Defenseman No. 9 - Xavier Neal Page 0,34
trembling has me sloppily trailing light bites along the corner of his lips.
His chin.
His collarbone.
I drag my teeth down and take a bite of his nipple, which elicits a raspy, airy, “Fuck, Boo.” The praise is rewarded by me sucking harder over the hardened nub and grating the fabric barrier across it for added friction. “Goddamn, I’m gonna miss this shit…”
Crash’s unanticipated response has me pulling away to lock stares. “What?”
“I’m gonna miss this shit…” He repeats the words prior to providing an explanation of their meaning. “Hooking up.”
My lack of retorting inspires him to continue.
“This fling shit was so needed.”
Fling…
Fling?
Fling.
Fuck.
His hand tugs on the edge of my white t-shirt at the same time he sexily smirks. “I haven’t been flung this hard in a while.”
I somehow manage to force a small, contorted smile onto my face.
“Whoever comes next is gonna have some big shorts to fill…” He waggles his brows causing bile to burn up the back of my throat. “Thanks to you, I’m gonna need a rebound from my fucking rebound.”
Rebound…
Rebound?
Rebound.
Double fuck.
Tears rush along my esophagus to meld with the boiling bitterness. An amalgamation of anger, disappointment, and disbelief pump poison through my system prompting the instinct to purge the toxins. I take a small step back. I shove down the lump that’s requesting release. I move my mouth to say the words I’ve trained myself to say some variation of for most of my life. “Glad I could help.”
Crash’s glittery smile remains as he coos, “Why don’t you come help me out of this shirt now?”
Repulsion and revulsion alike instantly rip through my veins forcing me to shake my head in an attempt to remain calm. “I-I-I I gotta take a leak.”
My best friend gives me a nod of understanding and diverts his attention to the junk food within his reach at the island.
Maintaining my casualness during my stroll is damn near impossible. Between the weight of his words and the agony of having a new hole in my heart where there previously wasn’t one, I barely make it inside the bathroom before I’m breaking down. The moment after I lock the door, I collapse against it to my ass, let the back of my head hit it, and shut my eyes in hopes the tears that are clawing at the brim will stay there.
The old trite saying goes, it’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all, yet I’ve often asked myself is that true? Was that statement made by someone who was really in love or just dabbling in the often-confused lust? And now, as I sit on the bathroom floor, with only hours left to indulge in the love I’ve never been allowed to have, I’m left wondering, is having this new non-mollifiable ache actually better than just being left to spend the rest of my life wondering what any of this felt like to begin with?
Chapter 6
“I don’t get it,” one of my workshop students complains directly in front of me. “Why is wearing makeup a requirement for every class?”
“Two suggestions.” I plop one hand on my hip and hold up the appropriate number of fingers on the other. “One, perhaps read the entire email rather than glossing it over between episodes of 13 Reasons Why. It specifically explains in great detail how many dancers who do not practice in this form struggle to adjust to the distraction of having extra weight on their face and unexpected places perspiration appears due to it.” Her glare grows guilty prior to trying to glance off elsewhere. “And two,” my head follows hers to maintain holding her gaze, “your foundation is off by several shades. That shit won’t fly with Mrs. Kumble. She has an actual Broadway background and will not hesitate to embarrass you during your audition for something as seemingly trivial as makeup. She expects those that show up for an audition to be professional, and part of being professional is looking the part before you get the part.”
The fresh-faced freshman bobs her head around, whispers her apologies, and rushes away to prepare for class.
Expected from a freshman, which is what this beginner’s workshop is for.
Some have unsteady nerves.
Others have oversized egos.
This summer dance session will, undoubtedly, even that playing field. Some of those with exposed fears transpire into beasts when properly built up while some of those with inflated senses of self, get a reality check no one else had the balls to give them when they probably