Chapter Fifteen
Xander
MY JAW CRACKS audibly as I take yet another foot to the face, collapse onto the mat, roll around and swiftly pick myself up, trying to force my attention on my opponent.
Seconds later, I'm on the mat again and I pat his shoulder, struggling to catch my breath.
"Wow. Looks like someone's had a busy night." Cody, my training buddy, flashes me a tired, yet satisfied grin as he reaches out and helps me up.
Once I'm on my feet I half-shrug and give him a non-word in response, because I don't think I'm smart enough to articulate just how busy my last I-don't-know-how-many nights have been, as I've been trying to think of something, anything other than a particular blond who somehow decided to turn my mind into his permanent residence and refuses to pay rent.
It's not until Cody gets into position that I force myself to speak human. "I think you've whooped my ass enough for one day," I say, pathetically out of breath. "Same time tomorrow?”
Cody gives me a nod, already waving at some youngster sitting on a bench, embracing the volcano of energy that he is despite being in his fifties.
Meanwhile, I haul my tired, thirty-year-old ass back to the locker room, my own inner Vesuvius fast asleep.
I get to my duffle and instead of grabbing a towel to wipe sweat off my face, I check my phone.
And I find exactly what I was expecting—an empty lock screen.
No missed calls, no voice memos, no cringeworthy memes or weird card references I never understood, something I always intended to research eventually, but have no reason to anymore. In other words, no sign of Xander.
If only he was willing to vacate my mind with half the ease with which he vacated my life.
***
MY HAIR'S STILL wet from the shower as I make my way back home from the dojo thirty minutes later, the chilly November breeze biting into my scalp.
I window-shop my way home, trying but failing to focus on the premature Christmas decorations, all in an effort to get my mind off my mute phone and the one responsible for its uncomfortable silence.
"Hey, big guy!" a familiar voice reaches me from my left, providing a much needed distraction.
My head snaps to where Sawyer raises his hand in a greeting gesture from across the street. Blake, his new boyfriend, mirrors his motion at his side, both sporting semi-formals under long winter coats.
Blake looks nice.
Sawyer looks ridiculous.
"What's with the attire, dude?" I ask as I cross the street where I'm not supposed to.
"Last exam, baby. We're officially free."
He shakes my hand, fist-bumping Blake at the same time, and only then I notice another pair of eyes glaring at me from above their shoulders.
"Afternoon," Xander says in a cadence more formal than the graphite suit he's wearing.
Hell. I forgot they're all in the same Uni.
I answer him with a nod, adjust the strap of my bag that's suddenly digging into my shoulder, and stuff my hands into my pockets, not knowing what else to do with myself.
The air around me thickens with awkwardness and words unspoken. Both Sawyer and Blake seem blissfully oblivious.
"Where you headin’?" Sawyer's tone seems way too inviting for the question to be random, and before I can come up with an answer, Blake chimes in.
"With us, that's where. Come. We're celebrating."
I'm just about to politely decline the offer, my brain graciously supplying an idea of an imaginary neighbor's cat that needs to be fake fed, but I don’t miss the scoff and exaggerated eye roll of a certain blond behind them.
And before I can think better of it, my mouth curls into an ironic smile and I say, "I'd love to. "
That's what happens when you leave your body to its own devices.
***
THE SECOND WE enter the tiny dive bar, and cigarette smoke mingled with the smell of whisky and sweat hits me, I’m sure Sawyer picked the venue.
As we push our way between tiny, scraped tables, I can only hope the stay here will be better than the road here. It couldn't possibly be worse. Or funnier.
We’d been walking for about ten minutes, during which Sawyer and Blake led the way, while Xander and I strolled side by side behind them. Not talking to each other, not looking at each other, actively avoiding it.
At one point, when I was explaining something to Sawyer, I got a bit too excited waving my arms and accidentally bumped shoulders with Xander.
The hostility I felt before I even looked at him was uncanny, and when I did, I had to physically stop myself from bursting out laughing because Xander looked at me like I just murdered a kitten.
Blake points to a free table in the corner, and we follow him. There are only two chairs. Sawyer and I both grab free ones from around the neighboring tables.
Sawyer passes the chair he grabbed to Blake and Blake takes a seat.
I pass mine to Xander.
But Xander gives me another dead stare and makes a point of taking two extra steps to reach for a different chair. It's both hilarious and annoying.
