Page 51 of I Blame the Club

I press myself into the window, trying to give him more breathing space. These bus seats were made for children, not two grown men.

Mo doesn’t respond, just stares ahead as if the open road might be the divine answer he’s looking for. I sneak a glance to the back of the bus to call for help, only to find my co-captain slumped awkwardly in his seat, mouth open, fast-asleep.

Useless, I tell you.

Grimacing against the uncomfortable position, I offer Mo his stolen air pod with a weak smile.

“You won. Fair and square.”

His lips remain clamped shut so I do what any desperate man would do in this situation: I grab his hand.

Mo looks at me in surprise, “What the hell are you doing?”

Intertwining our fingers, I start rubbing soothing circles on the back of his hand.

“I’m distracting you.”

“It’s weird. Stop it.”

Ignoring him, I continue tracing gentle circles with my thumb, “You just took my hand holding virginity. Congratulations.”

His lips twitch, “You’ve never held hands before?”

I shrug, “I prefer more explicit displays of affection.”

“You could give me a blowjob if that would make you feel better.”

I burst out laughing, “How considerate of you.”

Mo flashes me a grin and I swear I’ve never wanted to give road head more in my life.

Leaning closer, I whisper softly in his ear, “Babe, if these seats had an inch more space, I would already be on my knees.”

“Be careful there, Montez. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

Grinning, I release his hand and let my fingers run up his thigh teasingly.

“I know exactly who I’m dealing with, Maurice. Give me a time and place and I’ll be on my knees, waiting for you.” Reaching the bulge in his jeans, I give him a firm squeeze.

Mo is quick to grab my hand, “Unless you want me to bend you over and fuck you against that window in front of all your teammates, I suggest you don’t touch me again.”

My balls tighten at the thought, “Promise?”

“I already told you, Montez. Never present a challenge you can’t win.”

Mo doesn’t spare me another glance as he stands up and walks back to his seat. I stand up to follow suit but he calls my name before I can make it past his seat.

“Montez.”

I pause, turning back to look at him.

“Don’t get in your head tomorrow. We will need you present on the field if we have any hope of beating the Dinos.” He pauses, weighing his next words carefully, “Just remember you are playing for more than just yourself out there.”

The complete one-eighty leaves me at a loss for words, so I simply nod and head back to my seat at the back of the bus. I stare at the back of Mo’s perfectly styled hair for the rest of the drive, wondering why our assistant coach had to be my perfect type.

“We’re already here?” Wes blinks at me sleepily, his dark hair matted from where he was slumped against the window.

“Welcome to Calgary, Sleeping Beauty.”

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