The Play (Briar U, #3)(63)

You’re so hottttt.

9 inches, at your service.

“Hard pass,” I declare, and promptly unmatch Mr. 9 Inches. I open the next message and give it a skim. The guy, Ethan, wrote an entire paragraph introducing himself. “Jeez. Check this one out.”

Hunter reads the message and whistles. “No way. He’s too thirsty. I don’t like him.”

“Me neither.” We seem to be on the same wavelength when it comes to the vibes we’re getting from these men.

Finally, I reach Roy’s message.

Hey Demi! I know this sounds cliché, but you’ve got beautiful eyes. How’s your night going?





“I like him,” I announce.

Hunter chuckles. “Isn’t it sad that all they have to do to gain our approval is possess basic conversational skills and not talk about their cocks? Shows how low of a bar we’re dealing with here.”

“You’re right—that’s sad as fuck. What should I say back?”

“Tell him you like his man-vee.”

Ignoring the suggestion, I type, Thanks! Your eyes are pretty nice too. So is the rest of you ;) Hunter mock gasps. “Demi, you hussy!”

I grin and send a follow-up message.

ME: My night is okay. Doing some schoolwork. How about you?





HIM: My night would be a lot better if we were having a beer together :)





“Oh, he is good,” Hunter remarks.

HIM: What do you say? Should we meet up for a drink tonight?





“Ask him to go to Malone’s,” is Hunter’s advice.

“What? Right now? We’ve literally exchanged three messages.”

“So? You’re not looking for a pen pal or a sexting buddy. The point of this is to get a date, right? You need to meet in person to know if there’s any chemistry.”

“But does it have to be tonight?”

“Why not?”

“I have plans with TJ.”

“Then ask to meet up tomorrow. But trust me, a guy with an ass like that doesn’t last long on the meat market. I’d marry him in a heartbeat.”

I chew on my bottom lip. I suppose I could reschedule with TJ—he and I see each other all the time. And it might be nice to go on a date with someone new. I haven’t done that since high school, during one of my breaks with Nico.

“Okay,” I decide. “I’m meeting Roy tonight.”

“That’s the spirit!” Hunter raises his hand.

We high-five, and then I nervously type out a response to Roy. We make arrangements to meet at Malone’s in an hour. Hunter offers to drive me.

Next, I message TJ.

ME: I need a rain check on dinner. I have a......DATE. Gasp! Can you believe it? How’s tomorrow night?





I see him typing, but it takes almost a full minute before the message arrives.

TJ: No prob. Tomorrow works.





ME: Okay perfect. You da best.





TJ: xoxo





There’s an army of butterflies wreaking havoc on my stomach. “Oh God,” I tell Hunter. “I’m so nervous! And I only have an hour to take a shower and figure out what to wear.”

“Go take the shower. I’ll pick an outfit for you.” Hunter’s already striding toward my closet.

“Clothes,” I warn, wagging my finger at him. “Please pick real clothes, Hunter.”

He’s cackling as I close the bathroom door.





By the time we arrive at Malone’s, my palms are sweaty and my heart is beating dangerously fast. Am I actually doing this? Suddenly I don’t feel so ready.

Hunter parks the Land Rover in the tiny lot behind the bar. He cuts the engine and turns to appraise me. “I do good work,” the jackass says with a pleased nod.

I’ll allow him the outfit—he picked a pair of dark blue skinny jeans, a soft gray sweater that hangs over one shoulder and shows some skin, and black suede boots with short heels. It’s a cute outfit and I look cute in it.

But the accessories? He doesn’t get any credit for those. “I hate these earrings,” I gripe, carefully arranging the big hoops so that they don’t catch in my hair. “You know this. And yet you still peer-pressured me into wearing them.”

“Because you look hot in them,” he protests. “Trust me, they up the outfit’s hotness factor from a nine to an eleven. Just quit complaining and wear them for tonight. One night.”

“Ugh. Fine.” As I slide out of the SUV, I’m surprised to see Hunter do the same. “You’re coming in with me?”

He gives a nod. “Don’t worry, I’ll sit at the bar. I’ll stick around until I’m sure he won’t murder you. Just pretend I’m not there.”

I’m genuinely touched. “Thank you. You’re a good friend.”

We round the side of the building toward the entrance. I can’t believe I’m going on a date. A Tinder date, to boot. That’s pretty much code for “maybe I’ll have sex with you tonight.”

Wait, tonight? I can’t have sex with anyone tonight. I just realized I forgot to shave my legs.