The Play (Briar U Book 3)

By the end of January, Hunter and I still haven’t defined our relationship. We’re just sort of floating along, having sex on a consistent basis, cuddling, texting, giving each other advice. I attend his hockey games even though I still don’t care about hockey. He watches crime documentaries even though he finds them disturbing.

As Brenna likes to say, we’re in a situationship. But according to Pippa, we’re a married couple who won’t even call themselves boyfriend and girlfriend.Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

Pippa’s right. He’s my boyfriend, and I’m his girlfriend. It’s funny—for two people who communicate extremely well, neither of us has raised the subject. I know why I haven’t, but I wonder what’s holding Hunter back.

Me, I’m scared to make that commitment. What if things change the moment I call him my boyfriend? What if suddenly he decides I’m tying him down or cramping his style, and starts looking elsewhere? It’s an irrational fear, and the bitter memory of Nico’s cheating isn’t helping matters.

The ambiguity of our relationship is a constant source of anxiety for me. Human beings have a compulsion to define things. Definitions provide us with comfort. But I’m torn about what I want more—to label us, or to avoid possible rejection. For now, I simply don’t bring it up, and neither does Hunter.

His team is in the midst of playoffs and he’s been working hard this past week. Practices are grueling, and he’s covered in bruises every time I see him. Tonight he was feeling particularly sore, so I decided to go out with my friends and give his body some time to recover. It’s impossible for me to see Hunter without climbing all over that hard body and banging his brains out.

Hunter, however, is grumpy about being alone tonight. He keeps texting pictures of various parts of his body, some bruised and some not, begging me to come over and kiss them. Eventually, I interrupt Pippa midsentence and say, “Hold that thought. Let me just tell him to eff off.”

ME: I’m with my friends, Monk. The world doesn’t revolve around you.

HIM: Sure it does.

ME: I see. Are you channeling your father?

HIM: OMG you’re right. I’m sorry. The world is not my oyster. I’m just one pearl floating in a sea of pearls.

ME: That analogy is nonsensical. Now go away. I’m with my friends.

HIM: Fine!

I put the phone down. “Sorry, that needed to be done,” I tell my friends.

Pippa, TJ and I are in a cramped booth at one of the campus bars. Corinne is on her way to meet us, and this will be my third hangout with her since everything exploded back in November.

The first time was beyond awkward. We had a movie night at Pippa’s and I couldn’t bring myself to utter a single word to Corinne. Every time I looked at her I pictured her naked with my ex-boyfriend. The second time went better, because there was drinking involved. But then I had one too many tequila shots, which tipped me into Scorned Woman territory and I may have made a snide comment or two. I’m vowing not to do that tonight.

When my phone lights up again, I flip it over facedown. “This guy,” I grumble.

“Hockey boy?” Pippa says with a laugh.

“Yes. He’s all bruised up and sore, so he’s taking it easy at home and he’s bored. When he’s bored, he gets annoying.”

“Don’t they all?”

“Hey, I don’t annoy anyone when I’m bored,” TJ protests. He casually swirls his straw in the strawberry daiquiri we forced him to order.

Originally this was supposed to be girls only, but TJ sounded glum when he realized he couldn’t come, so I told him he could join us as long as he honored the rules of Girls’ Night. AKA ordering lots of brightly colored drinks.

“What’s going on with you guys, anyway?” he asks curiously. “It seems like it’s evolved from just hanging out…”

“Um yeah,” Pippa answers for me. “They’re frickin’ married.”

TJ looks stunned. “For real?”

A snort slips out. “No, not for real. But we do spend a lot of time together.” I pick up my obnoxiously pink drink with its gaudy purple umbrella. “I guess that means we’re dating. I’m not entirely sure, though. We haven’t even had the exclusivity talk.”

“You haven’t?” Pippa raises a brow. “It’s been months, D. What if he’s having sex with other women?”

“He’s not.”

“Of course he is,” TJ says, rolling his eyes.

I scowl at them both.

Pippa objects. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. I didn’t say he was. That’s all this one.” She pokes TJ in the arm.

He raises both hands as if surrendering to enemy soldiers. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. Of course he’s sleeping with other people. I’m telling you this as a college dude who lives in the dorms surrounded by other college dudes. If you don’t make it clear to a guy that you want to be exclusive, I guarantee he’s seeing more than one woman.”

“I mean…TJ has a point,” Pippa says slowly.

“And he was out with all those girls, like, a week ago,” TJ goes on. “He’s definitely hooking up with other people.”

A chill runs up my spine. “What girls? And how do you know what he was doing?”

“I saw something on Instagram.”

“You saw something on Instagram,” I echo uncertainly.

TJ nods. “I follow a shit ton of Briar people. Someone posted a picture of the hockey team at a party, not sure where it took place. Davenport was in the picture kissing some chick.”

Bullshit, I want to retort.

But doubt creeps into me like strands of ivy and tightens around my throat. Hunter did go to an after party last week that I didn’t attend, but that doesn’t mean anything. Moreover, we’re not even an official couple.

I bite the inside of my cheek. Hard. The pain triggered by my teeth doesn’t even compare to the shooting pain in my heart. My stomach lurches. With shaky fingers, I flip over my phone. The last text from Hunter was a kissy face.

I ignore it. Suddenly wondering how many other kissy faces he’s sending and to whom.

“I took a screenshot for you,” TJ admits, “but I deleted it.”

“What! Why?” Pippa thunders.

Misery clouds his eyes as he looks at me. “Because I didn’t want you to think I was trying to cause trouble. I remember how much it annoyed you the last time we talked about Hunter behind his back.”

“Thomas Joseph,” Pippa snaps. “Get your phone out and recover the picture from the deleted folder. I bet it’s probably still in there.”

My heartbeat is erratic as TJ scrolls through his photo roll. I’m almost hoping he doesn’t find the picture. I don’t want it to exist. I want it to be a figment of TJ’s imagination.

“Here it is!” he says, and my stomach plummets like a shot-down missile.

TJ slides the phone toward me. Pippa practically drapes herself over the sticky tabletop to get a good look.

The photo features half a dozen guys and a few girls. I recognize several faces: Matt Anderson, that Jesse guy, and I think that’s Mike Hollis in the corner but it’s hard to tell. Matt has his arm around a smiling redhead, and Jesse is posing next to a girl I think might be his girlfriend Katie. But I don’t see Hunter—

Oh. There he is.

TJ’s right. Hunter is in the photo.

And he is absolutely kissing someone else.