Defenseman No. 9 - Xavier Neal Page 0,51

they’re referencing, I finish plugging in the device and start the process of retrieving the items needed to make more food than I was planning on.

I hope I have enough ingredients. I don’t usually make shakes or shots for those outside of my crew on the weekends. I use the time to replenish my stock and, of course, attend any dance performance I need to for my best friend. This week I was hit harder than normal with orders and requests, most looking for something to help maintain their best poolside physique around the drinking, so I’m not entirely sure I have what I need to feed us all.

I’ll get them all properly fed first.

If there’s nothing left for me, I’ll figure out something else to get me to my appointment.

“You have a game today?” Crash ponders, nearly causing me to drop the recently grabbed cutting board.

Gillette doesn’t give me a chance to answer. “Basically, right after his reflexology appointment, which is in an hour, which he will be late for if he doesn’t chop chop with those shakes.”

“I will chop chop your nuts off and add them to your shake if you keep this shit up.”

Him and Mo both laugh, yet Crash concerningly questions, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Guilt grows in my gaze, and I grip the board tighter.

I’ve never really told him about my games.

He’s aware of when I played because everyone on campus knows when the “Gods” are on the ice. That shit is made known fucking city wide by every social media outlet and word of mouth. We’re even allowed to cut class early if we feel like it to “save our energy”. Coach Stiles doesn’t approve of that happening even if the professors and Dean do.

Pre-college, I played for a club team, so there was no way of him knowing when to catch a game, unless I brought it up.

I didn’t.

He had recitals he needed to focus on.

Recitals I went to even if it meant rushing straight from a game – un-showered – to the next town over to see them.

The reciprocation recipe in our friendship has never known true balance.

It’s always contained too much from me and only a dash from him; however, I don’t know if I can blame him. I don’t exactly shove my interest down anyone else’s throat without their approval.

Consent isn’t just for sex.

It’s for the other aspects of a person’s existence, too.

“Did you not think I wanted to go?” Crash continues to interrogate from across the room. “Did you not want me to go?”

“I-I-I…” the accusations not only have me suddenly feeling two feet tall but too flustered to answer, “I-I-I….y-y-you…” My eyes fall shut for me to take a moment to collect a calming breath and my scattered thoughts. When I feel it’s finally done, I reopen them and set my stare on the gorgeous face of a guy who looks betrayed. “I’ve never made a big deal out of my games to you.”

His lips momentarily purse to the side.

“Why would I start now?”

“Because now you’re fu-” Mo promptly nails Gillette in the thigh. “Ou!”

I present her with a nod of gratitude that she, quickly, acknowledges with a wink.

Crash casually points out, “You’ve seen me dance how many fucking times?”

My still disposition remains.

“Yeah, well, you’ve been to how many of my fucking shows?”

The choice not to speak doesn’t change.

“You’ve watched my videos how often?”

Okay.

The latter is less about supporting his dance passion and more of a way to drool over him with less guilt.

I know it’s knocking on creepies door but…

“I think it’s time I see your shit.” His smile is warmer than I am anticipating. “I’ll happily go to your game, Boo, you know, if you even want me there.”

“I want you there, if you wanna be there,” I absentmindedly retort.

Crash presents me with a sweet smirk. “Then I’ll be at the next one since this one is all sold out.”

“You can have my dad’s ticket,” Mo casually informs, turning to face him. “We got him one, but he already got called in, so he won’t get to make it.”

My brow furrows in perplexity. “Why was your dad coming?”

“Everyone is fucking coming,” Gillette answers, grin growing wild. “Whole crew, which, as you know, includes our girls. Tatum’s little brother is tagging along because he loves any excuse to follow Stratton around. My dad. Mo’s dad – er well Mo’s dad before he had to go do his Law and Order shit. And, you know your parents never