The Locker Room(43)

“It’s called a fuck buddy, Mom, and no. We’ve barely kissed.”

Well, kissed once. Barely might not be the right term because when we kissed, we fucking kissed, and it was one of the best kisses of my life. Her full lips had no problem running over mine, and her hands seemed to enjoy threading through my hair . . . in front of all the morning diners.

“But you have kissed?” My mom’s voice is far too excited.

“Yes.”

“But he’s been after her for a while, Mama G. Ever since the first day of classes, but she’s been tentative.”

“Why? You don’t have a bad reputation, do you?”

“No,” I answer, hating that Carson is here right now. “She had a really bad breakup before she moved out here. She’s a transfer from California, and she’s hesitant to jump into another relationship. Carson’s right. She’s been reluctant to spend time with me, so it’s been difficult. But this weekend I made some strides, and we’re casually exclusively seeing each other.”

“That sounds like an oxymoron,” my mom says. “Casually exclusive? What does that even mean?”

“It means we’re giving each other some breathing room, but we aren’t fooling around with other people.”

“Breathing room?” She pauses. “Carson, what do you think of this girl? Is she messing with my son?”

He doesn’t even bother to look at my pleading eyes when he says, “No. She’s a good girl. I like her. She’s in one of our classes, and you can tell she likes Knox. It’s in her eyes. But I do think the ex-boyfriend did a number on her. Knox is playing it out right, not jumping in head first and possibly scaring her away.”

Well, there are fucking miracles. Everything Carson said was perfect. Maybe I won’t cut off his nuts when I’m done talking to my mom.

“Oh, the poor dear. I’m so sorry to hear that. You better take good care of her, Knox.” And just like that, she switches from being skeptical to loving Emory in seconds without even meeting her. “What’s her name? What does she look like?”

“Emory, and she’s—”

“Oh, what a gorgeous name,” Mom gushes. “How beautiful?”

“Yeah, and she’s beautiful inside and out,” I say, even though I feel like a dickhead. This should have been a conversation between my mom and me alone.

“She is,” Carson says as he leans in, adding his two cents. “She’s funny too, and gives your son a run for his money. I already told him he better not fuck things up with her.”

There is clapping on the other end of the phone. “Oh goodness, when do I get to meet her?”

“Uh, not for a while. Remember what I said about things being casual? Meeting a mom doesn’t necessarily scream casual.”

“I would have to agree with him, Mama G. I’d wait until the new semester. Let them figure out what they really want from each other.”

“That’s so far though. Can I write her a card? Let her know what a wonderful son you are?”

“Keep the stationery in the closet. No cards, Mom.”

“But I just bought this new beautiful set with butterflies on it. I really think she’d consider it a classy piece of stationery. Might help you out in the long run.”

“Or scare her away.”

“Yeah, it might scare her away,” Carson adds. “But I would love a card, Mama G. That butterfly stationery sounds magical.”

Fucking kiss-ass.

“Don’t let him fool you, Mom. He just wants some of your Oreo brownies.”

“You kept the last batch all to yourself like a selfish prick,” Carson spouts off. “I got one measly square.”

“Because they’re my favorite. They have Oreos and marshmallows in them, moron.”

“I know what’s in them and don’t need the play-by-play. It’s why I wanted more.”

“Boys, boys,” my mom says. She’s used to our theatrics. Although, she must know it’s Carson who’s being a dick right now. “How about I make each of you your own batch? Would that settle things?”

“That would be much appreciated, Mama G. And don’t forget the butterfly stationery.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Carson is all too happy with himself. “Well, boys, I should be going, skee ball is going to start soon. I’ll talk to you two handsome boys later.”

“Bye, Mom.”

“Bye, Mama G.”

I hang up and toss my phone to the side and drag both my hands down my face. “Thanks for that, asshole. Now she’s going to be on me about Emory.”

“You’re more than welcome. That’s exactly what I was hoping for,” Carson answers with a giant grin.

Why am I his friend?





I look through the crack of Emory’s door and spot her at her desk—head turned toward her book, hand pressed against her forehead, and her headphones on. Cross-legged on her chair in a pair of sweats, she looks adorably sweet with her nose stuck in a book.

Freshly showered and tired as fuck from a long, drawn-out practice, I make my way into her room and set my backpack on the ground before flopping on her bed. Coach drilled us today. He was on a warpath and made sure we suffered.