Defenseman No. 9 - Xavier Neal Page 0,7
always puts me first.
Always has.
I chalk it up to being his oldest friend but sometimes…sometimes I think maybe there’s more to it than that.
Then again, I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s just me projecting my wishes onto the one person in my life I’ve continuously been able to count on.
Hugo has never let me down.
Never had me singing that damn Haddaway song in the shower like I was performing at the goddamn Grammy’s.
As soon as it’s properly blended, he strains it into a glass, adds a colorful straw along with an apple slice garnish to the side and brings it over to me.
“He gets an actual fucking glass?!” Gillette childishly taunts further, “Me and Mo are drinking out of to-go cups like basic bitches every morning, and he gets an actual fucking glass?!”
“I’m far from a basic bitch.”
“Exactly.” The response is given at the same time he transfers the carrot ginger apple juice into my possession. “You’re special.”
His glare glows like it’s actively trying to reiterate the statement.
It’s hard to deny the way it melts my heart but easy to playfully concur, “I am special.”
“If he’s so special, then why don’t you invite him to the beach house with us this weekend?”
Hugo’s head whips his direction in obvious objection.
Curiosity – something I rarely deny myself in exploring – has me investigating, “Who’s us?”
“The crew,” Gillette jovially answers despite the growing tension in our friend’s demeanor. “Me, Rhinehart, Rutledge, Stratton, and Peck. I got us a private flight that will take us to South Haven Island where we’ll be picked up in a limo and taken to our luxury beach house on a secluded portion of the island for the entire weekend. They gotta pay for their souvenirs and shit – assuming we go anywhere – but all the food, booze, and bikini-endorsed activities are on me. It was my Christmas gift to everyone.” He adjusts himself to completely face me. “The three of us are bringing our girls as ’extras’, if you’re reading the script, I’m throwing down for the table read, so you coming along to keep Rhinehart company while we’re ‘rehearsing lines’ might not be a bad idea. God knows Peck’s gonna be too busy rolling playback from the season to do more than eat BBQ shrimp.”
His movie references inspire me to inquire, “Are you…taking a film class or something? Your metaphors are really fucking specific today.”
“Actually, yeah. Started yesterday. Miss Miller used to work in the industry, so she has a bunch of cool fucking stories. I’m taking that and an advanced chem course, which starts in about an hour.”
“Those classes are very opposite ends of the spectrum, G-Unit.”
“To the untrained eye, yes.”
“Okay,” my hand gracefully waves his direction, “enlighten me.”
“They’re both skillsets needed for someone who may want to blow shit up professionally.”
Hugo winces at Gillette’s poor phrasing during his return to the kitchen.
“Not like as a terrorist or something.”
“That’s good. You would be a terrible terrorist,” I effortlessly mock.
“No yeah, I would totally be a bad terrorist.” He enthusiastically nods. “But I was referring to someone who wants to blow shit up on movie sets. Like for a James Bond or John Wick sequel. Maybe something starring Dwayne Johnson with Janelle Monae as his ass-kicking love interest. You know. That type of shit.”
“She is hot.”
“Thank you!” Gillette tosses both his hands at me. “Mo refuses to agree with me about it. Says she has a fish face or some shit.”
Sounds like his girlfriend just doesn’t want to hear about him thinking other chicks are hot.
Instead of addressing the obvious, I ask, “Are you looking into that career because you don’t wanna play professional hockey?”
Gillette’s shoulder shrug is innocent. “Always good to have a backup.”
I’m sure he’s only referencing his career options, not relationships like Jevin who collects backups the same way high profile dance productions stack understudies.
He always has someone ready to step into the spotlight to suck his cock.
Ugh.
I am so over it being me.
“Anyways, you should come,” Gillette circles back to the original topic. “You know, if you don’t have shit else going on this weekend. All the shit’s already paid for. We’ve got extra rooms. Plus, I’m sure Rhinehart wouldn’t mind. After all, you’re special.”
My gaze cuts to our friend who is busying himself with rinsing out his mixer rather than making eye contact with either of us. “Would you?” I wait until the water has turned off, and he can’t pretend he doesn’t hear me. “Would you mind if I lived