The Play (Briar U, #3)(9)

“Anyway, I’m meeting some of the boys at Malone’s afterward to shoot pool. Don’t wait up.”

“What? No invite?” She mock pouts.

“Nope,” I reply and I don’t feel the slightest bit guilty about it. I live in the estrogen zone, and sometimes it’s imperative I escape it, even if it’s just for the night. “No girls allowed. There’s enough girls in this house already.”

“Oh, you love it. Rupi makes you lunch every day, Summer cooks you breakfast, and I’m always walking around in my underwear. Food and sexy material for your spank bank, Davenport. You’re living the dream.”

“If I was living the dream, I’d be banging all of you every night. At the same time.”

“Ha! You wish. Go have fun with your”—Brenna uses air quotes—“project.”

I give her the finger and leave, and fifteen minutes later I’m back on campus, parking my Land Rover on the tree-lined street that houses Greek Row. It’s Tuesday night and the area is surprisingly quiet. Usually there’s always some nightly party or event happening on Greek Row, but tonight I hear only the faint sound of music from a few of the fraternity houses.

I walk up the flower-lined path that leads to the front door of the Theta house. Nearly every window of the three-story Victorian is lit up. I ring the doorbell and a tall, skinny girl in sweats appears.

She arches an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Demi.” I lift the shoulder that’s holding my backpack. “We’re studying.”

Demi’s sorority sister shrugs, then turns her head and shouts, “Demi! Door!”

I enter the house, which has undergone a drastic makeover since I was here on the weekend. It’s neat as a pin and smells like lemon cleaner, and there’s no scantily clad chicks, drunken dudes, or puddles of beer all over the hardwood.

Footsteps echo on the wooden staircase, and the girl from psych class saunters down the steps, a lollipop sticking out of the corner of her mouth. Naturally, I zero in on her lips, which are glossy and tinged red from the candy she’s sucking on. Her dark hair is up in a high ponytail and she’s wearing plaid pants and a thin white tank top over a black sports bra.

She’s really fucking cute, and I have to force myself to stop checking her out.

“Hi,” she says, giving me a long appraisal.

“Mel, who was at the door?” someone shouts.

There’s a burst of chatter, and then half a dozen girls spill out of the kitchen into the front hall. They all stop abruptly when they notice me. One of them openly undresses me with her eyes, while the others are slightly more discreet.

“Hunter Davenport,” the ogler drawls. “Lord, you’re even better looking up close.”

I don’t normally get shy or stupid around women, but they’re all standing there appraising me, and it’s fucking disconcerting. “Maybe you should give me your number?” I murmur to Demi.

“Why would I do that?”

“So that next time I can text you when I’m here and you can quietly come get me and we could avoid all of…this…” I gesture to our audience.

“What’s the matter? Are you intimidated by a few girls?” Rolling her eyes, Demi leads me toward the stairs.

“Nah.” I wink. “I’m worried about you.”

“Me?”

“Well, yeah. If I keep coming over to see you, your sisters will start getting insanely jealous, and their resentment will eventually make them treat you poorly and you’ll lose all of your friends. Is that really what you want, Semi?”

She laughs. “Oh no! You’re right. From now on you should climb in through my window. Like Romeo.” Her tongue shifts her lollipop to the other side of her mouth. “Spoiler alert: Romeo dies.”

She ushers me into a room on the second floor and closes the door.

I examine the bedroom. The walls are yellow and the bed is one of those four-post ones that looks like it should have a billowing canopy but doesn’t. The bedspread is purple, and there’s a stuffed panda chilling on one of the pillows.

Demi’s desk is laden with textbooks. Chem, bio, and a math one I can’t read the title of. I raise my eyebrows. If she’s taking all of those in one semester, that’s an intense course load and I don’t envy her at all.

But my gaze is more interested in the large bulletin board over the desk. It’s practically overflowing with pictures, and I move toward it to take a closer look. Hmmm, there are a helluva lot of dudes in these photographs. Some girls, too, but Demi’s friend group seems to consist mostly of guys. Several photos feature Demi with the same raven-haired guy. Boyfriend?

“So, how are we doing this?” I ask, dropping my bag on her desk chair.

“Well, Andrews said we’re supposed to treat these meet-ups like real therapy sessions.”

“Right.” I waggle my eyebrows. “You ready to play doctor?”

“Gross. I’m not playing anything with you, hockey boy.”

“That’s hockey man, thank you very much.”

“Okay, hockey man.” Demi digs into her schoolbag and pulls out the manila envelope we got in class yesterday. She sits on the edge of the bed with the envelope on her lap. “All right, so I figured you would be the patient, and I’d be the doctor. That means you’d be doing the easier part of the write-up.”