“This is my roommate’s. He let me borrow it to come to get the two of you. I keep my Jeep in Minnesota, remember?” He answers.
“Right. I miss riding in your Jeep. Not going to lie, I was so excited to see you I didn’t even notice this earlier.”
“Good. I missed being the center of your attention,” he says, grinning as his mouth covers mine.
I pull away and tell him we better get going. Once again, Griff opens the passenger-side door for me, gesturing for me to get in. I thank him, and then we’re off.
“Where’s your new house? Who are your roommates this year? Do I have to share a bedroom with the two of you? Fill us in.” Katie rattles off and Griff takes her questions in stride, smiling.
“Same house as last year. We’ve got the same roommates aside from Slater. He moved out in the spring since he got signed after our season ended. We haven’t voted on who gets his room yet, so that’s where you can sleep, Katie Cat.”
“Sweet. That way, I can finally get a break from hearing the two of you go at it,” Katie says.
Wanting to detour that comment and curious to hear more about his roommates, I request, “Give me a rundown on your roommates. You’ve mentioned them here and there, but I don’t think I can keep them straight.”
“Alright, we’ve got the Russians, Maks and Nico. They’re brothers. They were born in the US, but they’re one hundred percent Russian and have slight accents; ergo, we call them the Russians. Maks is the one with black hair and a slight beard. Nico has lighter hair, is covered in tattoos, and he’s six-foot-six. Then we’ve got Emmett, he’s our resident nerd on the team. He’s wicked smart and will probably win a Nobel Prize for curing cancer or something. Emmett will likely have his glasses on, he only puts contacts in to play.”
Griff’s house is only about seven miles from the airport; however, with mid-day traffic, it takes us closer to twenty minutes to get there. We pull up to the curb of a brownstone that’s within walking distance of both campus and Fenway Park, according to Griff. He says he was looking into getting us tickets to a Red Sox game, but hadn’t managed to snag them yet.
“I love it. It’s so charming,” I tell him.
“Yeah, it’s alright. Not entirely what I’d choose for myself. But I can't beat free housing and getting to stay with some of my teammates. A lot of the team lives in the housing accommodations along this block. But most are only for two or three people. Ours is the biggest, with five bedrooms, so we host most of the team hangouts here,” he says as he grabs our luggage from the back.
The concrete steps lead up to a gorgeous dark oak door with a full-length glass panel, on both sides and above the door are framed by glass windows. The exterior doorway is framed by an intricate stone that shows the character of these homes.
When we enter the house, however, we come face to face—well, face toeverything—with one of Griffin’s roommates, who I’m guessing is Maks.
Griffin
Maks is a total slut. He knows it, we know it, and he’s completely unapologetic in his pursuit to fuck his way through campus. The guy has no qualms when it comes to his sexual escapades. I’ve seen him naked, buried deep inside nameless chicks, more times than I can count. Currently, Maks has a busty chick with fire-engine red hair splayed out on the dining room table.
I don’t even try to hide my anger when I tell him, “Come the fuck on, man. You can fuck in every other inch of this place, aside from my room. But I’m putting my foot down when it comes to the place wefucking eat. Put your dick away, I told you my sister and girlfriend were coming this weekend.”
Completely unashamed, Maks pulls out of the chick and nods his head toward the steps, signaling for her to head to his room. He doesn’t even bother to cover his sheathed dick as he tells her, “Mine is the first door on the right. I’ll be right up.”
While she makes her way up the steps, he goes to the kitchen to grab a water bottle from the fridge. He stands in the middle of the kitchen, in all his naked glory, and chugs the entire bottle before tossing it in the trash. As he walks by us, he winks at Katie, whose jaw is still hanging wide open.
When he finally saunters his ass up the steps and out of sight, I turn to Katie and a blushing Kenna, “I’m sorry about that. Maks is, well . . . Maks. I’ll talk to him again later and make sure he keeps himself in check for the rest of your stay.”
Katie’s shit-eating grin is followed by, “Oh, but I think I like him unchecked. That was something I wouldn’t mind seeing more of, actually.”
“Katie, don’t even think about it,” I warn.
“So, what? You can fuck and date my best friend but I can’t ogle any of yours?” Katie huffs.
Not wanting to have this argument, I suggest we put our bags in our rooms and go out to lunch instead. Katie’s stomach answers with a loud rumble, and we decide to go to an Irish pub a few blocks down, right off the Boston Harbor.
Later that night, there’s a knock on my door.
As I open the door, I say, “You don’t have to knock to come into our room, Sunshine.”
Maks’ smug face is not what I was expecting to see. “Hey,Sunshine, mind if I come in?” The way he mocks me amplifies his Russian accent.
I sigh. “What do you want, asshole?”
Maks, being the pain in the ass he is, shoulders his way into my room. I shut the door behind me and turn to face him.
“Look, I wanted to apologize for earlier, G. Fuck knows if any of you asshats ever pulled something like that when my baby sis was visiting, I’d hang you by your scrotums, slit your throats and watch as you bleed out, drip by fucking drip.”
