The Play (Briar U, #3)(105)

Oh. There he is.

TJ’s right. Hunter is in the photo.

And he is absolutely kissing someone else.





35





Demi





My heart jumps to my throat in horror, tightening my windpipe and making it difficult to breathe. In the photo, the blonde’s mouth is fused to Hunter’s in a frozen kiss captured for all of eternity. Permanently documented for me, Demi Davis, to see.

Jealousy and anger form a pretzel in the pit of my stomach. I’m allowed to feel the former, but not the latter.

“D?” Pippa says.

I paste on a careless expression. “We never had the are-we-exclusive talk.”

She sees right through me. “Oh, babe. We don’t know when this was taken,” she points out.

TJ speaks up. “It was posted like six days ago.”

“That doesn’t mean it was taken six days ago,” argues Pippa.

“Why would someone post an old picture?”

“Are you serious? People do it all the time! Throwback Thursday? Flashback Friday? Way-back Wednesday?”

“The caption doesn’t use any of those hashtags,” TJ counters.

“Maybe they forgot. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what?” a third voice joins in.

I glance up at Corinne’s arrival. She’s wearing an oversized sweater and skinny jeans, her curly hair pulled back with a yellow scrunchie. She climbs into the booth beside me, and now it feels even more cramped.

“We’re just arguing about this picture of the guy Demi is dating,” Pippa explains.

“Hockey boy?” Corrine asks.

“Yeah.” That awful cold sensation keeps fluttering through my body.

She picks up the phone. “Which one is he?”

I point at Hunter and the blonde. They’re still kissing in the picture.

Dammit. I was kind of hoping I’d look at it again and they’d be standing on opposite sides of the frame.

Corinne studies the image. “This is the guy you’re seeing?”

“Yep.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” She seems genuinely upset on my behalf. Or maybe it’s just pity. Poor Demi, the girl who keeps getting shafted for other chicks.

Pippa grabs the phone again and spends an inordinate amount of time examining the screen. “No, this is definitely an old picture,” she finally announces. “I recognize this girl.” She taps the face of the redhead beside Matt Anderson. “That’s Jenny.”

“Who’s Jenny?” asks Corinne.

“She was in one of my acting classes freshman year.” Pippa appears both relieved and triumphant. “It’s an old picture, D. I promise.”

“How can you be sure?” I’m almost embarrassed by the balloon of hope rising in my chest.

“Because she doesn’t go here anymore. She transferred to the drama program at UCLA more than a year ago.”

“Seriously?”

“How do you know it’s her?” TJ asks. “It’s not the clearest shot. Or maybe she’s in town visiting friends, you don’t know.”

“Hold on. Let me find her Insta account so we can compare pics. Amuse yourselves for a minute, girls and boy.” She bends over her phone, a woman on a mission.

I try to focus on Corinne as she chats about her new classes this semester, but when Pippa gives a shout of satisfaction, my focus ricochets back to her in an instant.

“See!” She lays down her phone, side by side with TJ’s. “That’s Jenny.”

I compare the pictures. It’s the same girl.

“And she’s not visiting,” Pippa adds. “According to her Insta, she’s been in Hawaii with her family for the past few weeks.”

Relief courses through me, so overpowering that I feel faint. And sick. And afraid.

Not defining a relationship is a terrible place to be in. But what’s even more terrible is the current state of my mind and heart. I went from zero to infidelity in a nanosecond. Instantly succumbed to suspicion and assumed Hunter had made out with someone else at a party.

I force myself to drink my entire daiquiri. To listen to Pippa and Corinne, to express interest when TJ talks about how he’s visiting his brother in England this summer. But I can’t concentrate. I’m too riled up from that false alarm. I feel stupid and uncertain.

I need to talk to Hunter.

“Hey, I’m going to take off,” I say when Pippa suggests ordering another round. “My head’s not in this.”

TJ looks disappointed. “It’s only nine-thirty.”

“I know. I’m sorry. But I’m emotionally exhausted.”

“It’s cool,” Pippa says, waving a hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow anyway. Dinner with Darius, remember?”

“Right.” I say my goodbyes, then zip up my parka and exit the bar.

Greek Row is a three-minute walk from here, but I’m not headed home. I order an Uber, and fifteen minutes later I’m in Hastings, ringing Hunter’s doorbell.

Summer lets me in. “Hey. I didn’t know you were coming over.” She greets me with a dazzling smile, because that’s the default mode for her face. Dazzling.