The Play (Briar U Book 3)

“The way I see it, there’s five of us and only one of you.” Nico chuckles, his dark eyes glinting with impending violence. “Sure, you’re the hockey guy. I bet you can fight real good. But can you take all five of us?”

I know I can’t. I glance toward Matt’s front door. It’s closed, and the pulsing music thudding in the house tells me that even if I shouted for backup, nobody would hear me. My best hope is that someone decides to brave the early December chill, come out to smoke a cigarette or a joint, and throw me an assist.

But what I’d prefer happen is that I defuse this bomb before it goes off in the first place.

“Look, Nico. You seem like a cool guy. You made a mistake, and there’s no need for violence, okay? Even if I didn’t tell Demi about the party, she would’ve found out through her friend. But you’re right—what I did went against the bro code. I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

“Damn right you should have.”

“So I’m sorry for that, okay? With that said, you really need to take your hands off me.” Adrenaline is already surging in my bloodstream. Nico’s right—hockey players are no strangers to fighting. I’ve gotten into scraps on the ice, and off of it. I can hold my own in most physical confrontations.

But not when it’s five against one.

“Sorry, jock boy, but you’re not getting off that easy.” Nico chuckles.

“For chrissake, man, you’re gonna punish me when you’re the moron who cheated on your woman—”

The first blow cuts me off and sends my head rearing back. His fist crunches against my jaw, a jolt of pain shooting down my neck. Just as I straighten out, two of his buddies are suddenly behind me, locking my arms behind my back. Presenting me like a juicy carcass to a pissed-off hyena.

Nico cracks the knuckles of his right hand, then the left. “All I’m saying is, us men need to stick together. And the fuckers who don’t, deserve to get their ass whupped.”Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

His second punch collides with the corner of my mouth.

I taste blood. I spit it out onto the pavement. “Get your punches in,” I tell him in a resigned tone. “If that’s what makes you feel better. But it’s not gonna bring Demi back and it’s not gonna change the fact that you’re a sack of shit—”

The next blow gets me in the ribs.

Fuck.

My side is already sore from a hit I took in the game tonight, and now my entire ribcage is throbbing and I’m goddamn pissed. The anger brings another jolt of adrenaline that enables me to scramble out of the iron-hold on me. I elbow one of Nico’s friends in the throat, manage to land a punch in another one’s stomach, but then my body is thrown back like a rag doll, and they all swarm again.

“What the hell!” someone shouts from the porch.

The cavalry has arrived.

Matt comes tearing down the frost-covered lawn. More shouts and angry curses fill the night as six more hockey players race toward the curb. Someone grabs me and shoves me aside. Nico and his cronies retreat, creating about three feet of distance as the two groups face off with each other. My bottom lip is caked with blood. Nico’s ragged breaths exit his mouth in rapid puffs.

“Go home,” I tell him.

“Fuck you,” he snaps.

“You really don’t want to stick around, Nico. You’re the one who’s outnumbered now, and there’s already been enough violence tonight, okay?” I drag my forearm over my mouth to sop up the blood. “Just get out of here.”

“Stay away from my girl.”

She’s not your girl, I want to say, but I resist the urge to provoke him.

Beside me, Conor takes a slight step forward. “Leave,” he drawls, and despite the laidback tone, his expression is deadlier than I’ve ever seen it.

It has the desired effect. Nico spits on the ground, and then he and his friends stalk off toward a nearby truck. I watch them go, hoping that the shitshow is truly over and this wasn’t just the first act.

I’m cleaning my face in the hall bathroom when I hear the commotion beyond the door. My shoulders instantly tense. Nico had better not be back—

“Is he in there? Hunter, are you in there!”

I relax at the familiar voice. “In here,” I call out.

I’d left the door slightly ajar, and Demi wastes no time pushing it open. She appears in all her fierce glory, hands on hips, eyes on fire.

“I’m going to kill him!” she thunders when she sees my face. “Are you okay? I cannot believe he did this!”

“How’d you find out what happened?” I frown. “And how’d you get here?”

“I called a campus taxi right after Brenna called.”

Frickin’ Brenna. With impeccable timing, she’d shown up just as we were all trudging inside after the fight. She must’ve phoned Demi before she’d even taken off her coat.

“You’re bleeding,” Demi frets. “Brenna said you weren’t badly hurt.”

