The Play (Briar U, #3)(24)

“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.





9





Hunter





I slide into my Land Rover and instantly crank the A/C. Christ, how is it still so hot outside when we’re halfway through September? Don’t get me wrong, I hope it never ends, but I’m actually sweating after spending the past hour in the quad with Demi.

I drive out of the student lot and back to Hastings, where I speed past my residential street to another one a couple of blocks away.

I wasn’t kidding when I told Demi I wish that someone had consulted me about the girls moving into the townhouse. I have nothing against them, but I’m in college, dammit. I want to hang out with the guys. I’m not in the market for a girlfriend this year and there’s no reason why I should know so much about eucalyptus facemasks and what kind of tampons everyone in my house uses. Also, Rupi’s and Brenna’s cycles somehow synced up so now they get their periods at the same time. They’re really mean when that happens.

I park in the driveway behind the beat-up Jeep that Matt shares with Conor. They’re housemates, along with our teammate Foster and two seniors named Gavin and Alec.

When Matty answers the door, I welcome the familiar sounds of guys insulting each other and video game controllers clicking, and the aroma of pizza and stale beer when it’s barely noon. This is college.

“Hey,” I greet everyone in the living room.

Foster is sprawled in the armchair, balancing a beer can on his knee. Gavin and Alec are battling it out in a shooter game. The only notable absence is Conor, who’s probably in class.

I’m not sure whose turn it is with Pablo Eggscobar, but he’s on the coffee table in the drink-cozy harness that Bucky made for him, and he’s rocking a new look. Someone used a black Sharpie to draw eyes and a snout right above Coach Jensen’s scrawl, and voila—Pablo now has a pig face with Jensen’s signature serving as his mouth.

Truthfully, I’m surprised he’s still in one piece. Drunken college guys aren’t exactly conducive to egg rearing.

“What’s up, Pablo?” I greet the egg. He doesn’t answer, because he’s not real, but hey, at least I’m trying to make an effort.

Captain handbook rule number a thousand: pick your battles.

“Who’s playing egg mom today?” I ask.

“Con. But he just went upstairs with some chick, so we’re waiting for the right moment.” Matt settles on the couch.

I flop down on the other end. “The right moment for what?”

Matt and Foster exchange evil grins. “For feeding time. Pablo is about to be hungry as fuck.”

Gavin snorts without looking away from the TV screen.

I stifle a sigh. According to my sources, things have escalated since last week. Jesse Wilkes texted me yesterday bitching about how the other guys wouldn’t stop calling him when he was out with Katie. It’s officially become a game to inconvenience the egg carrier as much as possible.

“How long’s it been?” Alec asks, his fingers moving like lightning over the game controller.

“Only about ten minutes,” Foster replies. “They’re probably still on foreplay.”