Page 90 of I Blame the Club

“Hey man! How was your night?” A bright-eyed Wes grins at me, his sparkling eyes and chipper mood unmatched for this early in the morning.

“Great! How was your night?”

Something in my face must give me away because Wes narrows his eyes suspiciously.

“Your acting weird. What’s going on?” His eyes flick from me to the doorway I’m trying to block and suddenly he gives me a dimpled grin, “Code red?”

God bless my childhood friend but he makes the worst assumptions.

I let out an awkward laugh, hoping like hell Maurice has suddenly gone deaf in the last five minutes.

“Nope. Not a code red. I’m just feeling off this morning.”

“No worries, man. I got you.” Wes throws me a wink and my heart starts to sink. Clearing his throat, my roommate gives me a shit-eating grin before pulling out the worst French accent known to man.

“What do you mean there’s another monsieur in your room? I thought we agreed to be exclusive?” He wails the last part, putting a hand over his heart like it might burst from his chest. Covering my face, I let out a groan.

“Please, l’amour, don’t do this! I need you.”

Pretending to weep, Wes gives me a thumbs up before taking my hands and falling to his knees. Normally, this would be when my one night stand makes a hasty retreat from my dorm, and after a ten-minute window, we would head down to get breakfast like nothing ever happened.

Naturally, that’s not the case here.

I tug at Wes hands, trying to get him off the ground, “Not a code red. You can stop now.”

“Don’t stop on my behalf. That was just getting entertaining.” The door swings open and we both turn to see Maurice standing in my doorway wearing nothing but a smirk.

“Nice accent there, Williams.”

Wes scrambles to his feet, his shell-shocked gaze swinging from me to our very naked assistant coach.

“You didn’t.”

I raise my hands, “I can explain.”

Maurice clears his throat, “If you’ll excuse me, I left my clothes in the bathroom.”

Wes shakes his head, “Right. Of course.”

Awkwardly shuffling to the side, I give Maurice’s firm ass an appreciative glance as he walks by, ignoring the hole my friend is burning into the side of my head.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Can you just let me explain?”

A toilet flushes from our bathroom and I wince. Wes crosses his arms and glares at me while we wait for the hunky lacrosse legend to finish up his morning routine. After what feels like forever, Maurice finally emerges in his clothes from the night before, looking every bit the sexpot he did the first time around. He gives us both a nod before slipping out the front door, leaving me to deal with my less than happy roommate.

Wes opens his mouth but I beat him to the chase, “Can we get breakfast first?”

He sighs, “Yeah but you’re buying.”

“Just to make sure I’ve got this straight: Mighty Mo, the assistant coach who hates your guts, has been your bedmate for the last few weeks?” Wes takes a bite of his pancakes, chewing thoughtfully, “And now you’re going on a date with him?”

“I mean, it hasn’t been a consistent few weeks… but yeah, that’s pretty much it.”

I dig into my breakfast sandwich without a trace of fear. Unlike the ape with the D-name, Maurice is a man who understands the importance of manscaping.

Something I will never take for granted again.

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