The Play (Briar U, #3)(34)

But maybe I’m being a jerk. Just because he’s hanging out with some girls doesn’t mean he’s stepping out on Demi.

“Anyway, I spotted you from over there and wanted to say hello,” Nico says, raising his cup in a toast. Except he does it so abruptly that liquid spills over the edge, and the potent odor of vodka reaches my nostrils. His clumsy hands and hazy eyes tell me he’s pretty drunk. “Catch you later, ’kay?”

“Cool. Cheers.” I lift my own cup.

Nico strolls back to his friends. I’m mollified to see that he doesn’t stand next to any of the girls, but is immediately engrossed in conversation with a short, balding guy in a black tank top. I don’t care if Nico catches me watching him—I’m just looking out for Demi. She’s a good egg.

“Just like you,” I tell Pablo, patting my pocket.

“I. HAVE. ARRIVED!”

The majestic shout is courtesy of Mike Hollis, who emerges onto the patio from the back door, both arms raised in a victory pose. Rupi scampers at his heels like an annoyed kitten.

Despite being incredibly obnoxious, Hollis was quite popular when he attended Briar. Old teammates and a slew of fans wander over to say hello and he accepts their welcome and their praise as if he’s Meghan Markle greeting the commoners.

Rupi spots me and marches up. She’s clad in traditional Rupi attire: a knee-length, high-waisted skirt and a prim, buttoned tee with a high neckline.

“I really wanted to watch Riverdale tonight, Hunter,” she huffs.

I throw an arm around her tiny shoulders. “Sorry, Rupes. But sometimes we need to make sacrifices for those we love.”

A huge smile practically breaks her face in two. “Oh my gosh, that was the sweetest thing you’ve ever said. I knew you were a secret softie.”

“Don’t tell anyone. You want a drink?”

“I can’t. I drove us here.”

“I thought you didn’t have a license.”

“No, I don’t have a fake license. Ugh, Hunter, you don’t know me at all.”

I suppose I don’t, and I gotta admit—I’m A-OK with that. Rupi is exhausting on a good day.

“Is that Pablo?” Her expression brightens. “I didn’t know we had him this weekend,” she adds, as if discussing the custody arrangement of a human child. “Let me hold him!”

I extract the pink bundle from my pocket and pass it to Rupi. “Go nuts,” I tell her.

We mingle for the next hour or so. Foster passes me a joint and I take a deep drag before handing it back. I feel good. Loose, relaxed. Happy to just chill with my buddies and dance with Rupi to the crappy pop music blasting from the outdoor speakers. For the first time in ages, I’m not thinking about sex. Women try to catch my eye. Several come over to flirt with me. But I’m not feeling it. No libido for me tonight. Weed has that effect on me.

“Pablooooo!” Hollis crows. He’d been chatting with some dudes from the lacrosse team, but now he rejoins us near the deep end of the pool. “Hand ’im over, babe.”

“Leave Pablo alone,” Rupi chastises, protectively holding the egg to her bosom. “You’re too drunk to hold him.”

“I am not! C’mon, pass ’im to me.”

“No.”

“Fine, then I’ll just…TAKE HIM FROM YOU!” Like a ninja, Hollis snatches the egg from his girlfriend. Only, she’s right—he’s too drunk to be holding small objects. His big paw fumbles with Pablo, who flies out of Hollis’s grip and goes sailing.

Directly into the pool.

Bucky cries out in horror. Hell, even I’m momentarily stunned. We all stare at the little bundle bobbing in the water, which appears blue thanks to the lit-up pool tiles. Nobody moves.

“Did we just kill him?” Foster demands.

“Can pigs swim?” Rupi asks anxiously.

“No idea,” I admit. Pablo is still floating in the pool.

“Quick, someone Google if pigs can swim,” Bucky orders.

Rupi’s already on her phone. “Oh my gosh,” she says a moment later, her voice rippling with relief. “They can! It says here that some pigs take naturally to water, like dogs. Others hate getting wet. You can train them to swim.” She examines our aquatic egg. “If it was a real pig I don’t think he’d be able to get out of the pool by himself, though. There’s no steps in the shallow end.”

“Yeah, he ain’t climbing that ladder,” Foster agrees.

All eyes turn to me.

“What?” I say.

“You’re in charge of him tonight. You need to get him out.”

“Pardon me?” I stare at the empty pool, which an hour ago was teeming with people. Now it’s almost two a.m. and there’s no swimming to be had. “I’m not jumping in the pool, you fuckers.”

“We never trained him to swim,” Bucky argues. “Right now he’s treading water. Soon he’ll be dead.”

“This has gone too far,” I say firmly.

Except, to my genuine shock, everyone stands their ground, even Foster. Bucky crosses his arms tightly.

“Fuck’s sake,” I snap. “You’re seriously gonna make me do this?”

I’m cursing up a blue streak as I strip out of my shirt. Shoes and cargo shorts come off too, because I’m not sitting soaking wet in an Uber on the way home.