Defenseman No. 9 - Xavier Neal Page 0,39

aforementioned emotion. “Why the fuck would I be jealous? What the fuck is there to be jealous about? The fact that you told him you’d text him when you’re barely answering my fucking texts? That Gillette’s feisty and fierce and fucking phenomenal girlfriend – who I would love to star in one of my videos with me – has had more fucking facetime with you this week than I have? The fact that I had to hunt you down like a goddamn bloodhound to get a chance to really fucking talk to you?!”

He’s being a bit melodramatic – even for him.

I have answered every single text he’s sent.

They’ve just had shorter answers than he likes.

Also, I can’t help it if our schedules haven’t meshed this week. I’ve had shit to do. Class. Orders to fill. Practice with both teams. I went and saw some b-class action movie with Gillette after his therapy session last night while his girlfriend had daddy-daughter time or some shit. Maybe what he was expecting was for me to sit around and continuously wallow in the loneliness bestowed upon me, but I didn’t.

I had places to be.

I had responsibilities to fulfill.

I had teammates counting on me to have their backs.

I didn’t lie around immersed in our memories – other than right before bed and once in the shower when I jerked it to thoughts of what he sounded like jerking it in the shower.

That day I was almost late to the one class I’m taking.

I hate to be late anywhere.

I especially hate to be late when it’s going to affect someone’s first impression of me.

Not getting any sort of explanation or response or argument causes him to poke harder. “Didn’t think you’d be hooking up with someone else already. You had my dick down your throat less than a goddamn week ago.” Crash’s hands fold firmly together on top of the table. “What happened? Did I accidentally flick on your whore switch or some shit?”

Irony.

Hypocrisy.

Insecurity.

I can hear it all, and in spite of how hard he’s trying to hide it in his gray gaze, I can see it all, too.

“You’re jealous.”

“I am not fucking jealous!” Crash hisses at me, head darting closer. “I was who you fucking wanted first. I fucking had you first. I will be around long after that fucking Bohemian Gagsody.”

The cracking in his speech and stare has me leaning in at the same time I repeat. “You’re. Jealous.”

“Of course, I’m fucking jealous, Hugo! I haven’t seen you once since we got back to town, and the first time I finally do, you’re making date plans with some loser who needs to use more tea tree oil in his hair to effectively give it the shine he deserves. Nice locks, which I am begrudgingly admitting, but dull delivery. No one wants to put their fingers through that shit.”

I finally let the corner of my lip curl upward. “I like what you use in yours.”

“Papaya. Makes the hair feel great and the cum taste better.”

I’m more than willing to give a firsthand testament to that shit being true.

“How can you be going out with someone else when you were like…just…fucking going out with me? Thought you didn’t date much. Thought you never fucking dated. Your so-called crew even said they had never seen you with anybody else, yet the minute we get back to campus you’re ready to play hide the stinger with some asshole you probably just met!”

His accusations are bypassed to calmly address the actual issue at hand. “You said I was a rebound.”

Crash’s lips seal shut.

“You said I was a fling.”

Guilt pushes him to steal a glimpse of the wooden table to momentarily avoid my stare.

“You said the next guy would have some big shorts to fill.”

He slumps down into the seat and quietly states, “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“You never bothered to ask me what I wanted.”

“I assumed-”

“Never fucking assume shit.”

My bite shuts his mouth a second time.

“Communication and consent, Crash.” The increased volume and strength in my tone surprises us both. “That’s what makes relationships work, whether it’s friendship or something else.” I sit up a little taller and push forward. “I-I-I haven’t always said what I needed to say because your happiness always comes first, but t-t-today, I-I-I am.”

He keeps his widened stare focused on me.

“The shit you said hurt.” It’s hard to ignore the way my heart is pounding hard enough to break through my ribcage. “How easy it was for you to walk away fucking