The Play (Briar U Book 3)

DEMI: Did you win your game today?

ME: Yup yup.

HER: Don’t say that. But good. I’m glad you won.

ME: You were worried we’d lose?

HER: I thought maybe you’d be too banged up from Nico.

ME: Ribs were a little sore, but I powered through.

HER: Are you home now?

ME: Ya, but not for long. Heading into the city soon. Friend of mine coaches girls hockey and they have an exhibition this weekend.

HER: You played hockey all day and now you’re going to watch hockey all night?

ME: Got a problem with that?

HER: You need a life.

ME: I have one. It’s called hockey.

Itype a follow up, but hesitation ripples through me. My fingers hover over the SEND button. I can still taste her on my lips, and I’m afraid to be around her again.

But we’re friends. If I actively avoid her after one kiss, what the hell kind of friend am I?

I hit SEND.

ME: Wanna come?

She clearly struggles with her own moment of hesitation, because she takes equally long to respond.

HER: Sure? Anyone else coming or is it just us?

ME: Just us. Unless you want me to invite Conor…?

Is there a font for snide? I’m fully aware that nothing happened between them last night, but watching Con flirt with her still grated. And Demi was flirting back. She’d mauled me in the bathroom and then gone off with my teammate and took a tequila shot off his abs.

Although in her defense, I’d all but shoved her into Conor’s arms by pretending I couldn’t care less what she did with him.

HER: Invite whoever you want. I’ll Uber to your place so you don’t have to make the drive to campus. It just started snowing.

Demi shows up forty-five minutes later, bundled up in her parka, gloves and a bright-green scarf. I’m guessing her favorite color is green, because she wears it frequently. It looks good on her. Brings out the flecks of amber in her dark brown eyes.

“So who’s this friend we’re meeting?” she asks as I flick on the windshield defroster in the Rover.

She was right about it snowing, but sadly it’s only light flurries. Nothing’s sticking to the ground, and I find myself wondering if winter might skip New England altogether this year. So far we’ve received only one major snowfall and it all melted away by the morning. If we don’t get a white Christmas, I’m going to be bummed. It’s the only thing that makes the holidays in Connecticut bearable.

“Dean Di Laurentis,” I answer. “He’s a former teammate, graduated a couple years ago. Oh, and he’s Summer’s brother.”

“Eek. Does that mean he’s as…dramatic as Summer?” Her tone is the epitome of tactful.

“Nah, he’s definitely more chill. They could be twins, though.”

For once, Demi lets me listen to my own music library during the ride. I think we’re both remembering what happened the last time we used her Bluetooth. Still, she makes sure to skip any song she can’t dance to or doesn’t know the words to.

Neither of us brings up the kiss. I’m thinking about it, though. I wonder if she is. I sneak glances at her, but she’s too busy singing along or bopping her sexy torso to the beat. She’s the cutest fucking thing and I want to kick myself for rejecting her.

Dean’s girls are playing at a community center near Chestnut Hill. The parking lot is surprisingly packed and costs twenty bucks to enter. I can afford it, but it’s the principle of the matter.

“Twenty bucks,” I mutter under my breath as we get out of the Rover. “That is a travesty.”

“You’re a travesty.”

Snickering, I check my phone to read an incoming text from Dean.

DEAN: G and Logan are here too. Behind my bench.

Huh, really? How are they swinging that? Garrett is one of the most recognizable hockey players in the country. Last time I saw him, he admitted he scarcely goes out anymore because he’s constantly getting recognized. Logan is in his rookie season, so he can probably still maintain a low profile, but G’s the star of the team.

When we arrive at our seats, I discover that the two Boston players are terrible at disguises. They’ve opted for baseball caps, and Garrett’s wearing a pair of square hipster glasses on the bridge of his nose.

I burst out laughing. “Fake glasses? Seriously?”

He smirks. “Worked, didn’t it? You did a double take.”

“Not because I didn’t recognize you—because you look stupid.”

Logan snickers.

I introduce them to Demi, who, thanks to her complete ignorance of the sport, doesn’t make a big fuss over them.

“Are Hannah or Grace coming?” I ask. I hope the answer’s yes, because it would be nice if Demi had some chicks to chat with during the game. I doubt she’ll pay a lick of attention to what’s happening on the ice.

“Gracie’s writing a paper,” Logan replies. “She wanted to get it done before winter break so she doesn’t have to work over the holidays.”

“And Hannah’s still at the studio,” Garrett says. “She said she’d try to meet up with us afterward, if we go out anywhere. What have you been up to?”

