Chapter 8

Mo

The eight ball sails smoothly into the corner pocket.

"Shall we play another one?" Smirking, I turn to the fuming Latino who just lost his third straight round.

"You broke my streak!" Nico glares at me, his dark eyes glazed and more than a little unfocused. We've been drinking at the same rate, but just like the pool game, I came out on top.

If there's one thing my father did well, it was teaching his children how to be the best.

My smile slips at the thought of Jonathan and the painful car ride home. I don't get embarrassed, but based on Nico's reaction, I could tell lesser men would have found the situation embarrassing.

Lesser men?God, I am becoming more like him every day.

A bitter taste fills my mouth and my buzz starts to fade. Taking the cue stick, I walk over to the wall and carefully put it back in place. Closing my eyes, I tune out the bar and take a second to breathe.

"No, no!" Fingers snap in front of my face, "You aren't allowed to do that." The words are slurred and the hint of an accent seeps through.

I blink my eyes open, "Do what?"

"Get all serious. You get an ugly line right there." Nico grins, reaching out to touch the scowl line etched between my brows. His thumb strokes the spot gently, a futile attempt to erase the permanent mark.

"Are you calling me ugly?"

I feel my lips start to twitch, the combination of alcohol and Nico Montez making my emotions run dangerously close to the surface.

He gasps, smacking a hand against his chest loudly, "Mi madre would slap me if she heard such a blatant lie come out of my mouth."

The smile breaks loose from my lips, "Starting to lose me with the Spanish there, Montez."

Nico makes a show of looking around before bringing his finger to his lips, "It's my deepest, darkest secret, Maurice. My grandparents are first generation Canadians."

Taking in his tanned skin and dark complexion, I shake my head, deadpan, "You're kidding."

A finger jabs my chest, "Your kind of funny when you're drunk. I think I like it."

His eyes darken as he sways closer to me and I can't tell if he wants to fuck me or eat me.

Nico's spicy cologne is close enough to taste, so I don't think before I lick my lips. His eyes drop to track the movement and I lean in closer.

"Wait. We can't do this."

Pausing my trek, I blink at the man who has been eye-fucking me all evening.

"What?"

"We can't do this." Nico repeats it slowly and takes a step back.

My eyes narrow, "Not sure we have the same read on the situation here, care to explain?"

Nico's signature smirk disappears as he takes another step back and runs his hand through his hair.

"Shit, I can't believe this is happening."

I cross my arms, watching the Tigers' goalie pace back and forth in front of the pool table. Half the shit he's muttering to himself is in Spanish, but even the English bits are so slurred it's hard to interpret.

"Montez." Pausing his pacing, Nico turns to look at me, "Do us both a favour and calm the fuck down."

"You're right."

"I know."

"But you weren't the one who almost kissed the heterosexual assistant coach!" Nico shrieks the last part and a couple of bar patrons look our way.

"If you don't keep it down, the whole bar will chase us out with whatever bat they have on hand." Sighing, I pull out my phone and open the Uber app.

Nico pauses his pacing, "What are you doing? Why aren't you freaking out right now?"

"I am getting us a ride because I am too drunk to drive and even if you weren't three sheets to the wind, you are too unstable to be behind the wheel. And I am not freaking out because it is a waste of time and energy. Learn to control your emotions, Montez, and you might find life gets a whole lot simpler."

One click later and our ride is paid for and on its way.

If only people were so easy to handle.

"Fuck that, I'd rather be a drama queen than an emotionless robot like you."

The slurred words hit home but I don"t so much as flinch.

"Let's wait for our driver outside." Taking Nico's arm, I carefully guide him through the bar and out into the safety of the night.

"You do realize you almost kissed a guy, right? This is me waving the rainbow flag." I watch, unamused, as Nico waves his arms back and forth in the air.

"You've made your point."

"Have I? You"re acting like nothing almost happened tonight."

Leaning against the wall, I pull out my phone to countdown the minutes until I can escape.

"Seriously, Maurice, look at me." I look up and find Nico spinning in a circle.

This driver can't come fast enough.

"No tits. No vagina. No bueno." Running a hand over his face, he groans, "I would have given you a beard burn."

Despite the growing desire to duct tape Nico's mouth shut, I find myself laughing. His head whips around, the shock on his face making me laugh harder.

"This isn"t funny."

"Your right, it isn't." Giving myself one last chuckle, I pull myself together just as the driver pulls into the visitor lot.

"O'Brien?" The driver peeks his head out the window.

"That's us."

Walking over and opening the back door, I motion for Nico to climb in. He stumbles his way inside and I pause just before closing the door.

"My skin isn't that soft, Montez. It takes a lot to leave a mark."

Swinging it shut before Nico can say another word, I walk around to the passenger side and climb in.

Nico

It takes a lot to leave a mark.

