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Right in the junk.
He moans, curling into himself. “You motherfucker.”
“Don’t be silly.” I flop myself on my bed and prop my hands up under my head. “He’s sleeping with me.” I wink at Mase. “Spoon me, baby.”
Smiling, Mase shakes his head and turns to Remy, who’s still moaning about his balls hurting. “Were you with Ryan?”
Remy rolls over, his eyes squeezed shut. “Yeah, but he left with some chick.” And then Remy laughs and sits up. “Hey, Mase, heard about your incident in the shower.”
“Fuck you.” Mase grunts, sitting on the end of my bed. After running his hands through his hair, he drops them and then scratches his balls again. “So he went out with a chick?”
I tap his shoulder. “You’re washing your hands before you sleep in my bed.”
He ignores me. “What time did he leave?”
Remy’s focused on the television now. “Fuck if I know. I’m not his mama.”
While they talk, I pick up my phone on the nightstand with the cracked screen. I can’t see much on it, but I do know the text message light is not on. It pisses me off. What the fuck is wrong with her? Was all that she said to me on Christmas bullshit? I thought she was my best friend, and now I get the silent treatment?
Bullshit.
I debate with myself to cave and use the hotel room phone to call her. Maybe she’ll pick up if she doesn’t see my name on the screen. Maybe. But there are two problems with this. She’ll know the area code, knows I’m in Florida, and probably won’t answer. And the guys are in here. No way I want them hearing my conversation with her.
It’s sometime after midnight when we hear the door slam next door. Beside me, Mase looks over at me, and then his brow furrows. “Is it weird we’re in bed together?”
“No way. Remy and I have before.” His brow furrows deeper. “We were fully clothed,” I add. “Nothing weird happened.”
Mase tucks his hands behind his head. “Why haven’t they said anything?” And then like clockwork, his right hand sneaks below the blankets to scratch his junk.
“Dude, it’s weird that you’re scratching your balls. Us in bed isn’t, but you keep your fuckin’ hands above the covers—”
And then we can hear Ryan in the next room. “What the fuck?! Who the hell let you in here? Who?” Silence for a second and then, “Dude… why are you wearin’ my robe?”
Mase grins. “Ah, goal!”
* * *
Game 40 – Anaheim Ducks
Ryan sighsas he enters the locker room the next morning, but it’s a smile like watch your fuckin’ back because you’re next. “Nicely done, boys.”
“What happened?” I ask, looking up from taping my stick and playing dumb.
“A homeless dude was in my room.” Ryan glares. “He told me Mase let him into the room.”
Come to think of it, I don’t remember Mase ever giving Rosco his name. He probably recognized him. Or maybe not. Hell if I know.
When I need to be, I’m really good at the poker face. You’d never know I was in on this. But if you want to get technical about it, I wasn’t in on it. I was simply there witnessing it. “Huh. Weird.”
“He was wearin’ my goddamn robe and sleepin’ in my bed.”
“You didn’t kick him out?”
“No. I tried to, but he insisted on sleeping there. He rented like three movies and ordered room service like he was at a Chinese fuckin’ buffet and put it all on my credit card,” Ryan grumbles, sliding onto the bench with his stick in hand. “I swear to God he was like fucking Goldilocks and my room was the three bears’ house!”
Mase walks by wearing nothing but his underwear, his cocky stare meets ours. “How’s Rosco?”
Ryan raises the stick in his hand and nails Mase in the ass. “How’s your hair growing back?”