The Locker Room(69)

I catch some of the eyes of my teammates falling to Emory’s covered-up chest.

“Hey.” I motion around the room. “Eyes up here, dickheads.”

They laugh and go back to their pizzas.

Still unapologetic, my mom continues. “And your physique is quite beautiful, but I will tell you two things.”

“Mom, maybe we just drop it.”

She shakes her head while chewing on a piece of pizza. Swallows. “This has to be said.” We quiet down, and I grip Emory a little tighter, trying to convey to her just how sorry I am about what my mom is about to say. “Oreos in bed, sweetie, is not a good idea. Think of all the crumbs.”

Emory nods. “You’re right, Mrs. Gentry. That was careless.” There’s a note of humor in her voice, and I see the small smirk that curves the left side of my mom’s lip upwards. Fuck, it sends a beam of joy right up my spine.

My girl is so damn cool.

“And although quite attractive, the undergarment you chose isn’t very sensible. It barely covered your nether regions.”

This time, she blanches. And I don’t blame her.

“What kind of undergarments?” Carson asks.

“I believe your generation calls it a Z-string.”

“A what?”

“G-string, Mom.” Why did I just correct her?

She nods, realizing her mistake. “Yes, G-string. Oh, it was quite lovely on Miss Ealson, but very insensible. You don’t wear those all the time, do you?”

Almost every goddamn day, but I don’t say that.

“No.” Emory shakes her head. “Just while holding Oreos in bed . . . topless.”

Her answer shocks my mom, but before I can cover for her, everyone in the room, including the woman who raised me, busts out into a fit of laughter. It’s then I look around and notice something important: Emory fits into my entire world. And my mom just approved my girlfriend’s tits and met her match in sass . . . sounds like this girl belongs here, forever.





My teammates have retired to their respective rooms, giving Emory, my mom, and me some alone time together in the small common space near the bedrooms. We have multiple common room areas in the loft and since the big one is taken up by five of my teammates, including Carson and Holt playing baseball on the team PlayStation, we sectioned ourselves off.

I thought about bringing my mom into my room, but my bed is unmade and given the mind-blowing hand job Emory gave me an hour ago, I thought it would be weird to have my mom sitting on my bed. I can only imagine what she would say if she saw evidence of our coupling earlier.

With Emory on my lap, because I refuse to let her sit anywhere else, I keep my arm firmly wrapped around her waist and my hand resting on her hip. She leans into me, thankfully feeling a little more comfortable.

My mom crosses her legs and brings a cup of tea to her mouth. She carries teabags in her purse so wherever she goes, she can enjoy a cup of her favorite hot beverage. She even has a specific tea wallet where she holds three different types of tea at all times. An English breakfast, a green tea, and a peppermint. They are for specific times of the day or mood.

Right now, she’s drinking peppermint. I can smell the fresh and minty flavor from here.

She tilts her head to the side after taking a sip of her tea, studying us. “You know, I can’t get over how beautiful you two are together. One of those couples you love to follow on Instagram, you know, the really cute ones that are so sickening in love that you can’t get enough of them.”

Way to drop the love bomb, Mom.

Jesus.

Thankfully Emory doesn’t show any kind of hatred for the term but instead says, “Like Jennifer Lopez and A-Rod?”

“Yes,” my mom answers with excitement. “Oh my gosh, I’m obsessed with watching their stories. The little videos they do together, I just can’t get enough of them. J-Rod,” my mom says dreamily. “Oh gosh, what would your couple name be?” She thinks about it for a second. “Emox . . . or Knemory. Oh I love Knemory. Sounds so poetic.”

“Knemory does have a nice ring to it,” I add.

“I don’t know, what about Emorox?”

“Ohhh, that sounds like a name that belongs in The Game of Thrones.” Taking on a more masculine voice, my mom says, “Look out, Jon, Emorox is coming over the hill, with her fire-spitting dragons, Knemory and George.”

“George?” Emory laughs out loud, covering her mouth. “Why George?”

“Well, look at the names they have in that show? They’re all exotic names you’ve never heard before—Cersei, Gregor, Arya—and then in waltzes good old Jon Snow. It’s only fair that the dragons have a lemon in the bunch as well.”

“Uh, Jon is anything but a lemon, Mom,” I defend. “He was raised from the dead.”

My mom’s mouth drops, pure and utter shock in her face. “Jon Snow dies?”

Shit.

Emory elbows my stomach. “Where the hell is your GOT etiquette? You never talk about the facts of the show until the air is cleared about how far someone is in watching. You are one of those people who spoils everything for someone just catching up to the trend.”

*Ahem*

“I mean . . . uh . . . he doesn’t die.”

“You just said he is raised from the dead,” my mom says.