Defenseman No. 9 - Xavier Neal Page 0,24

quietly.

“Stratton always says style is a statement, and if Poppy is happy making her PETA approved message, then that’s all that matters,” Tatum sweetly defends.

My smile transposes to a playful one. “I agree with the pretty boy.”

“Of course, you do.” Mo immediately shakes her head. “Your wardrobe looks like you worship Crayola.”

“Bright and beautiful.” She’s thrown a wink in spite of the fact she can’t see it prior to me gently kicking Poppy’s bare foot. “So, 101 Dalmatians…”

Her brow scrunches in disapproval of the comment.

“Am I really the first person you’ve ever seen him with?”

She momentarily purses her lips to one side. “Only.”

Only.

Only?!

I can’t possibly be the only person he’s been spotted with.

“What about at parties and shit?”

Tatum excitedly jumps on answering. “Negative. He’s always gone before midnight and always alone. I once did the probability for how long each player on the team is likely to stay at a victory party and Rhinehart scored in the bottom bracket of less than two hours.”

Why?

What’s he waiting for?

Who’s he waiting for?

And, why is that tiny diva in the back of my brain singing in her Celine Dion voice that it’s me.

“What about dancing?” I continue to interrogate, doing my best to keep my voice steady. “You’ve all seen him dance with girls and shit, right?”

Poppy’s gasp damn near pushes her off her chair. “Rhinehart can dance?!”

Not well…

Not anywhere near the realm of well.

Damn sure nowhere close to my practically perfect principal dancer ass.

My smile is as soft as ever. “Everyone can dance, little paw.”

“No-huh,” she frantically disagrees and soars my direction. “I took a dance class with Della one semester and the teacher told me she was only passing me because I tried every session.”

“That’s Smoack. She’s a bitch.” An undeniably arrogant smirk springs to my expression. “She tried to punish me for wearing heels to her Modern I Class Freshman year by saying if I wouldn’t take them off when I was told, I would have to wear them every day for the rest of the semester. Joke was on her. The majority of the dance videos I make are in heels.”

“You make dance videos?” Mo’s new curiosity isn’t ignored.

I rapidly nod and reach for my phone. “Constantly. I’m real into immersive dance, which is basically sprucing up your day-to-day shit by adding a little more movement to music in it.”

Unlocking my device, I swiftly pull up the one I filmed yesterday while packing for the trip. I cut and cleaned it up during the plane ride, which allowed me to post when we officially landed. The girls eagerly crowd me to watch and take turns commenting over everything from my technique to creativity, each impressed with a different aspect of my performance to “Please Me” by Cardi B and Bruno Mars.

At the end, I let my stares find theirs once more. “The true trick to dance is learning to properly highlight your skills and strengths. That’s what a good dance teacher or choreographer does. They don’t mold everyone to fit one form. They build you into being the best you you can be. And, that’s what I always aspire to do, whether I’m pulling together an ensemble piece for fun or helping choreograph a musical for the University.”

“I could never dance like that,” Poppy proclaims.

“I don’t think I could do that shit in heels,” Mo informs on a small cringe.

Tatum doesn’t hesitate to shake her head. “Cheeseandrice, I know I couldn’t.”

“You’re missing the point of my routines, which isn’t really about the shoes-”

“How many pairs do you have?” Tatum interrupts.

Rather than answer, I suggest, “Let’s do one.”

“Do one what?” Poppy instantly investigates.

“A routine.”

Dismissal circles all around, which only excites me even more.

Fuck, I love the chance to break people out of their comfort zones and show them where the real fun lies.

I get a small high from watching others lose themselves in dance.

I always have.

Fuck, I can still remember watching Mom do it when I was little and wanting to feel as free as she looked like she felt.

“Come on…” My encouragement is met by more head shakes. “I was gonna film one anyway, why not join me? I mean what were you gonna do on the beach instead?”

“Read,” Poppy answers first.

“Sudoku,” Tatum announces second.

“Sleep,” Mo says on an innocent shrug. “G was so not about letting me have that last night.”

We all exchange a small set of snickers prior to me pushing, “Just try it with me? Give me…ten minutes. If you’re not having a good time dancing