The Play (Briar U, #3)(5)

“Did you seriously just tell Thomas Joseph not to worry?” Pax demands. “That’s his default mode.”

He’s not wrong. TJ is a walking, talking ball of anxiety.

TJ glowers at us. He doesn’t like being made fun of, especially about his anxiety, so I reach out and take his hand, giving it a warm squeeze. “Don’t sulk, hon. I like that you’re a worrywart. Means I’m never late for anything.”

With a slight smile, he squeezes my hand back. TJ and I met in freshman year when we lived in the same dorm. My roommate had been absolutely unbearable, so TJ’s room became sort of a sanctuary for me. He’s not always the easiest person to get along with, but he’s been a good friend to me from day one.

“Waaaaaiittt!”

The female shriek pierces the breezy morning air. I turn my head to see a petite girl sprinting down the tree-lined path. She’s clad in a knee-length black dress with big white buttons running down the middle. One arm is thrust skyward, waving what looks like a plastic food container.

A dark-haired guy pauses near the steps. He’s tall and noticeably fit, even while wearing a bulky gray hoodie with the Briar U logo on it. A frown creases his handsome face when he realizes he’s being chased.

The girl skids to a stop in front of him. I can’t hear what he says to her, but her response is loud and clear. I think she might be one of the loudest people I’ve ever encountered.

“I made you lunch!” Smiling broadly, she presents the container as if she’s handing him the Holy Grail.

Meanwhile, his body language conveys annoyance, as if what she’s actually handing him is a bag of dog poop.

Seriously? His girlfriend made him lunch and he’s not throwing his arms around her in gratitude? Jerk.

“I hate that guy,” mutters TJ.

“You know him?” I can’t hide my dubious expression. TJ doesn’t hang out with many jocks, and the guy we’re looking at is one hundred percent a jock. Those broad shoulders are a dead giveaway.

“That’s Hunter Davenport.” Pax is the one who speaks, and I instantly recognize that tone of voice. Translation: oh-em-gee I want to lick that boy up.

Sure enough, he’s got a dreamy look in his eyes. “Who’s Hunter Davenport?” I ask.

“He’s on the hockey team.”

Nailed it. I knew he was an athlete. Those shoulders, man. “Never heard of him,” I say with a shrug.

“You’re not missing out. He’s just some rich prick jock,” TJ says.

I arch a brow. “What do you have against him?” TJ doesn’t normally bash student athletes. Or anyone, for that matter, aside from the occasional jab at Pax.

“Nothing. I just think he’s gross. I caught him banging some slut in the library last year. Fully clothed, but with his pants pulled down revealing half his ass. He had her right up against the wall in one of the study rooms.” TJ shakes his head in disgust.

I’m disgusted too, but more so with my friend’s rude representation of Davenport’s companion. “Please don’t use that word,” I chide. “You know I’m not into slut-shaming.”

TJ is instantly contrite. “Sorry, you’re right, that wasn’t cool. If anything, Davenport was the slut in that scenario.”

“Why does anyone have to be a slut?”

“I want to be his slut,” Pax says absently. His gaze remains glued to the dark-haired hockey player, who’s still bickering with his girlfriend.

The girl keeps pushing the Tupperware into his hand and he keep pushing it back into hers. I think he’s saying he won’t have time to eat, because her answering screech is, “There’s always time to eat, Hunter! But you know what, fine. Go hungry. Forgive me for trying to offer you nourishment!”

Grinning, I cup my hands around my mouth and holler, “Just take the fucking lunch already!”

Davenport’s head swivels my way. He gives me a deep frown.

The girl, on the other hand, beams at me. “Thank you!” She shoves the container in his hand one last time and flounces off. Her kitten heels snap like tap shoes against the cobblestones that comprise most of the historical campus.

Hockey Boy is glowering as he stalks toward us. “You have no idea what you just did,” he growls at me. His voice is deeper than I expect, with a cute rasp to it. He lifts the container. “Now we set a precedent. She’ll be making my fucking lunch all semester.”

I roll my eyes. “Wow, forgive her for trying to offer you nourishment.”

Sighing, he starts to move away. Then halts. “Oh hey, how’s it going, man?” he says to Pax.

My friend’s jaw drops to his white tennis shoes. They look new too, so I guess the shirt wasn’t the only thing he picked up in Boston.

“Hi,” Pax blurts out, clearly stunned to be singled out.

“You were in my Alternative Media class last term. Jax, right?”

To my disbelief, Pax nods stupidly.

“You in this Abnormal Psych class, too?”

“Yes,” Pax breathes.

“Cool. Well, see you in there.” Davenport claps Pax on the shoulder before sauntering up the stairs toward the building’s entrance.

I stare pointedly at my friend, but he’s too busy gawking at Davenport’s ass.

“Hey Jax,” I mock. “Earth to Jax.”