The Play (Briar U, #3)(43)

I quickly backtrack. “You know what, it’s not important.” It’s none of my business, I tell myself. Whatever Nico’s doing is his own business.

“I’m joking,” she insists. “Tell me what going on.”

“Uh.”

Silence recommences.

“Come on, Monk, am I going to have to beat it out of you?”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“I’m a lot stronger than I look.” She frowns. “Are you really not going to tell me?”

“Nico,” I blurt before I can stop myself.

And I instantly want to punch myself in the face, because Demi is like a shark that just caught a sniff of blood.

“What about him?” she demands.

“Nothing.” Goddammit, why did I even bring it up? And why is it taking so long to reach Greek Row? I need an escape plan, ASAP.

“Hunter,” she says sharply.

“Fine. Just…don’t shoot the messenger, okay?” I release a quick breath. “I ran into him at a party this weekend at the Alpha Delta house. Saturday night?”

Demi toys with one of her hoop earrings as she thinks about it. “He went out with his work friends Saturday night. I thought they were in Hastings, but I suppose they could’ve gone to that party.”

“They were definitely there. I don’t know if it was with the work buddies or not, but Nico was there. He and I even spoke.”

“Okay. So he went to a party. Big deal.”

“That’s not all he did.”

Her features sharpen again. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I saw him upstairs with some chick.”

Once again, silence falls over the car. Shit. I should not have brought this up at all.

“All right,” she says slowly. “You saw him with a girl. What were they doing?”

“They were exiting a bedroom.”

“Were they naked?”

“Well, no, they were both fully clothed. But…” I don’t want to say it, but I force myself to spit it out. “He was zipping up his pants.”

“Oh.”

“Obviously that doesn’t mean they were doing anything,” I add hastily. “Maybe they both needed to use the bathroom and he forgot to do up his fly after taking a leak. But, speaking as a guy—”

“As a fuckboy, you mean.”

“Whoa.” I’m taken aback by the verbal assault. She must really hate me right now. “Should I remind you I haven’t been sexually active in months?”

“Should I remind me how sexually active you were last year? You said so yourself, remember? So maybe you’re just associating your own behavior with whatever you think you saw Nico doing.” Her lips tighten. “Maybe they were using the bathroom. Maybe they were hanging out or talking or whatever. You don’t know for certain that something happened.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying to you,” I grumble. “I don’t know if anything happened.”

We reach the fork in the road that leads to Greek Row, and I eagerly flick the turn signal. I’ve never been happier to see a sorority house and I’m not even banging anyone inside of it.

“Look, I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Demi doesn’t answer. Her profile is as tense as the current state of my shoulders.

I stop in front of the Theta house. I avoid her eyes as I put the Rover in park. “But I figured I should tell you. You know, just in case.”

“Tell me what? That my boyfriend was talking to some girl?”

“No, that he went upstairs with her, that they were alone in a bedroom, and that he walked out zipping up his pants. Get your head out of the sand, Demi. Men in relationships don’t do that kind of shit.”

I instantly regret my harsh tone. But rather than go silent or meek, Demi’s eyes turn molten. “You don’t know anything about my relationship, Hunter.”

“I know that you already suspected him of cheating on you once.”

“Yeah, when we were kids. He’s matured since then.”

Has he? I want to challenge. I keep quiet, but the unspoken question hangs in the air, and Demi hisses in response to it.

“He has,” she insists. “And you know what? I don’t appreciate you jumping to conclusions, and I don’t appreciate all your fear mongering!”

“Fear mongering?” I can’t help but snicker. “Jesus Christ. All I’m telling you is that I saw the dude zip up his pants. Do with that what you will.”





15





Demi





He was zipping up his pants.

Hunter’s words buzz in my brain as I stalk into house. Despite the late hour, a bunch of my sorority sisters are still up, watching a horror movie. The living room is dark, and I glimpse bowls of popcorn and hear a lot of shrieking at the screen. But I don’t join them. I’m not in the mood.

Instead I go to the kitchen and stick my head in the fridge. I need a snack. Pronto. When I’m agitated, I eat. It’s a habit I probably need to squash, because great metabolism doesn’t last forever, but my mom is in her forties and can still eat whatever she wants, so I’m hopeful for the future. I grab a block of cheddar and angrily start cutting the cheese into cubes.