“Oh, Hunter’s been super busy,” Demi answers for me. “He got arrested, got his ass kicked…busy busy bee.”

Logan snorts. “I didn’t want to ask about your lip, but now that the subject’s been brought up…”

“My ex-boyfriend beat him up,” Demi informs him. “I take full responsibility for it.”

“Yeah, and you should take full responsibility for the jail thing, too,” I say in accusation.

“You’re the one who made me wear the big hoops!”

“This is confusing to me,” Garrett says frankly.

We don’t get a chance to elaborate—Dean just spotted us and he’s slapping a palm on the Plexiglass to say hello.

“That’s Dean,” I tell Demi, who for once is speechless.

“Oh,” she finally remarks. “Wow.”

I narrow my eyes. “What does that mean?”

“It means he’s insanely attractive.”

“Yeah, and he knows it,” Garrett says with a sigh.

The first period kicks off, Dean’s army of fourteen-year-olds taking the ice. The puck drops, and the center wins the faceoff, deking out two opponents before passing to one of her defensewomen. Dean’s girls are good. Very, very good. The refs, on the other hand, are hot garbage.

“What the hell was that?!” Logan shouts, flying to his feet. “They were offsides!”

On the bench, Dean is red-faced from outrage. “Offsides!” he thunders, but the ref merely skates past him.

“Lord, he’s even beautiful when he’s angry,” Demi breathes. “Guys, how are you not acknowledging this?”Contentt bel0ngs to N0ve/lDrâ/ma.O(r)g!

“We lived with him for four years,” Garrett says dryly. “We’re well aware of his appeal.”

“Do you think life is different when you’re that attractive?”

I lean over to pinch her side. “We should ask you that. You’re the supermodel.”

“Aw, thanks, Monk.”

“Monk?” Garrett echoes.

“Because he’s celibate,” Demi clarifies.

G grins. “That’s still going on?”

“Yup yup—”

“Don’t say yup yup,” Demi interjects.

“—you know me, willpower of steel.”

The rest of the game, while fast-paced, is not at all competitive. Dean’s team crushes their opponent, scoring five goals to the other team’s one. I note that Dean is a terrific coach, praising his players each time they return to the bench. With one girl, he leans in to whisper in her ear for a long time between line changes, dispensing his wisdom. When she’s back on the ice for her next shift, she almost scores off a teammate’s rebound. Even without a goal under her belt, she’s beaming at Dean when her line skates off. That’s the mark of a great coach—he can make you feel invincible whether you win or lose.

After the ass-kicking, we meet up with Dean in the lobby. “I’m just coordinating with the other teachers about getting the girls back to the hotel,” he says. “I gotta ride the bus with them, but I want to go out afterward. I can meet you guys somewhere.”

“You don’t have to stay with the girls?” Garrett asks.

“God no. Parent chaperones, baby. I’ve done my job, and now I need to get the fuck out. I’ve been surrounded by teenage girls for the past two days.” Yet he says it jokingly, and I know he’s proud of his team’s performance this weekend. “You in?”

“Where are you thinking?” Demi asks him.

“Hmmm. Well, Saturdays are Latin night at the Exodus Club.”

She rolls her eyes. “Why did you look at me when you said that? Because I’m Latina?”

He rolls his eyes back. “No, because you asked me the question, baby doll. So what do you say?”

Demi glances at me with an unspoken Can we?

“Sure.” I shrug. “Why the hell not.”

Hannah Wells meets us outside the club. There’s a line down the block to get in, but Dean has no qualms about striding to the bouncer and dropping a name in his ear. Dude, you can’t make Garrett Graham wait in line, I suspect he’s saying. And a second later we’re waved past the velvet rope.

Our little group follows a nearly pitch-black corridor toward the sounds of thumping bass and Spanish guitar. There’s a coat check at the end of the hall, which we make use of, handing over our winter gear.

“So I hear your songwriting career has taken off,” I tease Hannah with a smile.

“I’m doing okay,” she says modestly.

“You were in the studio with Delilah Sparks tonight. That’s more than okay.”

“Right? I can’t even. It’s still so surreal.”

When we enter the club, an array of strobe lights assaults my vision. The music blares and the temperature is scorching. Three seconds in, and I’m already sweating through my Under Armour T-shirt.

Demi links her arm through mine. “Do you salsa, Monk?”

“Nope.” She’s wearing a skimpy tank top, and the heat of her body sears into me. Christ. I wish she’d never kissed me. I’ve been horny as fuck ever since.

