The Locker Room(70)
Feeling guilty, I reply, “Well, at least he’s still alive, right?”
She slumps against the cushion of the couch and mutters, “Unbelievable.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Gentry, that your son is a barbarian and broke your GOT trust.”
Pressing her hand against her forehead, my mom says, “You know, I blame myself. I thought I taught him a shred of decorum, I guess not.”
“Don’t blame yourself,” Emory coos. “You did everything right. It comes down to the hooligans he hangs out with. There’s only so much you can control after they leave the nest.”
“You’re absolutely right,” my mom agrees and leans across the couch to smack me in the back of the head.
“Hey,” I complain while rubbing the sore spot. I look between the two women in my life and I say, “I don’t like this ganging up on me shit.”
“You wanted us to get along, right?” Emory asks. “Well, I happen to like your mom, especially since she complimented my bosom.”
“Ah, I see.” I continue to look between the two of them. “You’re okay with my mom catching you with your shirt off now, moved past the embarrassment?”
Emory’s eyes narrow. “With that kind of attitude, it might be the very last time you see me topless.”
My mom raises her fist to the air, as if to say, “Girl Power.” And then she says, “You tell him, Emory. Don’t let him push you around.”
“I wasn’t pushing her around—”
“You keep that beautiful bosom under lock and key, and if you have a temptation to show anyone, just flash me.”
“Mom, do you realize how wrong that is?”
“Want to go to the bathroom right now, Mrs. Gentry?”
“I would be delighted to.”
They both stand but before they can make a move, I pull on Emory’s hand, bringing her back down to my lap. “No way in hell is that happening. Jesus, what is wrong with you?”
They both laugh, getting too much joy out of their newfound connection. I can’t be mad, because it isn’t very often you find a girl your mom accepts, and from the twinkle in my mom’s eye, she really likes Emory. Makes me feel fucking awesome.
Chapter Twenty-Six
EMORY
“What should I expect tomorrow?”
Curled into Knox’s chest, I rest my hand against his bare skin, drawing small circles with my finger as he calmly threads his hands through my long locks.
“Since it’s an exhibition, nothing too special when it comes to pageantry, as they save that for our first home game of the season, but you do need to prepare yourself for my mom.”
“What do you mean? I’ve spent the last two weeks getting to know her, she’s fantastic.”
“She’s insane when it comes to baseball, especially my baseball games. She said she had to go home early because she was tired, but that was a lie. I know exactly what she’s doing.”
“And what’s that?” I can’t imagine Mama G—yes, I get to call her that now—doing anything out of the ordinary. She’s a little outspoken, which I love, and she’s a really good time, so I envision that kind of personality carrying over to the game. Unless she turns into someone completely different.
“Prepping. She is her own personal caravan at games. I’m talking flags, foam fingers, snacks for the crowd and the team. She has multiple outfits she tries on the night before, giving her time to decide what she wants to wear to the game, and I’m not talking fancy getups. She bedazzles her own baseball wear. She was once asked to take off her Brentwood denim vest because the sparkles were distracting the players, reflecting off the lights.”
“You’re lying.”
“I wish I was. She’s the real deal, babe.” Mama G is the real deal, and it’s easy to see where Knox gets his fun, lighthearted personality from. Seeing the two of them interact together makes my heart happy.
“If that’s the case, I hope she has a foam finger for me, because I’m excited to cheer you on.”
“Yeah?” He presses a light kiss to my forehead, his lips lingering. “I’m excited to show you my skills.”
“You think you can impress me?”
“Oh, I know it, babe. You’ve never seen anyone like me out on the field. I wear tight pants, so it’s not just my sheer talent on display. I’m a total smoke-show too.”
I chuckle. “And so modest.”
“I’m just preparing you. You might get really turned on. I don’t want you having an orgasm in the stands tomorrow, especially next to my mom. She saw your boobs, but seeing your O face, that’s crossing a line.”
“I’ll try to contain myself,” I deadpan.
Changing the subject, he asks, “What do you plan on wearing tomorrow?”
“Uh . . . clothes.”
“You better be wearing clothes, but are you planning on wearing any Brentwood stuff?”
“The only thing I have is a simple T-shirt with the college logo. I don’t think that will be warm enough. You said it’s chilly in the stadium?”
“During the winter, yeah. The school doesn’t want to pay to heat the whole thing for exhibition games. Here’s an idea, why don’t you wear one of my sweatshirts.”