“I wasn’t,” I assure her. “My lip split open again because I was laughing at something Conor said.”

Guilt floats through her expression. “I am so sorry. How did he even know you were here?”

“Apparently he was at Boston College earlier, asking random people where I was. I think he and his friends were drunk.”

Demi’s entire body vibrates with anger. “I’m unblocking him so I can yell at him.”

“Don’t. You blocked him for a reason. And it’s fine, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” She reaches for my face. I try to swat her hands away, but she’s not having it. “Let me look at it, dammit.” Her fingertips tenderly graze the side of my mouth.

A shiver runs up my spine.

Her bottomless brown eyes lock with mine. “This is it? Just the busted lip?” Her hand sweeps up my face to gingerly examine my cheekbone.

I wince. “He got me there too, but that one’ll just be a small bruise.”

“I can’t believe he did this,” she says again.

“Nah, I get it. He heard about our dalliance with the cops last night and jumped to conclusions.”

Her jaw drops. “How on earth did he find out about that?”

“It’s gotten around,” I admit. “Coach told Brenna, so now the entire team knows about it, and people talk. He lives in Hastings, right? Hell, he could’ve heard someone talking about it at the diner.”

“Maybe.” She curses. “Ugh. You’re bleeding again. Sit down, will you?”

I dutifully lower myself onto the closed toilet lid. If she wants to fuss over me, then I’m going to let her.

She shoves some toilet paper under the sink faucet, then presses the wet wad against my lip to soak up the blood.

“Let’s leave this on here for thirty seconds or so,” she murmurs. “Hopefully the pressure will stop the bleeding for good.”

I try not to smile. “You know I could be doing this myself, right?”

“Just let me do it, Hunter. Please. This is all my fault.”

“It’s not your fault.”

She kneels on the floor and damned if that position doesn’t send a flurry of dirty images to my brain. If a woman’s on her knees in front of me, it’s usually because she’s about to undo my pants and take my cock out. My eyes dip to Demi’s pink lips. I imagine the tight suction of them around the head of my cock and suddenly it becomes difficult to swallow.

I jerk my gaze away from her mouth.

“What?” she says urgently. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I croak. Christ. My dick is harder than stone.

“What’s wrong? You look like you’re in pain! Is this hurting?” She reduces some of the pressure.

“It’s all good. Don’t worry about it.”

Demi bites her lower lip. Fuck, I need to stop fixating on those gorgeous lips. But I can’t. They’d probably feel so soft and warm pressed against mine.

We should not be alone together right now. I’m still hopped up on adrenaline from the game, from the fight.

“I don’t know whether to believe you or not,” she mutters.

“I’m fine. Trust me, I’ve suffered worse from playing hockey.”

She removes the toilet paper from my lip. It’s soaked red, and she makes a face before tossing it in the wastebasket. “The bleeding stopped,” she says.

“That’s good.”

Her fingertips run over my cheek again.

“Demi,” I say thickly.

“Yeah?”

“Please stop touching me.”

She looks startled. “Why?”

“Because no one’s touched me like that in ages. You realize this is essentially torture?”

She presses her lips together as if resisting a smile. “It’s turning you on?” Her knuckles graze my cheekbone, the one that isn’t bruised. “This? This is turning you on?”

“Yes,” I say through gritted teeth. “Therefore—please stop.”

My protest sounds hollow to my own ears, so I’m not surprised when an impish glimmer fills her eyes. “What if I don’t want to?”

“Well, it’s not about what you want, now is it?” In one swift motion, I lock her wrist with my right hand and move it away from my face.

Only, I make the mistake of putting it near my knee, and now her fingertips are centimeters from my thigh. I almost expect her to move her small palm in a caress, but she keeps it still. A slight crease appears in her forehead as her gaze fixates on my mouth.

“Am I bleeding again?” I ask hoarsely.

She slowly shakes her head.

“Then why are you staring at me like that?”

“You got beat up because of me. I feel bad.”

I study her preoccupied expression. “Really, that’s why you’re staring at me?”

Her brown eyes abruptly come into focus. “Well, no. That’s just me feeling bad. I’m staring at you because I want to kiss you.”

I inhale sharply. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“I’m not going to, not unless you’re into it. But that doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about it. We’re making out hardcore in my head right now.” She blinks innocently. “It’s amazing, in case you’re wondering.” Her eyes twinkle. “I urge you to reconsider.”

