Defenseman No. 9 - Xavier Neal Page 0,36

I was the most important person in the room at all times.”

“And, when you were alone? Was he the usual, me first, you if there’s time?”

Guilt swells into an even bigger lump in my throat. “More like, you first…and second…and let’s just keep going until you can barely lift your fucking head.”

Her jaw drops to the ground prior to her using the back of her hand to pop me in the chest.

“Excuse you!”

“Excuse you!” Bafflement continues to bulldoze itself through her expression. “You know how rare that shit is to find, and you just pushed it out of your life?! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You want an alphabetical list or numerical?”

“I want you to stop wasting your time with losers and start fucking some winners.”

Her bluntness grabs me by surprise.

“Crash, you are one of the most incredible people I know, and yet whenever it comes to relationships, you are without a doubt the dumbest.”

My jaw fumbles to the floor.

“Look, I get the whole fun of the forbidden fruit bullshit or whatever, but at some point, you gotta grow out of that, and experience more. And, see more. And, learn your true value. Because if you keep going like you are now, you’re never really gonna be happy. You’re gonna be one of those old, bitter bitches who tries to fill the hole where love is supposed to go with high heels and season tickets to whatever off-Broadway musical is hot at the moment and the newest flavor of seltzers.” Her head angles itself to the side, driving her scolding home. “Get it together. And, whoever this hunk with what I’m assuming is massive junk is…DM him. Don’t just let him get away.”

There’s no DMing Hugo.

He’s got a total early 2000s thing to him.

He wants you to call him.

Or, text him using words instead of just simple emojis.

Or, to just stop by so he can see your face as you say whatever it is you wanna say.

I think it’s cute.

Fuck, I think he’s cute.

Dopey grin and dazed gaze included.

According to a tipsy Tatum, I’m the only one that shit ever comes out for.

And, according to a drunken Gillette, I’m the only subject that makes him stutter.

The weight of my shitty decision grows in heaviness on my shoulders.

Who doesn’t want a guy in his life to brand him as something special?

“Bohemian Rhapsody” begins, indicating it’s time to close the doors and take attendance. Betty gives me a sassy smile, spins on her heels, and strolls away to start the process. Just as she reaches the threshold a familiar face comes barreling in, squawking her apologies for tardiness. Resentment rushes through my veins with each step she takes towards the back of the class. I chomp down on the inside of my cheek to prevent rage and ridicule from freely rolling off my tongue, exposing the entire room to shit that’s none of their business despite the vengeful pleasure I’d get in making it that way.

They don’t really need to know she’s wasted her money on knock off bras and panties.

Just like they don’t really need to know Vlasta’s star basketball player got a great shot of them while lying in bed next to me.

Ugh.

Not even sure they would believe the last part.

Disgust drags itself down the length of my spine as the realization that he’s been sticking his dick into what’s probably barely legal pussy parades itself around my mind.

That bowlegged bitch hasn’t even started her first official semester here?! What’d he do? Pick her ass up during her high school tour? Lure her off away from the group and finger fuck her against some tree in The Viper’s Den, the largest courtyard on campus?

I shake my head at the idea that, sadly, isn’t as ridiculous as it sounds.

I then shake my head at my previous pining.

At my habitual forgiveness of his bullshit.

Fuck that.

I’m done.

I’m completely fucking done.

Time to make the classic Mya hit my fucking anthem and move the hell on.

I’ll send one text after this dance session to tell him I don’t want whatever’s in the package my neighbor brought in for me while I was gone and that I never want to see him in non-athletic situations ever again.

And, after that?

I’ll text Hugo to see if I can come over and work on undoing the damage I’m pretty sure I’ve done.

Chapter 7

Leif Bush not only has a horrible fucking name – and that’s coming from a guy who’s named after the French novelist that wrote The Hunchback