“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 up to my name and crashed? I mean I could definitely use some…non drama-filled Vlasta air for the weekend.”
His stare shifts to mine showcasing a foreign feeling. “I-i-if you w-w-want. Th-th-that’s f-f-fine with m-m-me.” Rage and embarrassment immediately replace whatever emotion he was previously displaying. The change in disposition always comes when his stutter surfaces, something he hates because he thinks it makes him look weak, but something I adore because it makes him look mortal instead of superhuman. Several strained deep breaths later, he adds, “I’m cool with you coming. I never mind having you around, Crash.”
There’s no denying the way the words wash over me, cleansing my spirit of the callous words I was called less than an hour ago.
Like always, Hugo provides me with the antidote that only he seems capable of creating and administering.
Just a few minutes with him and all my mistakes don’t seem nearly so detrimental.
All my flaws far less heinous.
I actually feel comfortable in my own skin rather than just executing extra amounts of energy to convince everyone that I am.
I love this feeling.
This sense of security that only he seems able to provide.
Maybe a few days filled with nothing but him, his levity, and some liquor is exactly what I need to cope with the clusterfuck of emotions Jevin’s spent the last year putting me through. And, even if it’s not…at the very least, it’ll keep me from immediately falling for that asshole when he inevitably comes crawling back to me like he always does.
Chapter 3
I can’t fucking believe this shit is happening.
I mean really fucking happening.
I’m not referring to the absurd view of Gillette wedged into the kitchen sink of our oceanfront luxury beach house due to the impromptu announcement from Stratton that the floor is now lava, but the fact that Crash Donovan, my best friend…my favorite person…my fucking soulmate… is here, too.
For all three days.
He is here for all three days.
He will be sleeping in the room right next to mine.
For all three days.
He will be sleeping naked in the room next to mine.
For. All. Three. Days.
Naked.
100% naked.
He doesn’t particularly like anything that restricts his movements or him for that matter, which means he will – without the smallest sliver of doubt – be naked in his bed.