A beautiful girl is begging me to kiss her. How is this even a quandary? But I promised myself I wouldn’t hook up during the season. It might not be the most noteworthy vow any human being has ever taken. I’m sure others have made sacrifices for much nobler causes. But this was important to me. Is important to me.

“Is that a no?” she prompts when I remain quiet.

“It’s a…” I trail off helplessly.

Demi leans toward me. “If you don’t want it, stop me,” she whispers, but I’m powerless to stop her, because I want it as bad as she does.

“Just one taste,” I mumble, and holy fuck, I was right—her lips are soft. They feel like heaven as she gently rubs them against mine in the sweetest of kisses.

The moment our mouths make contact, a hot shiver rolls through me and settles between my legs. My dick is thick, heavy against my thigh. Motherfucker. This kiss is everything.

She moans, and the throaty sound creates tiny vibrations that quicken my pulse. Her tongue tentatively prods the seam of my lips, and like an idiot I part them to let her in. The meeting of our tongues summons desperate noises from both of us. Hers is a whimper of happy surprise, mine is a tormented groan. Demi’s hand curls over my cheek as her tongue teases and explores. She tastes like candy, literally, and I wonder if she was sucking on one of her lollipops earlier. I savor the sweet flavor and thrust my fingers through her dark hair.

I officially forget my surroundings. I register the faint sound of music, but my pounding heart drowns it out. I am so turned on it’s not even funny. The kiss goes on and on, a tangle of tongues and the mingling of heated breaths, not ceasing until the moment I taste copper in my mouth.

“Ugh.” This time I groan unhappily. “Demi, stop.” When she pulls back, I see her lips are tinged with my blood. “I’m bleeding again and now it’s all over you.”

“Really? I didn’t even notice.” Her voice is breathy. “Oh my fuck.”

“What?” I grab more toilet paper from the roll and dab my lips. “Is it terrible?”

“No, I’m saying oh my fuck because…” She shakes her head in wonderment. “That was a good kiss.”

I can’t disagree. “It was.”

“I want to do it again.”

I haul her up to her feet. “Bad idea.”

“Come on, Monk, let’s do it again. I know you enjoyed it.” She directs a pointed look at my crotch.

“Of course I enjoyed it. I haven’t been with anyone in like eight months.”

A part of her seems to deflate, and I realize I’d said the wrong thing. “You’re saying you would’ve enjoyed kissing anyone? I’m nothing but a pair of lips?”

I let out a breath. “No. You’re much more than that. But you can’t pressure me into being your rebound.”

“I’m not trying to pressure you,” she argues.

“Seriously? You just stuck your tongue in my mouth and now I’m harder than stone. You knew it would tempt me.”

“Oh my God, you gave me the green light. You said you wanted a taste, and I can’t help it if kissing me gets you hard. Jeez, it’s okay to get a boner every now and then.”

A loud guffaw echoes in the doorway. I glance over to find an amused Conor watching us. “Yeah, captain. A boner’s not gonna kill you.”

Demi is smug. “Exactly.”

I’m grateful for the distraction, until I notice Conor assessing her with his trademark Penis Eyes. “And you are?” he asks slowly.

“The reason I look like this,” I answer for her, jerking a finger at my face.

“Ah, the ex-girlfriend and infamous provider of road head.”

“Oh, give it up,” I grumble. “There was no road head. It was a misunderstanding.”

“Uh-huh. That’s what they all say, bro.”

Demi grins at Conor. “Sadly for him, this time it’s true. Nothing happened except that I was nearly the victim of ear mutilation. I could’ve died.”

“Chrissake, Semi, you wouldn’t have died.”

“There are important arteries in your ear. What if I bled out?”

“I don’t think there is a single motherfucking artery in an ear,” I growl.

Chuckling, Con gives her another flirtatious appraisal. “All right. So if you’re not with my captain and you’re not with that loser who beat him up, ’that mean you’re single?”

“Yep,” she says, flicking a mocking look my way.

“Excellent. Then how about I get you a drink?”

“Sounds great.” She steps toward him, then glances over her shoulder, as if expecting me to stop her from grabbing a drink with Conor.

But I just lift one shoulder indifferently.

And she walks away.