The Play: Chapter 8

Nico walks me to class on Monday morning. He’d spent the night, and I feel like we’re back on track again as we stroll hand-in-hand down one of the many walkways that weave through Briar. Although the weather hasn’t turned yet, the colors on campus are slowly beginning to change. I admire the massive trees that line the paths and dot the lawns, marveling at how pretty and quaint everything is. Sometimes it feels surreal. I lived in Miami until I was fifteen years old, so I’m accustomed to palm trees and colorful beach houses, not stately oaks and ancient buildings.

I remember putting up a huge stink when I found out we were moving to Massachusetts. My father had been offered a position at a prestigious hospital in Boston. Head of neurosurgery. Which is a HUGE DEAL. But I was a bratty, entitled teenager, and therefore I wasn’t having it.

Dad, however, doesn’t tolerate temper tantrums. Or rather, he lets me stomp and yell and bitch…and then offers a wry smile and pleasantly asks, Are you done? Because we all know he’s going to get his way at the end of the day. He does the same thing with my mother. Mom personifies the stereotype of feisty Latina, complete with a generations-old family hot sauce recipe and a temper that’s even more explosive than mine. But even Mom can’t win against my father.

After my family moved to Boston, Nico and I endured three years of long distance, summers and holidays. And after graduation, I got into Briar and prayed to the lord above that Nico would too. I was secretly worried for a while there. He’s not stupid, but Briar is a highly competitive Ivy League school, and Nico didn’t have a basketball scholarship or any impressive extra-curriculars to bring to the table. He got good grades, but he wasn’t the valedictorian of his class.

In the end, I think it was his admissions essay that won over the board. He wrote about his arduous journey from Cuba to America. Nico’s father Joaquín had arrived in Miami ahead of his wife and son to work and get settled. Joaquín couldn’t afford a flight to bring the family over, so Nico and his mom ended up traveling by boat. Which sank. No joke. They were adrift on a life raft for two days before a fishing vessel found them and brought them to safety. Eventually they became citizens, and Nico’s sister Alicia was born in Florida.

His pride for this country definitely shone through in his essay. I proofed it for him. And when he received his admissions letter from Briar, I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

As we near the Faculty of Sciences building, I spot a familiar figure—Hunter, and he’s with a stunning blonde.

With the temperature in the mid-eighties today, Hunter’s companion is in a crop top and a filmy white skirt, her golden hair up in a topknot. She’s as pretty if not more so than the brunette he was grinding up against the other night, as well as the cute girl who made him lunch. Lord. Mr. Popular only gets more popular.

I have no idea how he keeps track of all these chicks—three different ones in a week? I mean, good on him, but boy does it seem exhausting.

I lift my hand in a wave. Hunter waves back before saying something to the blonde.

“That’s the hockey guy,” I tell Nico. “Hunter.”

Nico follows my gaze. “He does look very jocky.”

I feel my pocket vibrate, and slide my phone out to read the incoming text.

TJ: Already inside. See u when u get here.

“Do you want to meet for lunch later?” Nico asks.

“Sure. Can we go to the dining hall in the Drama building? Pippa says they just started serving tacos.”

He sighs.

“Did you hear me, babe? Tacos!” I don’t understand why I’m the only one excited about this.

As we finalize our lunch plans, Hunter wanders over to us. “Morning,” he says easily.

“Morning,” I echo, before gesturing to Nico. “This is my boyfriend Nico. Nico, Hunter.”

“Hey, man, how’s it hanging?” Hunter sticks out a hand.

Nico gives it a hearty shake, his dimples digging a groove into his cheeks as he smiles warmly. “S’all good. I hear you’re working on a project with this one—” He jerks a thumb at me. “Good luck, bruh.”

“Uh oh. Please elaborate.”

“Mess up even once, and the tongue-lashing you’ll get…” Nico mock shudders, and Hunter snorts with laughter.

“She’s a real nightmare, eh?”

“Seriously?” I demand. “You two are ganging up on me? That’s not allowed.”

They ignore me. “Any tips on how to handle her?” Hunter asks solemnly.