As we settle, Sawyer glances toward the bar, signaling the bartender with four fingers.
Initially, I consider asking Sawyer what he's ordering, but then I look around at the patrons, lost in conversations between lungfuls of smoke, and at the makeshift stage where a few men fumble with their respective instruments, something which I refuse to call playing because they seem to live by the philosophy of What are notes, anyway?
, and the only person semi-remedying the situation is the woman with the microphone being the only one in key.
Needless to say, I decide Sawyer knows best what's safe to order.
Sawyer turns back to us and Blake's head drops onto the table with a thud.
“Damn. I haven’t realized how exhausted I really was until about now,” Blake mutters to the table, the tension of what I can only assume was a difficult exam session seemingly rolling off him all at once.
Sawyer puts his hand between Blake's shoulder blades, gently, in a non-Sawyer fashion, with the affection only seen in new couples. “You did great. We did great.”
Blake picks himself up with a groan. "Maybe, but at what cost?"
They both chuckle, but the air to my left where Xander sits remains perfectly still.
The bartender then comes with a tray of four lagers, doubling as a waiter. Sawyer picks up his glass and the rest of us follow suit, and he raises a toast to higher education.
“Here, here,” I say and take a sip, almost spitting it out immediately. Worst fucking lager I’ve ever had.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Xander wincing as he drinks. Blake takes a sip, squints, moves his head from left to right as if to say, not bad. It’s gotta be Sawyer's doing.
For the next hour our conversation drifts from topic to topic, and as the minutes tick by it becomes glaringly obvious that Xander only engages in topics started by either Sawyer or Blake, skillfully remaining mute on the subjects of gym, the weather, Skin on Skin or any other subject started by myself.
He’s so fucking obvious Sawyer and Blake would pick up on it immediately, if only they weren’t fully engaged in alternating between mutual teasing, reassuring, and soothing gestures.
"I hear Jesse's sister is pregnant. With twins," I say once we've exhausted the topics of food, work and academia and transitioned straight into gossip.
"No fucking way!" Sawyer and Blake say in unison, and then Sawyer adds, "I take one week off and people start multiplying?"
"Yep. I'm sure she waited till your energy no longer dragged the mood down to seduce her fiancée."
Blake grins and says, "Yep. He does have that effect on people." Sawyer smacks both me and Blake simultaneously, and I feel more than see Xander's head snapping in my direction.
I tense up. Talk about bringing the mood down. Bracing myself, I slowly turn my head until I’m met with a murderous stare.
What now?
I raise an eyebrow in a silent question and Xander gives me the fakest smile I’ve ever seen on a person. Anyone else would look nasty, sporting a smile like that, but not Xander. Somehow, even when he tries to look bad, he’s gorgeous.
Xander's teeth grit together as he says, fake smile intact, "Excuse me.
" Then his chair makes an annoying, squeaky sound as he rises to his feet, maintaining eye contact with me for a prolonged moment before he snaps his head around and marches on, raising his arms up as he maneuvers between chairs and makes his way toward a tiny alcove where he disappears in the shadow.
"What's up with him?" Blake asks and Sawyer shrugs in response.
That’s it. Enough hissy fits for one day.
"I'll go check," I say as I get up and follow Xander's path.
Unlike Xander, I bump into every single chair I pass, throwing "Excuse me," left and right to people that don't even seem to notice.
When I finally reach the alcove, I fully intend to wait and confront him as he leaves what I assume is the restroom.
But the second I make my final left and my eyes adjust to the semi-darkness, I take a sharp step back when I almost physically run into Xander who's all but guarding the bathroom door.
One look at him lets me know he means business. His features are sharp and focused, thick burrowed brows casting a shadow over his already deep-set eyes and he's standing very straight, with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, one foot tapping on the ground.
The second our eyes lock, his turn into thin, horizontal lines.
I mimic his pose. Minus the foot tapping. "So?" I prompt, keeping my voice low.
Xander doesn't seem to have the same fondness for privacy and deadpans loud enough to challenge the cacophony of out-of-tune instruments being abused on the stage. "Stop trying to steal my friends."
I jerk my head back and blink twice. Clearly, I heard him wrong. "What was that?"
"You heard me. Get your own fucking friends.”
I scoff. "Do you realize how ridiculous you sound?"
Xander's eyes become even narrower, if that's possible. "Do you realize I don't care?"