“Let’s grab some drinks,” Garrett suggests.

“Shots?” Logan says hopefully.

“One shot.”

“C’mon, G, we’ve got four days off. Let’s take advantage.”

Garrett throws a muscular arm around his long-time girlfriend. “Oh, trust me.” He winks. “I’ll be taking advantage of it.”

Hannah grins.

They do one round of shots, but I abstain. I’m the DD, so I want to keep a clear head tonight. What if we get pulled over again? What if this time Demi decides to suck my dick in the car for real?

A man can hope.

We spend the next few minutes shouting to each other over the music. When the current song changes, Demi shrieks in delight. It’s “Despacito,” the Bieber version, and the entire club goes wild.

“Come salsa with me,” she begs, tugging on my arm. “This is my song!”

“Nope,” I say firmly. “I don’t salsa.”

“I do,” Dean announces, holding out his hand.

“You salsa?” She gawks at him before turning to me. “He’s beautiful and he salsas? What on earth am I doing here with you?”

She’s joking, but I still glare at her. “He’s taken.”

“Super taken,” Dean confirms. “But I’m a salsa master thanks to my girl. Allie-Cat and I took lessons.”

Demi takes his hand, and I swallow a sigh as I watch them saunter toward the dance floor.

“She’s cool,” Logan tells me.

“I know. We’re good friends.”

“Just friends?”

I shrug. “She got out of a relationship a month ago.”

“So?”

I twist the cap off my water bottle and take a hasty sip. I’m not sure why I put that out there. Then I shift my gaze to the dance floor and almost choke on my water.

Goddamn Dean. Since when does he salsa dance? And he looks damn good doing it. Dean might’ve skipped out on law school to become a gym teacher, but the man still oozes money. He’s wearing khakis and a crisp white shirt, its top two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up. His blond hair falls onto his forehead as he spins Demi around as if they’re on Dancing with the Stars.

“Check out that footwork,” Garrett marvels.

They’re even drawing stares from the other dancers. Demi’s in leggings, leather boots, and a red tank, but the way her hips are moving, I can totally envision her in a bright sundress and high heels, the ones with straps that wrap around a woman’s ankles. Maybe a flower in her hair. Red lipstick painted on those pouty lips.

Annnnd now I’m acting out my own salsa-themed porno in my head. Which Dean brings to life when he lifts one of her legs and props it on his hip, and they do a sexy little grinding move before he spins her around again. Demi’s cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright with joy. Dean whispers something in her ear and she starts giggling.

Jealousy constricts my throat. Obviously I’m being ridiculous. There’s always chemistry when two hot people are dancing, it’s inevitable. But the sight of Dean’s hands on Demi’s body makes my blood boil.

“What the hell is a despacito anyway?” I grumble. “Is it like a desperado?”

Hannah bursts out laughing. “It means slowly.”

“Whatever. It’s a shitty song.” I don’t really believe that. If anything, I’m indifferent to the damn track. I just wish it would end already. I promptly glare daggers at the dance floor again.

“Just friends?” Logan asks knowingly.

The sigh I’ve been holding slips out.

“Aw, he has a crush,” teases Hannah.

“Nah,” I lie. “I’m putting sex and dating on the backburner this year. I want to focus on hockey.”

“I get it.” Garrett nods a couple times. “But there’s more to life than hockey, Davenport.” He’s gazing at his girlfriend as he says that. Hannah is his entire world. I have no doubt he’d give up anything for her, even a flourishing career.

“I know there is, but I made myself a promise. You know, to try to grow as a person and all that shit.”

The guys laugh loudly, while Hannah offers an admiring smile. “I actually think that’s commendable,” she says. “We get so caught up in sex and relationships, sometimes it’s good to take some time for yourself.”

“But sex is so good,” Logan protests.

He’s right. Sex is goddamn incredible, and right now Dean and Demi are engaged in a vertical version of it on the dance floor. My stomach twists again.

“You should cut in,” Garrett suggests.

I’m about to maintain that I can’t salsa, when the DJ changes up the music again. A slower, sultry beat reverberates through the club. “Havana” by Camila Cabello. I can work with that.

“I’ll be right back.” I stride forward, leaving my companions in the proverbial rear view mirror.

I can hear them laughing behind me, but I don’t give a shit. I make a beeline for Demi. “Beat it,” I tell Dean.

It’s a joke.

But also not a joke.

And he knows it. Grinning, he slaps my shoulder and goes off to join the others.

Demi stares at me, one eyebrow quirked. “Wow. Was that a show of dominance?”

