Defenseman No. 9 - Xavier Neal Page 0,89
back.
Mo grunts a laugh. “Nice shirt.”
My ‘I Put The D in Dance’ is one of my favorites to hit the gym in.
Always grabs attention.
The type of attention I miss getting from Hugo.
He never made me feel sleazy or slutty when he couldn’t keep his stare or, better yet, his hands off of me.
Just sexy.
Wanted.
Loved.
Aches in my chest return, and being surrounded by his adorable friends amplifies them tenfold. “Can I help you girls with something?”
“We’re here to take you to tryouts with us,” Tatum replies first, instantly creating confusion.
“And, what, exactly, am I trying out for?”
“Not tryouts for you,” Poppy sighs, nose wiggling at the end of it. “Tryouts for our boyfriends.”
“I don’t love how that sounds like we have multiple boyfriends,” Mo casually announces over her shoulder, “but I don’t hate it.”
“I hate it,” Tatum immediately objects. “One high maintenance boyfriend is plenty. I don’t think I could handle another one reminding me how to properly ‘street style’ my jersey for the big event.”
“I don’t even know what that shit means,” Mo mumbles in obvious disgust.
“It’s just another way of saying how to wear a jersey for fashion display as opposed to its intended purpose.” My chin tips her direction. “Which you are nailing, I just wanna say. Those white sunglasses are sealing the whole thing together. Very Rhi Rhi.”
“It’s like there’s two of them,” Poppy quietly says over Mo’s shoulder, getting her to snigger.
After her laughter has faded, she tugs at the cheer shorts she’s paired with her own jersey that happens to be tied up to one side. “How long is it gonna take you to get ready? I’m fucking starving.”
I shove down the knot threatening to choke me. “I um…I-”
“Definitely need to get ready,” Betty states from behind me, startling me off the frame. “And, I definitely need to get to work.” On her slip past me, she quietly insists, “Talk to them, twinkle toes.”
Once she’s politely squeezed past the group, I back into my apartment, usher them in, and retreat to my couch.
The second I plop down, Poppy comments, “This feels like the antithesis of what you’re supposed to be doing.”
“Were you not listening?” Mo folds her arms across her chest. “I’m fucking starving.”
“And, breakfast is on Adrian, so everyone is welcomed to eat as much as you want. His words.”
Another urge to smile tugs at my lips. “That’s thoughtful of him.”
“The guys are weird like that,” Poppy offhandedly announces. “They’ve got this whole pack mentality thing where they all take turns taking care of the group, which includes mates. What’s funny is they all think they’re the alpha, but really their alpha is Coach Stiles. They’re just adorable, oddly sweet, sometimes too mean to each other, pups.”
Her explanation receives a cocked head from me.
“And,” Poppy continues, “you are one of their mates, which is why we came to get you, so you can come eat and cheer with us, like mates are supposed to do.”
“You keep saying the word mate,” one leg crosses over the other, “and I don’t know whether to ask you were you watching something about werewolves or Animal Planet…”
“Animal Planet,” the other two females reply.
Poppy’s nose wiggles at the same time she squeaks, “It’s not really important! What is important is that they stick together, and we stick together, so get up. Get dressed. And, let’s stick together!”
“That was way too peppy,” Mo promptly teases, “says a cheerleader.”
Poppy’s face frowns in frustration.
She’s clearly trying.
It’s expensive crystal clear that being in social and group settings aren’t her thing, yet she’s trying for the guy whose number is on her jersey.
Trying.
Fuck, why didn’t I ever try a little harder?
“What’s going on?” Tatum cautiously questions. “Do you not wanna eat with us?”
“No, I’m not trying to pass on your much sweeter variation of Mean Girls-”
“Is that a TV show?” Poppy interjects.
I twitch my face in confusion at the question causing Mo to politely inform, “She’s not good with movies that don’t involve dogs.”
“I’m working on it!”
“Look,” my head slowly shakes, “I don’t think I should be there. I don’t think it’s a good idea. I don’t think Hugo would want me there.”
“But, aren’t you always there?” Tatum quickly asks. “Wouldn’t it be weirder or bad luck for you not to be there?”
The confession thoughtlessly leaves my lips. “I’ve actually never been there.”
“What!?” They croak in unison.
“I thought you were his other best fuckin’ friend,” Mo scoffs afterwards. “Why haven’t you ever been?”
“First of all, I didn’t even know tryouts were open for watching-”
“Yeah,