My mouth is sawdust. From the corner of my eye, I catch Summer giving us an odd look. I’ve given up on dancing because my dick is way too hard. “Are you serious right now?” I demand. Because I don’t buy it.
And I’m right not to.
“Oh my God, Hunter. Of course I’m not serious.” Mischief gleams in her expression.
“So you and Connelly don’t have an open relationship?”
“No!”
I stare at her. “What if I’d said yes? What if I’d kissed you?”
“Then Jake would catch the next redeye from Edmonton and your body would probably never be found.”
“You’re such a bitch,” I sigh.
“Sorry.” She’s still laughing, but she has the decency to sound somewhat repentant. “I couldn’t help myself. This celibacy thing of yours is fascinating. But…dude, if you’re so hard up that you were actually considering hooking up with me? Then I don’t know how you’re ever gonna survive this.”
Me neither.
“Whatever, c’mere,” I grumble, tugging her against me. “Let’s just dance.”
“You sure?”
I nod miserably. “Yeah, why not. What’s a boner between friends, right?”
7
Demi
I follow Nico into the busy bar. We’re meeting some friends at Malone’s, which is the only bar in Hastings.
Nico and I don’t come here often; if we’re hanging out in town, we usually invite people to Nico’s apartment and chill there. But my boyfriend was in the mood to go out tonight, and I wasn’t about to complain. Malone’s makes the best nachos in town. And the best chicken wings. The best burgers. The best—ugh, okay, the entire menu is stellar.
“Do you see Pippa?” I stand on my tiptoes and scan the crowded main room. “She texted that they’re in a booth near the—oh, there she is.”
Nico follows my gaze. “Who’s she with?”
“Looks like Corinne and Darius and—oh wow, TJ actually showed up.” I invited him to join us, but I hadn’t expected him to come, because TJ’s not particularly social. When we go for lunch or to the movies, it tends to be just the two of us. He’s not big on crowds or groups.
Nico makes a face at the mention of TJ.
“Be nice,” I chide.
“He’s a pendejo, Demi.” My boyfriend always reverts to Spanish when he’s dissing someone.
“He is not. He’s my friend.”
“Friend? C’mon, babe, he’s in love with you.”
It’s not the first time Nico’s voiced that sentiment, but I don’t believe it to be true. “He’s not in love with me.”
“Oh really? Then why’s he always staring at you with moon eyes?”
“You’re imagining it.” I shrug. “And even if he is in love with me—so what? We both know who I’m in love with.”
“Damn right we do.” Nico curls a hand over the back of my head and pulls me in for a kiss.
To my surprise, he slips me some tongue and the next thing I know we’re engaged in a mini make-out session in the middle of the bar. It draws catcalls from a group of guys in hockey jerseys, and I’m blushing as I pull back.
“What was that for?” I smile at my boyfriend.
“Just for being you.” Nico takes my hand and brings it up to his lips. Like the Latin heartthrob he is, he brushes a kiss over my knuckles.
He’s being extra sweet tonight, and in all honesty I love it. He turned down my sex advances last weekend because he was too tired, and then he bailed on me this week because of his car. I deserve to be spoiled a bit.
“Go join the group. I’ll grab us some drinks,” Nico offers before heading for the ridiculously long line at the bar.
As I walk toward my friends’ booth, I glimpse a familiar face through the doorway that separates the main room with the adjoining one.
Hunter Davenport is dancing with a stunning brunette in a tight tank and blood-red lipstick. He’s whispering in her ear. When he lifts his head to look at her, I don’t miss the ruddy flush of his cheekbones and his heavy-lidded eyes. Uh-huh. Someone’s getting laid tonight.
I wonder how his lunch girl feels about that…
The idea of dating multiple people sounds like a nightmare to me. Although, what sounds even worse is being the girl who is dating the guy who’s dating multiple people. I’m a possessive bitch, thank you very much. My man’s not allowed to see other women when he’s with me. And if I ever do wind up having to date again, I’d stake my claim immediately and make sure to have the exclusivity talk before the dude is even allowed to hold my hand.
Like my mom always says, know your worth. Make them work for it.
But to each their own. Hunter clearly has a lot of luck with the ladies. The girl he’s dancing with laughs at whatever he just said, and as he shakes his head in amusement, he catches sight of me in the doorway. He dips his chin in greeting.
I blow him a kiss. He grins and refocuses on his date, while I join my friends.
“Demi!” Pippa squeals, jumping out of the booth to throw her arms around me.
“Heya, chica.” Pippa is my best friend at Briar. We met at freshman orientation, discovered we both grew up in Florida, and were instantly inseparable.
“Hey,” our friend Corinne greets me. “I love that skirt.”
“Thanks, it’s like a million years old.” I smooth my hands over the front of my distressed denim skirt. It’s autumn, and I’m still wearing short skirts and tank tops. I don’t know whether to hate or love global warming.
I lean into the booth to smack a kiss on TJ’s cheek. “I can’t believe you’re here,” I tell him. “I’m so glad you came.”
He blushes slightly and takes a huge gulp of his beer. Beside him is Darius Johnson, a good friend of mine and Nico’s.
“Hi, D,” I say.
“Hi, D,” he mimics, and we both grin. When we first met, there was a bit of competition about who’d get to keep the nickname, but in the end we decided to share it.
“Where’s the rest of the crew?” I ask. Wherever Darius is, there’s usually at least three other basketball players not far behind. But they’re nowhere to be found tonight.
“Briar won the hockey game,” Darius explains. “They didn’t want to deal with all the hockey fans. Those guys are nuts.”
As if to prove that point, a trio of dudes choose that moment to drunkenly lumber past our booth screaming, “Bri-ar! Bri-ar!” One of them is waving his black-and-silver jersey in the air, which means he’s stumbling through the bar shirtless. Classy.
Nico returns with a pink daiquiri for me, and a bottle of beer for himself. It’s a Cuban brand that you can rarely find in the States and yet somehow Malone’s actually serves it. It makes me smile, because I’m pretty sure my mom is the one who introduced Nico to that beer. I remember she let him taste hers at my fifteenth birthday party. He’s been drinking it exclusively ever since.
“What have you been up to this week?” I ask Corinne as I slide in across from her. “You never answered my text about unpacking. Did you still want help?”