The words rattle around my alcohol infused brain as the Uber driver's terrible taste in music fills the silence of the car. It smells faintly of cheese but I guess it's better than the concrete ground of a gas station.

Shit, was that only twelve hours ago?

The tequila shots helped numb the aches and pains of my body but I can feel them start to creep back in. I"m nowhere close to sober but suddenly I feel a lot less drunk than I was thirty minutes ago.

Re: When I tried to kiss Taber's all-star lacrosse legend.

I groan as the memory resurfaces, the blurry image of a pool table and Mo's smiling face weakening my resolve to the point of making a move. Because I was the one who made the move, wasn't I?

I frown, my thoughts flying past me like the corn fields outside. The last twelve hours dug up so many questions that now I want answers.

Glancing at the man occupying the passenger seat, I let his rigid features soften my thoughts until they start to drift off. My eyes grow heavy as I take in the white-knuckled state of Mo's hands gripping the armrest.

See? My homosexual tendencies must have turned him off to the point of being ill. Speaking of being sick, he really does look like he's about to…

"Pull over. Now."

The driver jerks the wheel and I'm thrown against the door as the car comes to a shuddering stop. Mo jerks out of the passenger seat and flings himself out the door. Rubbing my screaming shoulder, a flush of embarrassment hits my cheeks when the sound of retching echoes from the fields outside.

I've really done it now.

Cursing myself and the driver's terrible shift work, I yank my own door open and hobble out into the night. It takes my eyes a few moments to adjust to the darkness, but it doesn't take long to spot the man spewing chunks all over the ground.

Breathing through my mouth as I draw closer, I awkwardly bend down to pat his heaving back.

"That's it. Get it all out."

Mo smacks my hand away, "You are not helping."

So physical touch is not his love language. Noted.

Tucking my hands in my pockets, I do my best to look useful, "Anything I can do to help?"

"You've done enough."

My shoulders hunch as another round of heaving takes over Mo's body. I wait until the convulsions stop before bringing up the elephant puking in the room.

"I'm sorry, Maurice. I crossed a line tonight and that's unacceptable." Mo spits on the ground while I shuffle nervously, "I will never make another move on you again. I promise."

Using his hand to wipe his mouth, Mo sits back on his knees and looks at me. His hair is completely disheveled and his mouth glistens with the leftovers of his vomiting session. For the first time since I've met Maurice O'Brien, he doesn't look perfect.

He looks human.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Mo stares at me, seeming unbothered by the fact his stomach contents are on the ground next to us.

I grimace, motioning towards the mess he just made, "I was just saying sorry for going gay on you and making you do… this."

Mo brushes off his knees and climbs to his feet, "You drink too much, Montez. I didn't throw up because you hit on me. I threw up because I get motion sick."

My brain screeches to a halt.

"You get car sick?"

He nods and I burst out laughing. Shoulders shaking, I hunch over to catch my breath as Mo glares in my direction.

"It hasn't happened in a long time."

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.

WES: I'm blocking you.

ME: Fine. Maybe the ape's name was Devon but that's not who I hung out with.

WES: … unblocked. Was it Mark Chen?

Shit, I forgot about Chen. We met at the bar on campus and ended up exploring the erotic magic of blindfolds. It was a good night.

ME: Wrong.

WES: Lucas from economics?

ME: Why are you listing all my hookups?

WES: You told me to guess!

ME: Slut shamer.

WES: I'm going back to my movie now. Trip says hi.

I grin, reading his message. Ten bucks says it's a trilogy.

ME: Nico says hi back. What movie?

WES: Back to the Future.

Knew it.

ME: Classic. It was Maurice O'Brien.

WES: …

WES: You mean our assistant coach? The one who hates you?

ME: The one and only.

Typing bubbles appear then disappear on my screen. There is definitely an off-screen conversation going on over there.

WES: Why?

ME: I was bored.

My fingers hesitate over the keyboard, the desire to share every detail suddenly disappearing.

WES: I have no words. Did you keep it in your pants?

ME: Remember my comment about slut shaming?

WES: It's not slut shaming if it's a valid question.

ME: My pants stayed zipped the entire time.

Glancing at my open closet, I see Mo's borrowed clothes hanging next to my own. Even after a full day of wear, his cologne still lingers on the fabric.

I don't plan on ever washing them.

WES: Proud of you.

ME: Thanks. Sad to report he broke my pool streak and whooped my ass tonight.

WES: So much to unpack. Fill me in at practice tomorrow.

ME: Deal. Give Trip a kiss for me.

WES: Already did.

Putting my phone down, my thoughts jump back to the disappointment etched across Mo's face tonight. In that brief slip of control, I'd gotten a peek behind Mo's stone cold exterior and found a minefield of explosive emotions.

The only problem is now I want to see more.