Book 2 – Chapter Five
1218 Words
Kane’s POV
I wake up, groaning loudly, my head thumping as I peel my eyes open, the ceiling of my bedroom swimming into focus as the pain in my temples intensifies.
‘Tequila shots, I hate you’ I mumble, placing my arm over my eyes to block out the light that is trying to drill into my brain through my pupils. ‘No, actually, I hate Montaine, the little p.rick, for suggesting those damn shots in the first place.’
It had sounded like such a good idea at the time, the drinks were flowing, the women were all over us, everyone riding high from the win . . . now, I regret even going out in the first place.
Throwing back the covers, I force my protesting body to sit up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and planting them on the floor, cradling my head in my hands as the room and my stomach spins.
‘Just you wait Montaine’ I growl, ‘I will make you pay for this . . ‘
A rustle of sheets comes from behind me, and I stiffen, eyes opening as I slowly turn around to see a lump under the covers on the other side of me. I push through the pounding of my head, trying to bring up who the f***k it could be. Did I bring a woman home? Well, I must have if she’s still in my f.ucking bed! But I can’t remember who! I don’t even remember getting home!
In slow motion, I watch as, with a low moan, the covers shift and a dishevelled head comes into view, squinting against the morning light before turning, blood shot eyes toward me.
‘Dalton?’ I yell before wincing at the harshness of my own voice drilling through me.
The defenceman stares at me for a moment before he frowns in confusion, ‘Kane?’ he mumbles, ‘why are you in my bed?’
I grip the blanket, tugging it over my bare body, as he sits up, the covers falling away to reveal his very muscular, and very f.ucking naked chest.
‘This is my bed Saint’ I growl back, ‘you are in my f.ucking bed! Why are you in my bed?’ I glance downward suspiciously, ‘you had better have underwear on dude, I swear to God!’
Saint scratches his chest absentmindedly, not really seeming to hear me, ‘I need coffee’ he mutters, ‘can you make me one? It’s in the cabinet . . ‘
‘Dalton!’ I hiss, ‘this isn’t your apartment, it’s mine! You are in my bed, right now!’
The defenceman seems to finally rouse, his attention returning to me and then to my bedsheets, eyes widening.
‘What the f***k?’ he mutters, looking back at me in confused horror, ‘why the f***k am I in your bed Grim!?’
I throw up my hands, ‘I don’t f.ucking know! But tell me you are wearing boxers, for the love of God.’
Saint lifts the covers, glancing down before relief washes over him, ‘we’re good’ he replies, his usual grin coming back into play as he starts to laugh. ‘Though if we had got dirty, you would remember it, you’d certainly feel it’ he adds.
Grabbing my pillow, I hit him with it, hard, ‘d.ick’ I scowl as he yelps. Reaching over the side, I grab my sweatpants, pulling them on before standing up, turning to see Dalton also climbing out of my bed, searching for his clothes from last night that are nowhere to be found.
‘Dude, where the f***k are my clothes?’ he growls, stalking around my room, moving pictures on the dresser as though I’ve hidden them from him.
Moving toward my dresser, I drag open a drawer and pull out another pair of sweats that I throw toward him, the defenceman catching them easily.
‘Aww, we’re already at the sharing clothes stage’ he croons, waggling his eyebrows before leaning over to pull them on. Tugging them up over his waist, he smirks, ‘a little tight here Grim’ he tells me, ‘don’t worry, not all of us can be as well defined, you still have your pluses . . you must have, I slept with you after all.’
‘Shut the f***k up’ I growl, heading to the door of my room and throwing it open. Heading down the hallway of my apartment, I enter the living space to find Montaine scrawled across my couch, half dressed, a bottle of vodka cradled to his chest as he snores loudly. The room around him is a complete disaster, there are solo cups littering my floor, a bottle of my best bourbon half drunk, resting on my f.ucking coffee table that cost me a month’s salary with no f.ucking coaster. What looks like chips are ground into my rug and I’m pretty sure that a fake eyelash is stuck to my television screen.
‘Threesome! Nice’ Dalton states behind me as I glare back at him over my shoulder, before I move toward the unconscious second stringer, kicking his foot as he grunts, waving a hand toward me before starting to snore again.
‘Hey, Montaine! Wake the f***k up’ I yell, my teammate’s eyes flying open with a start, trying to focus on me.
‘S.hit Grim, why so loud, inside voice’ he mumbles as I kick him again.
‘Why are you in my apartment?’ I ask bluntly as he tries to go back to sleep. ‘Why the hell are either of you here?’ I add, glaring accusingly at Dalton who grins back at me, leaning against my doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest.
‘After party’ Montaine mumbles, ‘they kicked us out of the bar after you drank tequila out of that girl’s navel. You invited us back here to keep going . . the girls bailed at about two when Dalton puked . . ‘
I groan loudly, images coming back to me, getting more and more rowdy at the bar before I picked a girl up and spread her across the bar, stealing a bottle of tequila and pouring it over her before drinking it off her skin. Getting kicked out with threats of the police if we didn’t go. Heading back to mine, everyone in tow, dancing to loud music, my neighbours banging on the door as I laughed. Grinding on a pretty brunette, my tongue in her mouth until Dalton chucked up all over his clothes.
The girls left as soon as he puked, leaving me to handle him, Montaine already passed out on the couch. I’d stripped the guy of his clothes, throwing them in the wash before half carrying him to the bathroom where I cleaned him up, then left him leaning against the toilet after he fell asleep.
He must have woken up in there and crawled into my bed, thinking it was his own.
‘F.uuuuuuck’ I groan, my head falling back, shutting my eyes, hoping that when I open them again, this might all be just a horrific nightmare. Gingerly opening them again, I tentatively look around me, at the same mess.
‘F.uuuuuuuuck’ I repeat, defeated, because what else is there to say?
- Writer
