Page 19 of The Play

My gaze gives the main room a quick sweep, but doesn’t land on anyone familiar. I weave through the crowd toward the arched doorway to the adjoining room, which houses the pool tables and some more booths along the wall. I spot a blonde head and then a brunette one. The Betty and Veronica of Briar University.

“There’s Brenna and Summer in the middle booth.” I raise my voice so Bucky can hear me.

His brown eyes glaze over. “Fuuuuck. She’s so hot.”

“Who? Brenna? Or Summer?”

“Well, both. But I was talking about Summer. That top she’s wearing is…fuuuuck,” he says again.

Yeah, her skimpy yellow halter top is hot, I have to acknowledge as we near the booth. But I’m gratified that the sight of Summer Di Laurentis no longer elicits a sexual response from me. Even celibate, I don’t particularly want to sleep with her.

I had a thing for Summer when she first transferred to Briar, but unfortunately she had a thing for Fitz. And while I still believe my friend was shady in the way he handled the situation, I’m one hundred percent over Summer. She and Fitzy are happy together, and the more time I spend with her living in the same house, the more I realize she’s not my type.

Summer’s too easy, and I don’t mean slutty. She’s just not much of a challenge. She’s easy to please, easy to figure out. Her transparency was initially why I liked her, but I can’t deny it’s more fun when a woman poses a bit more of a mystery.

Not that I’m solving any female mysteries any time soon. No sex means limiting my exposure to women, because I know myself. The more time I spend with someone, the more I want to fuck them. My roommates are the exception. And as of Monday, so is Demi Davis.My new classmate is fun to talk to, but the best thing about her is her boyfriend.

Brenna bolts out of the booth when she spots me. “Hunter! Jesus, what a game!”

“I know, right?”

“You superstar, you.” She flings her arms around me, which is way more touchy-feely than Brenna usually is. But then I see the two shot glasses on the tabletop. Ah. She and Summer already started hitting the vodka.

“Seriously, I was on my feet the entire time cheering my lungs out,” Brenna raves, and I know it’s not just drunken praise. Brenna Jensen is probably the biggest hockey fan (and expert) in this entire bar. She’s definitely her father’s daughter, even landing an internship at ESPN. She works there on weekends, and afternoons when she doesn’t have class.

“That was the ass kicking of the century,” Summer agrees. “I wish Fitzy got to see it, but I was live-tweeting the entire time, so he can read the thread later.”

I sit next to Brenna. Bucky slides in next to Summer. A minute later Matt reappears with a pitcher and a stack of plastic cups. Malone’s has a new Friday night special—half-price pitchers, baby. I don’t plan on going overboard tonight, because we have another game tomorrow. But a few beers won’t hurt.

“Where’s the nutty one?” Matt asks the girls.

“Who? Rupi?” Brenna snickers. “She’s at home watchingGleereruns.”

“Why didn’t she come out?”

“She doesn’t have a fake ID,” I supply. “And she refuses to get one.”

Summer speaks up, mimicking Rupi’s high voice so flawlessly it’s almost like she’s in the booth with us. “I can’tbreakthelaw!I will wait until I am ofage, thank you very much!”

Brenna lets out a rueful sigh. “I honestly don’t know how Hollis puts up with her. And vice versa.”

“For real,” Summer agrees. “All they do is scream at each other.”

“Or make out,” I counter.

“True. They scream or they make out.” Summer shakes her head. “There’s no in between.”

“Is he still coming back on the weekends?” Matt asks, raising his beer to his lips. He takes a sip. “I haven’t seen him in ages.”

“He’s home every weekend,” I confirm. “But he spends most of his time with Rupi. Hollis in love is a scary thing to witness, bro. You need to come over this weekend and see it for yourself.”

Bucky sets Pablo on the table so he can pour himself a beer. When Summer reaches for the egg, he swiftly smacks her hand away. “Pablo isn’t a toy,” he scolds.

“It’s just an egg.”

“Justan egg?” Conor drawls, approaching the booth to catch the end of Summer’s amused response. “That’s our fucking mascot, Di Laurentis. Show some respect.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to insult youregg.”

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