Nico thinks for a moment. “Give her a lollipop when she’s cranky. All other times, just feed her, or plant her in front of a TV and put on a murder mystery.”

Hunter nods. “Got it. Thanks.”

“Screw you both,” I say cheerfully.

Grinning, Nico gives me a peck on the lips. “A’ight, I got to go. I’ll see you later, mami.”

“Bye, babe.”

“Doesn’t mami mean mother?” Hunter inquires after Nico leaves. He furrows his brow.

“Well, yeah, that’s the literal translation, but it’s also a term of endearment. Mami, papi—it’s like babe or sweetheart or whatever.”

“Huh. Okay.” Hunter pauses. “I give you permission to start calling me Big Daddy, then.”

“Gross. Never.”

He’s chuckling as we enter the building. TJ waits at the door of the classroom, uneasiness flickering through his eyes when he sees me with Hunter.

“Hey. Where’s Pax?” I ask, glancing around.

“No idea.” TJ gives me a side hug and a peck on the cheek.

“Let’s go in,” I say.

Inside the lecture hall, TJ takes the seat beside me, while Hunter flops down on my other side. TJ raises a brow at the intrusion. We don’t usually sit with other people. I just shrug and grin at him. I find Hunter amusing.

The room fills up and Professor Andrews arrives. Pax is still nowhere to be seen.

“Did Pax text you?” I ask TJ.

“Nope.”

“Who’s this Pax?” Hunter butts into the conversation.

“He’s a friend of ours,” I answer. “You talked to him last week—you called him Jax?”

“Oh, right. Jax. That little dude is hilarious.”

“His name’s Pax,” I say in exasperation.

“Pax,” TJ confirms.

Hunter chews on his bottom lip for a moment. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!” I can’t control a burst of laughter. “His name is Pax Ling.”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure he told me it was Jax. We must be talking about different dudes.”

This guy’s unreal.

TJ gives a soft snicker. Apparently even he isn’t immune to Hunter’s weird appeal.

Andrews commences the morning’s lecture, which is an overview of personality disorders. Excellent. I’m happy we’re starting off with PDs. I’m still trying to diagnose my fictional patient, and based on the notes I made during our first session I suspect I’m dealing with a personality issue.

He could be a sociopath, but the characteristic apathy was missing. Antisocial or narcissistic personality disorders are still on the table, and maybe borderline too, although Hunter hadn’t described any mood swings or impulsive behavior, unless you count adultery. But his fake cheating came off as incredibly calculated and not at all impulsive. Hopefully he gives me more to work with in our next session.

Halfway through class, my phone vibrates.

PAX: Partied too hard last night and overslept. Take notes for me!

My nosy seatmate Hunter peers over my shoulder. “Is that Jax?”

“No, it’s Pax.”

“Agree to disagree.”

I fight a smile and turn my attention back to Professor Andrews. She’s discussing a case involving antisocial personality disorder she once encountered and how she reached the diagnosis. I’m obsessed with this course.

After class, TJ links an arm through mine and says, “Want to grab a quick coffee?”

“Actually”—I glance at Hunter—“maybe we could work on the project for a bit? I’m not meeting Nico till one thirty.”

He shrugs. “Sure, let’s do it. I’m done for the day.”

“Rain check on that coffee,” I assure TJ, giving his arm a squeeze.

“No prob. Text me later.”

As TJ ambles off, Hunter stares after him, shaking his head ruefully. “Poor guy.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, poor guy. He’s got a major crush on you, but he’s so deep in the friend zone it’d take the same rescue team that dug out the Chilean miners to save him. And even then I think they’d fail.”

“He doesn’t have a crush on me,” I insist. What is everyone seeing that I’m not? “I’ve had a boyfriend for as long as I’ve known him.”

“So? I’ve had crushes on lots of chicks with boyfriends. My dick doesn’t discriminate.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” I say dryly.

“What does that mean?” he mimics.

“It means in the one measly week I’ve known you, you already hooked up with three different women. Congrats, your penis must be extremely pleased.”

“Oh, trust me, my penis is nowhere close to pleased.” He runs a hand through his dark hair. “You want to go to your house?”

