Page 3 of I Blame the Club

“My name is Devon.”

Taking that as my cue, I bolt out the door.

“How many times do I have to tell you I can’t be trusted to make good decisions when I’m drunk?”

I give my best friend the evil eye as I bite into my breakfast sandwich. We are at my favourite coffee house in Taber, a cute mom-pop shop that’s only five minutes from the university.

“And how many times do I have to tell you, you are impossible to argue with when drunk?” Wes shrugs, looking annoyinglycheerful this early on a Sunday, “Besides, Devon seemed like a good guy. He bought the whole team a round.”

“You knew his name was Devon?”

“You didn’t?”

“I could have sworn he told me his name was Dhillon.” I take another bite and chew thoughtfully, “Honest mistake. They are pretty much the same.”

“You got at least 3 of the same letters.”

“Exactly.”

Wes laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners. We’ve been best friends since second grade, but that doesn’t stop me from admiring the man’s good looks. It’s a good thing I see him as a brother because otherwise the dark hair, green eyes, and dimples would be a seriously dangerous combo.

“Did you have fun at least?”

I shrug, “Same old, same old. Nothing exceptional broke through my drunken haze.”

“You know, if you actually allowed emotional attachments to form-

“Just because you’re whipped doesn’t mean I want to be.”

-you might find the sex gets better if you commit to more than one night.”

I glare at him, my raging hangover doing nothing to improve my mood.

Wes holds up his hands in surrender, “Just think about it. Wouldn’t hurt to shake things up.”

“Whatever.”

Wes grins, “Are you excited for Monday?”

“Hell yeah.” I grin back at him, my moodiness momentarily forgotten.

Our newfound status as co-captains for Taber University’s lacrosse team still feels like a dream come true. Our old captain, Cody Ellsworth, stepped down last year to spend more time withhis girlfriend, so the responsibility of team captain has fallen to us.

Wes snorts, “I wonder if Mighty Mo has gotten over your failed seduction yet.”

I scoff, waving away his comment, "I was barely flirting that night."

“Dude. You offered to service him.”

I grin, “Like I said, barely flirting. I’m sure our assistant coach has forgotten all about it by now.”

Honestly, I barely remember that night. Everything after the championship dinner is pretty hazy, the endless rounds of tequila shots sufficiently blurring my memories of last year's lacrosse banquet. I vaguely remember approaching our new assistant coach with his delectable physique in mind, but I would be hard pressed to say what went down after that.

Something pokes at my gums, and I drop my breakfast sandwich with a frown.

Wes shoots me a concerned look, "Are you okay?"

Reaching into my mouth, I pull out a strand of thick black hair and stare at it in horror. Wes makes a gagging motion across the table.

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