“Nah.”

“Really? So you banished my dancing partner for no reason? What am I supposed to do now?” She snaps a hand on her hip. We’re surrounded by other dancers, but neither of us moves.

“Well. I guess I’ll just have to do,” I say, extending a hand toward her.

She breaks out in a smile. “Took you long enough.”

I yank her toward me, grabbing hold of her waist. Demi rests one hand on my shoulder, and places the other one at my nape, her fingers curling loosely around my neck as we begin to move to the beat.

Luckily, our lower bodies aren’t touching, so I’m spared the agony of feeling her rubbing up against me. The experience would be too confusing for my dick.

Except great. Now she’s rubbing up against me.

Cue: dick confusion.

I try to ease my hips away from her sexy body, but that earns me a huff of exasperation. “You have to actually dance back, Hunter. You can’t just stand there.”

“I’m dancing back,” I protest.

“Your body is two feet away! Where did you learn to dance? Puritan camp? Why did you even bother cutting in?”

I shrug.

Demi thinks it over for a second. Then she releases a triumphant laugh. “Oh my God, you were jealous! You didn’t like seeing me dancing with Dean!”

Another shrug.

“Ha!” She’s so much shorter than me that she has to tug my head down to bring her lips to my ear. “Admit it,” she whispers.

My lips travel toward her ear. “Fine,” I whisper back, and I’m gratified to feel a shiver run down her body. “Maybe a little jealous. But it wasn’t real jealousy.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It was body jealousy.”

“That’s not a real thing.”

“Yes it is. Bodies get jealous when they see other bodies close together.”

“Right. Keep telling yourself that.”

I kind of need to, to preserve my own sanity. I can’t let myself develop feelings for Demi. I mean, obviously, I like her. She’s amazing and we have fun together. As friends.

I don’t want our friendship to be ruined.

But Demi seems hell-bent on setting it on fire.

“I have a secret,” she teases, gesturing for me to lower my head again.

“Yeah?” My voice comes out stupidly husky.

Her breath tickles my earlobe. “I’m about to do something you’re not going to like.”

Like a fool I ask, “What’s that?”

And rather than answer, Demi angles her head and slants her mouth over mine.

The kiss is as delicious as the last time. She tastes like tequila and a hint of cherry, probably from the red candy she had in her mouth at the game. Her tongue had kept poking it into her cheek, making it look like she had a creature moving around in there.

I laugh at the memory.

She pulls back breathlessly. “What is it?”

“Nothing. I was just thinking about your candy obsession and…forget it.” I just kiss her again, and her tongue eagerly slides into my mouth.

Just feeling it touch the tip of mine unleashes a greedy, caveman side I never knew I possessed. I shove my hand in her hair and drive the kiss deeper. She gasps against my lips. I’m fully aware we’re in the middle of the dance floor sucking on each other’s tongues. I hear music. I register people around us. I don’t know if they’re dancing or staring at us. I don’t care. All I care about is kissing her. And touching her.

I slide a hand down her slender back and cup one firm ass cheek. Ah Christ, I want to rip off those leggings. I want to smack her perfect ass. I want to slip a finger inside her and find out how wet she is for me.

Demi breaks the kiss again. “Let’s get out of here,” she pleads.

The sheer desire swimming in her eyes brings me back to my senses. “No,” I croak, abruptly leading her away from the dance floor.

“Why not?” is her frustrated response.

“Because I don’t want to complicate our friendship.”

“We’ve been making out for the past five minutes, Hunter! It’s already been complicated!”

“No, it hasn’t. That was…just kissing.” The best kissing ever. My body is still throbbing from it.

Accusation sharpens her face. “I feel like you’re purposely trying to be difficult.”

“I’m not,” I say unhappily. “Look, I made this decision before I even met you. And I want to stick by it. I want to prove to myself that I can actually stick to a goal I’ve set and not let sex blow up my whole life again.”

“That won’t happen,” she insists. “The team is doing great. You’re winning all your games.”

“Yeah, because my head is clear. And now it’s about more than celibacy. I like you. This friendship is everything to me and we both know damn well that sex would screw it up. So I’m sorry, okay? I’m not giving in to temptation again.” I shake my head in defeat. “I can’t.”

Unhappiness flickers in her eyes for a moment. Then it transforms into a glimmer of determination. “Fine. I won’t hit on you anymore. But only if you make me a promise.”

“Demi—”

“After the season ends—” She slants her head, defiant. “I get to be the one you cross the finish line with, friendship be damned.”