Defenseman No. 9 - Xavier Neal Page 0,40

hurt. But…” the words are sour, and I don’t bother concealing it, “I let you. I stepped back into the best friend shoes I’ve always worn and kept moving forward. You think I’m actively avoiding you instead of objectively seeing that we’re just having one of those weeks where we can’t seem to catch one another because we’re busy, but if you were honest with yourself, you’d realize that’s your own fucking guilt for pushing me away instead of pulling me closer when you had the chance.”

His jaw trembles as it lowers to ask a question, and I hate the sight so much I almost apologize for speaking frankly. “Are you…” Crash gives his mouth a nervous wipe. “Are you saying my chance is gone?”

“I’m saying…”

Shit.

What am I saying?

A reminder flashes across my phone, catching my attention out of the corner of my eye. The easy segue prompts me to mischievously smile and slide my phone into my pocket. “I’m saying it’s time for me to head to practice.”

Shock has his mouth dropping and eyebrows launching.

“I’m also saying,” I rise out of my seat to grab my gym bag, “you can pay for our date tonight.”

Excitement pumps profusely through his gaze, and my heart swells to the point of explosion.

Fuck, I am so gonna have to ask Dad for pro advice on dealing with the dramatic swings of the dating highs and lows.

I am, very much so, lacking when it comes to tactics in this department.

“I gotta work tonight,” Crash casually starts, “so um…it’ll have to be late unless you wanna come keep me company.”

“Guess I’ll see you at the club.”

Another surprised expression slides onto his face prior to him playfully stating, “There’s a dress code you know.”

Dropping the strap on my shoulder, I sweetly grin and slowly start to back out of the room.

“None of this,” his finger bounces up and down in reference to my attire, “one protein shake away from Gym Life shit. Wear real clothes.”

“Noted.”

Crash flashes me an open mouth grin that has me spinning on my heels to prevent him from catching the goofy, dazed expression I’m sporting.

I didn’t see us ever hooking up, and we did a week ago.

I didn’t see us ever going out on a date, and that’s exactly where we’ll be in a few hours.

I wonder what else I didn’t ever see us doing that will now, actually, get the opportunity to be done.

Whatever the shit is…I won’t lie.

I hope it includes cock rings.

I’ve always wanted to play with those.

Chapter 8

This is incredible.

And, I don’t mean the all-time high number of views my latest immersive dance video I recorded while getting ready for tonight got.

And, I’m also not referring to Big Queen Z’s spoken word poetry, although, she is killing it as always.

That plus-sized queen’s powerful stage presence is impossible to deny.

I was actually talking about the fact that Hugo Rhinehart is really here.

At the club.

On a date with me.

Wearing an army green button-down shirt with the sleeves bunched up at his elbows, framing his beautiful, bulging biceps and gorgeous fucking forearms and the expensive watch I got him for Christmas one year that I, distinctly, remember him saying he’d save to wear for “special occasions”.

I never thought being on a date with me would qualify as a special moment.

For anyone.

Yes, I’m fucking fabulous, I’ve met me, but not fantastic enough for someone to consider a date…significant.

Come to think of it…the last real date I had out in public was to some wine and cheese shop opening. The guy – like most have been over the last year – was just someone to get my mind off of Jevin. He didn’t stand too close to me during our tour or tasting and didn’t have actual physical contact with me until we were back in his BMW with the food, he’d later have me spread across him to lick off. I assumed going out with a guy in his thirties would be better than the closeted cliché I’d been dealing with, but I was mistaken. He was just as uncomfortable at the idea of onlookers knowing he was into men just like the majority of the guys I’ve hooked up with have been. I’ve always been treated like the toy everyone’s happy to have in private, yet is ashamed to even speak of in public. So…to wrap my head around the idea that I’m anything…special…is a mind fuck.

And, an even bigger mind fuck is that Hugo is happily pressing himself against me