Page 30 of I Blame the Club

I keep laughing and the death glare continues.

“I’m normally the driver so it doesn’t affect me.”

“Sure.”

“I’m serious.”

Still chucking, I give him a friendly pat on the back, “Oh, I know Maurice.”

His eyes narrow into slits, and just for a moment, I get a glimpse of all the emotions bubbling beneath the surface.

Anger. Frustration. Disappointment.

The last one catches me by surprise because as far as I could tell, the disappointment isn’t directed at me. It’s directed at himself.

“You are the most aggravating person I have ever met.”

“Babe, we’ve already established that.”

Mo’s jaw clenches and I feel my smirk turn into a real smile. The hardest ones to crack are always the most satisfying.

“But now I know why you drive that big ass Caddy with the tinted windows. It’s so no one can see the puke bags stashed everywhere, right?”

“I hate you.”

“That too, has already been established.”

Giving me one last glare, Mo turns and starts walking back to the car. I watch him walk away, the desire to ask severely personal questions on the tip of my tongue.

“You know, there are wrist bands and ear patches that are supposed to help. Maybe I could buy us a matching pair so I could be your emotional and physical support system.”

Mo sighs, “Get back in the car, Montez.”

“Yes, Coach.”

I pretended not to notice the fact Mo didn’t let the driver leave until I was safely inside my residence building, but half an hour later I'm still obsessing over it.

I’ve never had someone idle for me before.

Humming to myself, I reach for my phone lying on the nightstand next to the sad single mattress I’m lounging on. Residence life has a lot of things going for it, but a comfortable living space is not one of them.

My feet dangle off the bed as I make myself semi-comfortable, my alcohol buzz all but gone by this point. I click my best friend's name and quickly type out a message.

ME: You’ll never guess who I hung out with today.

I start strolling through my TikTok feed as I wait for his answer. It’s just after midnight, but knowing Wes, he’s probably forced Trip to watch some sort of movie marathon with him.

Sure enough, my phone pings five minutes later.

WES: If you say Devon, I’m blocking you.

ME: Who?

WES: The ape.

I groan, remembering that beautiful, hairy man.

ME: I still think his name was Dhillon.

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