“Bax! We gotta hit the road in ten,” Finn shouted.
“Using a bullhorn wasn’t necessary,” I shouted back and immediately clamped my hands over my aching head. “Fucker,” I said under my breath, though I wasn’t entirely sure which one of us I was addressing.
With a groan, I managed to soap up and rinse off at about the same time as the hot water flipped to cold in an instant—one of the perks of living in an old house. Shivering, I dried off and wrapped the towel around my waist for the trek back to my room.
After stepping into a pair of clean jeans and pulling on a T-shirt, I sucked in several long breaths to keep down whatever I had left in my stomach as I bent to lace up my boots. As I headed down the stairs, I finger-combed my hair. The aroma of greasy bacon and eggs hit my nostrils as I dropped down the last step into the living room. Damn good thing I lived with guys who knew how to combat a hangover.
A few slices of bacon and a fried egg sat on a plate on the countertop beside the coffee pot where Finn was filling his travel mug.
“That for me?” I asked hopefully, eyeing the food on the plate.
“Yeah, but you’ve got about a minute to load that up before we have to hit the road.”
After I slammed two slices of bread into the toaster, I filled my travel mug with what was left in the coffee pot. Grabbing the bottle of ibuprofen from the cupboard, I shook out a couple of tablets and washed them down with hot coffee. Then I slathered butter on my toast, sandwiched the bacon and eggs between the slices, and headed for the front door behind my friend.
As we walked across the front yard to his truck, I casually glanced around, noting the absence of my own ride. “Who brought me home last night?”
“Fitz and Johnson.”
“I owe ’em.”
“You have no idea.” He smirked.
Dropping my head back against the headrest, I sighed. “Lay it on me.”
Finn’s chortling told me that whatever I’d done, it was bad. “Let’s just say, you should probably leave flip-cup to the pros.”
Turning my head, I shot him a look. “Meaning?”
“Meaning you did all the football team’s drinking for us.” We stopped at a red light, and he grinned at me. “Thanks, by the way. You fucked up more than any of the rest of us, including Johnson, but not enough to lose the game.”
“Uh-huh,” I groaned. “So explain why I don’t remember anything after we left Stromboli’s.” I bit into my breakfast sandwich, happily discovering the bacon was ultra-greasy.
“Because you thought you needed to do penance for your poor play, so you helped the losers—I mean, the basketball team—down that bottle of bottom-shelf whiskey Taylor had on hand for the tournament.” He signaled and turned into the parking lot at the practice facility. “Your truck is still parked down the block from Taylor’s place. We’ll pick it up after film.”
“Thanks, man. You’re a gentleman and a scholar.” I saluted him with my coffee and finished off my sandwich.
By the time we walked into the film room, my pounding head and queasy stomach had settled down to bearable, but I skipped the fruit table to be safe. Since we were among the last arrivals, we took our seats near the back of the room. No doubt we’d hear about it. Only rookies or players who were late sat in the back.
With its wide padded chairs, complete with cupholders and little side tables, the film room couldn’t have been more comfortable. I’d just settled down into the cushions of my seat when Fitz turned on his chair in the front row, shot me a wide grin, and intoned, “It’s alive.”
His comment turned everyone’s head my way, and I flipped him the bird. Fitz being Fitz, he laughed uproariously and elbowed Johnson sitting beside him. The two of them snickered, and I narrowed my eyes in Finn’s direction. “What did you leave out?”
His lips twitched. “You might have done a little dance on the coffee table in the living room—a dance that broke one of its legs and sent you tumbling into a group of girls who were encouraging you to strip.”
At his description, my breakfast sandwich made some noise about a return appearance, and Finn put his hands up in front of himself.
“Save it for the bathroom, dude.”
I closed my eyes against the scenario playing out in my head. “Please tell me I kept my clothes on.”
When I opened my eyes, Fitz and Johnson were staring back at me from the front row, their eyes laughing while beside me, Finn fidgeted, his cheeks full of air as he tried not to explode with glee at my expense.
“Your ass hit the floor and your dinner geysered out of you like Old Faithful, landing on more than one pair of fancy shoes.”
The front row busted out in loud guffaws. Fitz actually had tears streaming down his cheeks, he was laughing so hard. I buried my face in my hands, but Finn wasn’t done.
“The girls screamed and scattered while you lay on the floor with a shit-eatin’ grin on your face and pizza bubbling out of the side of your mouth.”
