Defenseman No. 9 - Xavier Neal Page 0,71

a bright grin and finally makes his way back to the front of room where I am. I’m given mouthed instructs to pick a cooldown song while he announces to the class they’ll be doing a little closing stretching next.

Knowing better than to take too much time, I briefly thumb through my options, thankful a good choice is near the top.

“Tiny Dancer” starts to pour out of the speaker planting a small, playful smirk on my expression.

“Alright ladies,” Crash calls out, “let’s start with some calming breaths to this familiar tune.”

We all effortlessly watch him command the session, them to do as they’re told, and me because it would be hazardous to my health to look anywhere else. He has them bend at the waist when the chorus arrives, providing me with a view that only gets better every time I see it. His head angles itself to meet my gawking, and being caught openly drooling over my boyfriend breaks me out into a blush. Crash simply waggles his eyebrows, winks, and resumes leading the class to a closing.

I swore by now I would’ve gotten better about this.

I’m not against the world knowing we’re together or that I find him attractive.

I’m against constantly being hard enough to use my dick for a hockey stick in public.

I even asked the crew if this whole always horny thing got any better the longer we were together, and Rutledge guaranteed me it somehow only gets worse. Being the only one to be sleeping with your significant other puts you in this weird competition with yourself, and given how competitive we are – based on our hockey dedication – we will always be trying to top previous shit, which will lead to us wanting to prove it every time the person we’re screwing does something to make our dick twitch.

Stratton and Gillette promptly agreed.

Peck looked horrified.

I hope they’re wrong for my sanity’s sake.

I don’t think a future of trying to hide a hardon every five minutes is one I want.

Although, if my choices are that or a future without Crash in it, I’ll choose walking stiffy every time.

Back at my apartment, we’re barely inside before Crash is commanding, “Go over to the couch while I go grab your gifts!”

Bafflement is immediate. “Wait, they’re already in the apartment?”

His smirk transposes to one of mischief that is equally sexy and unsettling. “They are now.”

“Wh-”

“Sit.”

The investigation for more information stops and the instruction is followed.

Crash disappears the direction of my bedroom, leaving me even more confused than before.

How could he hide a gift in my apartment, and I not know?

We don’t exactly share my apartment the way I want us to…the way my crew does with the people they love. Crash doesn’t sleep over every night. Fuck, it’s a task in itself to try to get him over almost every morning without being too pushy. He’s got stuff here – mainly stuff I bought him – and I’m constantly reminding him it’s okay if he doesn’t collect all his shit to take back to his apartment every time he leaves. I can’t express being any more okay with him, essentially, living with me any more than I already am.

I would say the words “move in with me” if I weren’t deathly afraid he’d ghost me.

I don’t even care about the “not allowed” shit campus has to say.

I’d willingly move us to a different fucking apartment if Crash were one hundred percent on board with the idea.

I know he isn’t.

And, I’m still not to a point where voicing an opposing opinion is any easier.

“You have two gifts,” Crash suddenly announces on his shirtless stroll back into the living room several minutes later. “One is in this bag,” he holds up the sparkly object, “and the other is in my pants.”

“Those are two different types of unwrapping.”

“And, you will love them both, Boo. Trust. Me.”

I exchange the instinct to say “I do, so why don’t you trust me?” for a playful smile. “Do I get to pick which one I open first?”

“No.” My boyfriend plops down on the arm of the couch and thrusts the glittery cloaked gift my direction. “I wanted to give this one to you this morning but between my audition prep and your early as fuck brunch-”

“That’s just when people have brunch, Crash. Any later and it would just be lunch.”

“Uh-huh,” he brushes off, “due to all that shit, this is later than I was planning, but still.” He doesn’t bother hiding his glee. “I