Page 112 of The Play

I make a mental note to call Darius later for more details.

“But yeah, he’s definitely not over you, or handling this breakup well.” Pippa gazes at the ice, where the Zamboni is shuffling along to smooth out the shiny surface. Then she switches gears from my cheating ex to the friend he cheated with. “Corinne says you two are texting again.”

I nod. “She sent me a funny meme the other day and we had a short convo.”

“For what it’s worth, she still feels terrible about everything.”

“She should,” I mutter, but my anger toward our friend isn’t as powerful as it used to be. Even my anger at Nico has dimmed.

“I really hope you two can be friends again one day, so we canhang out the way we used to. Maybe over the holiday break the three of us could have a girls’ night?”

A sigh flutters out. “I mean, we could try.”

“Hold up—you’retextingand makinghangoutplans with the chick who slept with your boyfriend?” Brenna demands. Her mouth is wide with disbelief, drawing attention to her trademark red lips. It’s the only splash of color amidst her black turtleneck, leggings and leather boots.

Pippa shakes her head wryly. “Seriously, Demi, you’re so fucking forgiving and understanding it makes me want to punch you.”

“Really? Those two wonderful qualities of mine make you want topunchme? Also! You literally just suggested we do a girls’ night. You’re encouraging me to be friends with Corinne again.”

“Yeah, but by agreeing to it you’re setting a bad example for the rest of us. You know, the grudge holders.”

Brenna grins. “I hold a mean grudge, I’ll tell you that.”

I roll my eyes at both of them. “I want to be a psychologist. That means I ought to practice what I preach, right?”

The second period gets underway when the referee skates up to the faceoff and drops the puck.

“How does he not get hurt?” Pippa demands.

“Who, the ref?” Brenna asks.

“Yes! Look at that little guy! He’s way too close to the action. One of those huge monsters could smash into him at any second and break every bone in his body.”

“I know it looks dangerous, but the refs know how to stay out of the way,” Brenna assures her.

A cheer rocks the arena and I squint hard, trying to understand what I’m seeing. #12 is flying past the blue line at the center of the rink. “Oooh, that’s Hunter! And he’s all alone.”

Brenna supplies the hockey lingo. “He’s on a breakaway.”

Oh gosh, he’s tearing toward the opposing net, his stick snapping up in preparation for his shot. As my heart lodges in my throat, I find myself shooting to my feet.

“Holy shit, you’re into hockey!” Pippa accuses, staring up at me in shock.

“Into it? No. But did you see that shot?” Hunter missed, but it was still ridiculously thrilling to watch.

Pippa narrows her eyes. “Ohhhhh,” she finally says. “I get what’s happening. You’re not into hockey. You’re into the hockeyplayer.”

“No,” I lie. Then I groan. “Well, maybe a little.”

Brenna lets out a hoot. “That meansa lot. Have you found the key to his chastity belt yet?”

A laugh pops out of my mouth. “No, sadly. It’s still locked up tight.” I hesitate for a beat. I haven’t told anybody about kissing Hunter, but I suspect that’s about to change. I need advice, and there’s no better time like the present.

So while Brenna and Pippa sit there grinning at me, I confess to the two kisses, which I think of as Bathroom Kiss and Salsa Kiss. “Salsa Kiss involved a butt squeeze,” I confess. “But then he stopped it from going any further. I think I might need to accept he’s not interested.”

“Bullshit,” Brenna says.

Pippa nods in agreement. “If he wasn’t interested, he wouldn’t keep kissing you back.”

---