Defenseman No. 9 - Xavier Neal Page 0,22

prepared to just pop out my cock for him to suck it.

God, if he blows anything like he kisses, I’m gonna come the second I touch his lips.

You know, assuming he’s willing to even do that shit.

I manage to steal a coy glimpse over my shoulder just as he ends the massage lotion slathering combo with a single soft stroke along my lower back. My lips fold together to suppress the moan; however, there’s no stopping the shivers that race up my spine from the sensual action. Hugo flashes me a bashful grin at the same time he offers me back the bottle.

“Last chance, I Moan.” Gillette picks up his board from where it’s leaned against her chair. “You sure you don’t wanna go boogie boarding with me?”

“I’m sure I’m too fucking hungover for that shit.” She flicks her sunglasses down over her eyes and leans back in the chair so that the umbrella can shade her. “That’s a shit ton of spinning right after a night of shots, Scooby. I don’t really wanna puke out in the middle of the ocean.”

“Pussy.”

“Is what you won’t be feasting on for lunch if you don’t just kiss me and get the fuck out of my face.”

Gillette loudly laughs and leans over to do what he’s told. Afterwards, Stratton and Rutledge follow suit, both snatching up their boards and kissing their girlfriends one last time. They stroll away side by side towards Peck who has been walking the waterline of the beach all alone like a bored lifeguard with nothing to do.

Hugo grabs his accessory to join them prompting me to playfully tease, “Um…where’s my kiss goodbye?”

Hesitation is non-existent.

He swiftly presses his mouth to mine and unleashes his tongue inside as if punishing me for questioning would he have the balls to do this in public. I helplessly groan at the sexual aggression being delivered at an alarmingly accelerating rate and find myself unable to stay upright. Hugo counters my melting by firmly anchoring his hand around the back of my neck.

Supporting me.

The idea of us.

A real us instead of the one weekend hookup session I swear this is.

Too many emotions suddenly swell my chest, suffocating me in a way I don’t approve of.

Thankfully, he pulls back, wipes away the spit that landed in the corner of my lip, and shoots me a cocky wink over his ability to silence me.

Asshole.

He happily jogs away to catch up with his friends, and the girls all wait until they’re certain he’s out of earshot to begin any sort of commentary.

“I owe G sex in the hot tub,” Mo heavily sighs from the chair farthest from me.

My white, retro bold, Jackie O style sunglasses are pulled down over my eyes as I ask, “You bet Hugo wouldn’t kiss me where you could all see?”

“No, I bet G that you two wouldn’t hook up at all. Rhinehart’s not exactly the ‘fling’ type.”

True.

Though, that’s all this is.

He knows that.

He has to know that.

After all, he knows me.

Fuck, he knows me better than I know me somedays.

“I didn’t even know Rhinehart had a type,” Tatum says in the seat beside Mo.

“I didn’t even know Rhinehart liked people,” Poppy thoughtlessly interjects.

My head falls sarcastically to one side. “People or guys?”

“People!” She squeaks, wiggling nose pushing her oversized glasses around. “I didn’t even know he had other friends outside the team until you got on the plane yesterday.”

“Looking back on the expressions they wore, I don’t think Adrian, Rutledge, or Peck knew, either,” Tatum swiftly announces.

“Rhinehart’s a pretty private person,” Mo casually adds. “I mean had I not stopped by his apartment with G to occasionally get shots, I wouldn’t have known.”

“Shots?” Poppy’s head snaps my direction. “What kinda shots? And, who gets shots for fun?!”

“Juice shots, baby girl,” I sassily reassure her. “Hugo makes some of the most amazing health shit in that kitchen of his. Shots. Shakes. Smoothies. He’s even taking an extra nutritional class this summer to help him start a specialized healthy living program for the athletes on campus based on their specific sport for his final thesis project for graduation.”

“What?!” The three of them croak at me in unison.

“How do you guys not know this shit?”

“He hardly speaks!” Mo cries out first.

“He statistically contributes the least amount of content to any conversation.” Tatum folds her hands together on top of the sudoku book in her lap. “This includes the topic of hockey. That one is ironically enough dominated by Peck who comes in a close second