Defenseman No. 9 - Xavier Neal Page 0,45
doesn’t feel right…most of the time it’s because it’s not. Your body doesn’t tend to feel unease without cause. The discomfort wasn’t due to alcohol because I haven’t been drinking, and it wasn’t due to those soy-ginger wings we shared because I only had two of them since someone, to this day, still doesn’t quite understand the concept of sharing.”
“Eat faster,” I mutter under my breath.
“That meant it was something else. So, instincts told me to check on you. I always go with my instincts when it comes to this type of shit, whether I’m in the rink or out of it.”
The faintest sigh of relief flutters across my lips prior to me presenting the real question I wanted an answer to. “How’d you know about my other bruises? They didn’t leave scars or shit, so I know you didn’t see them last weekend.”
Hugo’s entire frame tenses but his speech remains soft. “You know, Crash, just because you don’t tell me everything…doesn’t mean I don’t already know it.”
My shoulders sag in further humiliation.
Why is it no matter how I try to hide, Hugo Rhinehart never fails to see me?
All of me.
Even the little broken shreds I swore I’ve swept off the stage floor.
“My place?” Hugo thankfully suggests, not forcing us to dwell further on the unspoken details of the current subject. “We can leave your car here. Get it in the morning.”
I eagerly nod at the suggestion and let him guide us out of the establishment to his white Land Rover. On our way to his apartment, we keep holding hands, and pass the time talking about the night’s performers. Recalling my personal faves isn’t difficult. Some people naturally have a stronger stage presence than others – self included, according to my best friend. He hangs on every word I say, nearly missing the off ramp we need, and being presented with his undivided attention in date form has my body screaming to let him continue this special treatment in bed.
Once I realize I’ve done the majority of the talking, I shift the spotlight to him on our way up the stairs to his apartment. “What about you? Who was your favorite?”
“Big Queen Z’s spoken word poetry was fucking great,” he gushes. “The lines. The pacing. The power…” The corner of his lip tugs upward, and I’m grateful I don’t miss it. “I could see myself purchasing her work and reading it often. You know, when it comes to that shit, I’m all over the place. I’ll read anything from Dickinson to Bukowski to Big Poppa E…which…I’ve been wondering…” Hugo hums as we arrive in front of his door. “You think her name is a playoff of his?”
“I think Big Queen Z is just her embracing herself and her heritage.”
He nods, types in the code, and grants us access.
“She tends to be the crowd favorite whenever she performs.”
“She wasn’t my favorite,” Hugo states a few seconds before the door shuts behind us.
“You just said-”
“I said she was great. I never used the accused phrase.”
My brow scrunches together during the replaying in my head. When it hits me, he didn’t say those exact words, I find myself incapable of stopping the smirk that slips onto my lips. “Okay, Boo. You win that round.”
“I win a lot of rounds.”
“Uh-huh, so who was your favorite then?”
“Same person who has been my favorite since the 4th grade…” His body sways closer yet his grin remains coy. “And, I really like the danced version of the day we met.”
“To think if I would’ve just played hopscotch in sneakers instead of Cinderella heels like a normal kid, we might not have ever been friends.”
“I don’t like that thought.”
There’s no hesitation for me to agree. “Me either.”
Hugo’s hands find their way to my hips, somewhere I’m beginning to believe is their favorite spot. “I like you just the way you are, Crash.”
“And, I like you just the way you are…” My finger teasingly trails along the buttons of his shirt. “Preferably a lot more naked.”
He instantly blushes.
I swear on my love of all things Chrissy Teigen that that color on his cheeks is constantly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever fucking seen.
It takes a moment for Hugo to nervously ask, “Y-y-you trying to t-t-tell me something?”
“Obviously.” The instant my sass receives a wide grin, I playfully add, “Take this Tiny Dancer to bed already.”
A small chuckle and a slow nod are followed by him leading me the direction I’ve visited numerous times but never stayed in.
Silent reflection