackson Cartwright.
I was a cliché. A married cliché. Whose “husband” wasn’t in a hurry to get an annulment and vowed to prove that we were meant to be together.
This is a stand-alone novel