“Why don’t we find a nice spot on the quad?” I suggest. “It’s such a gorgeous day.”

“Lead the way, Semi.”

We follow the wide stone path toward one of the many manicured lawns that make up Briar’s campus. We’re not the only ones taking advantage of the warm weather. There are several picnics in progress, a soccer ball being kicked around, and a game of Frisbee being played in the distance.

We stop underneath a towering tree, its branches drooping over one side like a waterfall. It provides a small pocket of shade, broken up by rays of sunlight that slice through the gaps in the branches. Normally I’d plop right down on the grass, but my short skirt is a shade of beige that won’t hide any potential grass stains.

I peer down at the ground. Well, this is a dilemma.

“Hold up there, girly girl.” To my surprise, big tough Hockey Man strips out of his long-sleeved shirt, leaving himself in a tight wife-beater. He stretches the thin material of his shirt out on the grass. “My lady,” he says graciously.

“Aw, thanks. That was surprisingly nice of you.” I sit down, then lean back on my elbows and tip my head to gaze at the canopy of green above me.

“Why surprisingly?” Hunter demands.

“You didn’t strike me as the chivalrous type.”

“So you thought I was an asshole? Also, why do you think I’m hooking up with three chicks?” He sounds genuinely confused.

“Oh come on, don’t play dumb.” I proceed to tick them off with my fingers. “The girl who brought you lunch last week and practically begged you to love her. The one you were dancing with at Malone’s. The one today, with the blonde hair and supermodel face…?”

Hunter starts to laugh. It’s a deep husky sound that tickles my ears. “I’m not hooking up with any of them. They’re my roommates.”

“Your roommates?” I echo doubtfully.

“Yeah. The loud one is dating one of my friends, the blonde is dating another one of my friends, and the brunette from the bar has a boyfriend. And I live with all three of them.”

“You live with three women?”

“Originally it was me, Hollis and Fitz, but they both graduated and somehow it was decided that Summer, Rupi, and Brenna would move in. No house meeting, no discussion, nothing. Nobody even asked for my opinion. Not that I’m complaining.”

“You are complaining.”

Hunter grumbles irritably. “Fine, I’m complaining. The girls are great, but I would’ve liked it if some of my other teammates had moved in instead. But this arrangement is more convenient for Hollis and Fitz. Hollis comes home on the weekends, and Fitz technically still lives there, but he’s out of town for work a lot. Anyway, the moral of the story is—my dick hasn’t been inside any of them.”

“Well, I’m sure you get lots of action regardless.”

“Nope.”

“Yeah right.” I twist my head toward him. “Have you seen yourself?”

He breaks out in a cocky grin. “Was that a compliment?”

“It was a statement of fact—you’re hot. I know it, you know it, everyone on this lawn knows it.” I nod pointedly at a group of girls sitting not too far away. Nearly every other second, one of them tosses a covetous glance in our direction.

“So, what, good-looking people must be having sex at all times?” Hunter challenges.

I snort. “You play hockey and you’re attractive. Please don’t tell me you’re not having sex. I’m not an idiot.”

“I’m not having sex.”

He sounds dead serious, and I falter for a second. Then it dawns on me. “Oh. We’ve already started the session. Why didn’t you tell me? I should be taking notes!”

A laugh pops out of his mouth. “We haven’t started the session. I’m being serious. I’m celibate.”

“Celibate?”

“Practicing abstinence,” he clarifies.

“I know what celibacy is, Hunter. I just don’t believe you.”

“It’s true.”

“Liar.”

“Honest to God truth.”

“Prove it.”

“How?” Hunter falls back on his elbows, his ripped body shaking with laughter.

I’m about to glare at him for laughing at me when I realize what an impossible demand it was. He can’t prove anything, short of whipping out his dick and having sex with one of those girls over there.

“Okay,” I muse. “I’ll play along. Why are we celibate?”

“We are celibate because we need to focus on the hockey season.”

“You can’t focus on hockey and have orgasms at the same time?”

“Apparently not.”

“Now I’m curious.”

