Defenseman No. 9 - Xavier Neal Page 0,79

tear in your eye?” Stratton sighs on a shake of the head.

Peck, unhappily, frowns at their comments, which only makes the other three continue their taunting.

Yeah, practice this early isn’t fun.

It isn’t easy.

But it’s worth it.

For the team building.

For the team bonding.

For supporting my fucking friends that are family to me.

For showcasing that I truly do have their backs when they need me like a defenseman should.

As much as I didn’t enjoy the look of betrayal Crash flashed me on my way out the door, he isn’t the only person I’ve pledged loyalty to. Being here for them is equally as important as being there for him, something he happens to need way more often.

I’ll apologize face to face after my lunch/project time with Leif for the inconvenience bailing on breakfast caused to his day and explain it in a way, I hope like hell, he understands.

I would never want him to think I don’t have his back like I have theirs.

I would never want him to think he’s not important to me.

I just need him to know that my crew is important to me, too.

I just need him to know that sometimes – on rare occasions – I have to put them first.

Chapter 16

Betty stops blowing her freshly painted fingernails to question, “Feel better?”

I stretch my hand out in front of me to admire my cleaned-up cuticle game. “Starting to.”

“We’ve done facials and manis,” she huffs prior to letting her back hit the sofa cushion. “What else could you possibly need to be ready to reclaim your shine in the spotlight of life?”

I meet her gaze at the same time I suggest, “Pedis?”

Her eyebrows rise in thought.

“We could go grab some lunch and then swing by my favorite shop. I have no doubt they’ll squeeze us in.”

“Your treat?”

“If you buy lunch.”

“Do I get to pick?”

“As long as there is fried food wherever we go, I’m in.” The next part of my sentence leaves my lips unconsciously, “Hugo’s not huge on eating deep fried anything, although he did buy an air fryer to experiment with making better homemade curly fries. We had some last Sunday with this bacon chive dip that was to die for.”

“Fries sound perfect,” Betty happily coos. “Venom just started serving these parmesan truffle waffle fries that I hear are becoming the Belle of the ball on their menu. I’ve been dying to try to them, but I never seem to make it over there on my potato day.”

How anyone lives like that is beyond me.

Segregating certain foods to certain days seems asinine, and, according to the 6’4 edition of Healthy Living I’m sleeping with, that’s actually not good for your physical or mental health.

Thoughts of Hugo brushing me off jeté through my brain for the millionth time, despite the fact I’ve repeatedly told those bitches to take a bow and exit stage left.

He already ruined my fucking morning.

I don’t need him ruining my fucking afternoon, too.

“We’re going there, then,” I announce and spring to my feet. “Potato day or not. We’re gonna eat the fuck out of some fries while you tell me all about the older guy you’ve started seeing.”

“How do you know about him?!”

My head tilts sarcastically to the side. “Honey, please. The toned-down makeup. The softer color nail polish. The fact you’re your letting your hair shape your face instead of keeping it pinned to the top your head. They might as well be advertising billboards about the shit.”

Shock starts to swirl in her stare.

“Ten bucks and a shot of Baileys says you even bought yourself a new LBD specifically for the nicer steakhouse he prefers.”

“How. The. Fuck. Do. You. Know. That?!”

I let a wide, arrogant grin grace my face as I wave my wrist around in the air. “It’s a gift.”

People have a tendency to change parts of their appearance for who they’re dating or screwing. It’s an unconscious human habit. When someone we’re interested in has interest in us, we often do whatever we think is necessary to keep that interest. And, depending on what exactly you’re altering your outward appearance to, is what makes narrowing down who the person you’re changing for easier. Older men tend to like different shit than younger dudes, unless they’re older dudes trying to recapture their youth or the older men who want you calling them daddy outside of the bedroom.

It’s not exactly rocket science once you’ve been around a time or two.

Betty proceeds to squawk in bafflement at my ability to read an individual