Defenseman No. 9 - Xavier Neal Page 0,41

in this leather booth.

Resting his hand on my thigh.

Stroking it with his thumb.

I don’t know whether to cry in awe or groan in horniness.

The fact that he’s giving me a “second audition” to do this whole more than friends thing after I fucked up the first time is absolutely the most incredible thing of all.

I’m definitely one for second, third, eighty-nineth chances when it comes to people and their screw ups.

I blame it on dance.

You know, you gotta practice, practice, practice to really nail that shit. You’re gonna fuck up so many times trying to get it right that you have to be a lot of flexible and a little forgiving. That policy has rolled itself over into my relationships. I’ve been this way ever since I was little and Kasey Kingley kissed me on the playground and then Shannon Rose and then me again saying I was really his favorite princess.

I’m tolerant as fuck when it comes to people’s mistakes.

Hugo’s not.

It’s one of the many, many, many ways we differ.

Forgiveness is, basically, the equivalence to his super-secret mango smoothie.

He doesn’t give that shit out to just anyone.

Damn sure doesn’t just dish it out because you asked.

Applause for Big Queen Z begins, indicating it’s time for me to get back on the stage to usher in the next guest.

The Roaring Plenties is an all-inclusive, Speakeasy-inspired performance club on the outskirts of the city. Vlasta’s open-mindedness is still growing, so having a place to showcase that is appreciated; however, not allowing it to exist in the heart of downtown appropriately reflects the status of their so-called “progressive” nature.

While I don’t have to have a job – benefit of being the only child to the man who owns a string of luxury ski resorts across the country – I do. I do this most nonperformance weekends, loving an extra stage to express myself on as well as being able to build others up on a bigger platform. Some of those that have stepped up here I’ve done some small social media dance videos with outside of their set and helped them gain a larger following. Others I’ve used their original tracks for my University performance pieces. Hell, one harpist I booked even got a gig at some black tie, invite-only charity dinner that included actual royalty. My main job is to host. Work the crowd and make sure they don’t feel they’ve wasted their time, even if the acts aren’t something they enjoy. It’s always felt natural for me to get on stage and connect with those watching. Getting paid to do it is just an added bonus.

It also helps pay for my extensive shoe collection.

Alexander McQueen shoes – sneakers and heels – aren’t exactly cheap.

“Let me hear those finger snaps for Big Queen Z,” I state behind the microphone that’s positioned front and center on the stage. The room quickly delivers the instructed clicks. Some wooo and some shout their love for the voluptuous dark-skinned diva. Once she’s made it back to the bar where she’ll receive her complimentary drink from the club, I continue with the transition to the next entertainer. “Alright ladies, gents, and all that lies in between, I want your help welcoming our next guest to the stage. You think you can do that for me?”

There’s a small yes from the packed crowd.

“Fuck that. I need bigger and better.” My thumbs hook the lines of my suspenders and theatrically tug. “I’m too good looking for such mediocre shit.”

Laughter instantly bounces around the room.

“Let’s try this again,” I swiftly announce at the same time my hands fly into the air. “Can you do that for me?”

Enthusiastic shouts are expelled and immediately receive my nod of approval.

“That’s fucking better.” The grin on my face remains playful like my tone. “Now, I expect you all here to know the words and sing along, and if you don’t, you better do like I used to do with my ex and fake that shit.” More laughter floods the club, and a few seconds later the familiar tune of “Piano Man” by Billy Joel begins. It doesn’t start at the very beginning but at the chorus that’s easier for most people to sing along to. Loudly the audience croons. Most are on beat. A few, though, are painfully screeching. Everyone waves their arms in the air and sways with me. As soon as the notes arrive to flow into the next verse, the D.J. fades it, so that I can welcome the man