He offers a shrug. “I was kind of an idiot last year. I had this thing for Summer—”

“So what? Everyone loves summer,” I cut in. Where the heck is he going with this?

That gets me a snort. “No, Summer is the blonde I was with earlier.”

“The one who’s dating your friend.”

“Yes. But before she hooked up with Fitz, she and I shared a kiss on New Year’s Eve, and, well, it’s a long story and not very interesting. Basically Fitz said he wasn’t into her and then went behind my back and dated her. I didn’t handle it well.”

“I don’t blame you,” I say, appalled on his behalf. “That goes against the bro code.”

“Right?”

“And you still live with them?”

“Well, yeah. Fitz is a good guy. He was just stupid and in denial about his feelings. Afterward, I was kind of doing my thing and trying to forget about Summer. Basically drinking a lot, sleeping around. But then I ended up sleeping with the girlfriend of an opponent. I didn’t know at the time,” he adds defensively. “We played against his team in our conference finals, and that’s when it all came out. The boyfriend freaked out and broke my wrist.”

“Oh my God.”

“We lost the game and the other team went to the championship and won.” Hunter’s features harden with resolve. “I’m not letting that happen again.”

I chuckle. “I think ‘not having sex’ might be an extreme solution to a simple problem. Here’s an alternative—don’t bang girls with boyfriends.”

“It’s not only that,” he admits. “I’m team captain this year. I want to be a good leader. I want to make up for what happened last year. I think it’s just all-around better if I concentrate on the game and not on chicks or partying.” He reaches into his pocket and checks his phone. “All right, should we do this thing? I’ve got about an hour before I need to go.”

“What’s in an hour?”

“I’m stopping by a teammate’s house.”

I perk up. “The hot one?”

“I’m the hot one, Demi.” Then he winks. “You mean Conor? Yeah, it’s his house, so he’ll probably be there. And don’t you have a boyfriend who I literally met five seconds ago?”

“That doesn’t mean your friend isn’t hot. My girl Pippa liked him.”

“Well, a word of caution—he’s the sex machine that I was last year, so I’d probably steer clear.”

“How long has it been for you?” I can’t help but ask, because curiosity is a bitch.

“Since I fucked someone?”

“No, since you climbed Everest.”

“April. So…what’s that…five months?”

“You poor monk! That’s an eternity!” I tease.

“I know.” He lies down on the grass, using his backpack as a pillow. “It’s awful, Semi. I miss sex.”

“I had sex last night.”

“That’s a cruel thing to say.”

“But it’s the truth,” I protest.

“I just told you about my poor aching balls and you’re bragging about all the action your pussy is getting?” He heaves a dramatic sigh. “How was it?”

“The sex? Pretty good.”

“Start from the beginning,” Hunter orders. “Did he undress you or did you do a striptease for him? Did he—”

I hoot loudly. “Are you trying to live vicariously through me?”

“Yes,” he moans. “I’m not getting any action. I can’t watch porn because someone’s always barging into my room or banging on the door if I dare to lock it—I swear those girls have no decorum. I’m relegated to jerking it in the shower.” He pauses. “Maybe I should look into buying one of those waterproof phones and bring it into the shower? That way I can watch porn and jack off to real-life girls.”

“Those are not real-life girls,” I argue. “Pornography is responsible for creating the most unrealistic expectations of women. Nobody looks like that, and real sex is never like that.”

“What’s real sex like, then?” he challenges.

“Real sex is unscripted. It’s lots of fumbling, and foreheads banging against each other, and awkward positions where your arms and legs get stuck. It’s laughing, cursing, multiple orgasms or no orgasms at all. I mean, it’s fun, but it’s also messy and certainly not perfect.”

He scowls at me. “You’re the worst. Now I’m thinking about all the sex I can’t have.”

“You brought it up.”

“Did I? I honestly don’t remember anymore. I don’t know where sex ends and I begin.”

I laugh. This guy is funny. And he’s much cooler than I’d thought, definitely not the arrogant asshole I expected him to be.

I’m not gonna lie—Hunter Davenport is growing on me.