“Stiff, you say.”
“It’s the fabric. See? Touch it.”
Laughter sputters from my throat. “Oh my God, I am not touching your dick.”
“Your loss.” Hunter smirks.
“If you say so, bud.” I hold up the envelope. “So when should we meet up and go over all this stuff?”
“I dunno. You free tonight?”
I shake my head. “I’ve got plans. How about tomorrow night?”
“Yeah, I’ll be around. When and where?”
“Eight o’clock at the Theta Beta Nu house?”
“Huh, really? I didn’t take you for a sorority girl.”
I shrug. “Well, I am.”
Truth be told, I only pledged because I didn’t want to live in the dorms. Plus, my mother belonged to the Theta chapter at her college, and I grew up hearing about how her sorority days were some of the best days of her life. She was the life of the party back then, and still is.
“Okay then. I’ll see you tomorrow night, Semi,” he drawls before striding off.
3
Hunter
“Ugh. I miss those tits so much.”
“They miss you too...”
“Mmmm, yeah? What do they miss most about me?”
“Definitely your tongue.”
“Mmmm. Let me see ’em, Hottie. Just a peek.”
“What if one of your teammates walks in?”
“Then they’ll be jealous of me till the end of time because I’m dating the sexiest woman in the world.”
“Fine, I’ll play. But only if you show me your dick.”
“Deal. You first…aw fuck, baby…wait, maybe you should put the girls away—what if Hunter walks in? You said he was home.”
“Oh, it’s a non-issue. Hunter’s a monk now. My bare boobs won’t make an impact.”
From the kitchen, I finally release the growl stuck in my throat. I thought I was coming downstairs to grab some dinner before my study date with Demi Davis. Instead, I just spent the past five minutes listening to the most nauseating Skype session in the world.
“Yeah, I’m a monk,” I holler at the doorway. “Not a motherfucking eunuch!”
I march into the living room without giving Brenna any time to cover herself up. She doesn’t deserve it. As a reward for enduring Brenna and Jake Connelly’s video sexing, I deserve to see some boobs outside of porn.
But Brenna is already shoving her shirt over her chest, so all I get is a teasing glimpse of reddish brown nipples before they disappear from view.
“Move over, you evil devil woman.” I drop my ass on the couch beside her and shove a forkful of wild rice into my mouth. I glance at the laptop sitting on the coffee table. “Hey Connelly. Nice cock.”
The man on the computer screen gives a startled curse. His gaze snaps down to his right hand, as if it’s just occurred to him he’s gripping a rather impressive erection. A blur of motion and the sound of a zipper, and then Jake Connelly glares at me with intense green eyes.
“Spying on us, Davenport?”
I swallow my food. “Is it considered spying when you’re naked Skyping in my goddamn living room?”
“Our living room,” Brenna says sweetly, reaching over to pat my shoulder.
Right, like I could ever forget. Other men might be thrilled to shack up with three chicks, but it’s not my ideal living situation. I like Brenna, Summer and Rupi individually, but throw the three of them together and the world becomes…loud. Not to mention they’re always ganging up on me.
My former roommates, Mike Hollis and Colin Fitzgerald, technically still live here too, but they’re not around nearly as much as I’d like.
Hollis only shows up on the weekends—he stays with his folks in New Hampshire during the week for his job.
Fitz is a video game designer and has been taking on a lot of contract work since he graduated Briar. Sometimes that means traveling to the game studio’s headquarters. Right now he’s in New York working on a sci-fi role-playing game, and staying at Summer’s family’s Manhattan penthouse for the duration of the gig. Lucky Fitzy. The Heyward-Di Laurentis clan is filthy rich, so he’s currently living it up in the lap of luxury.
“Connelly, get a move on. The car’s waiting for us downstairs,” another voice barks out of the laptop speakers. “We’ve got that charity photo op thing tonight.”
Jake glances over his shoulder. “Oh shit, I forgot about that.”
“What are you doing on—oh, hey Brenna!” A huge face appears on screen, a close-up so extreme that I can see up the guy’s hairy nostrils.
When the man pulls back, I experience a rare fanboy moment, because holy shit—it’s Theo Nilsson, one of the star players for Edmonton. I can’t believe Nilsson just casually strolled into Jake’s hotel room, and there’s no stopping a pang of envy at the notion that Jake is actually out in the world playing hockey with some serious legends.
When I was a kid I dreamed of playing professionally, but as I got older I realized it might not be the best path for me. The lifestyle scares me, if I’m behind honest. So I didn’t make myself eligible for the draft. Hell, I hadn’t even planned on playing in college. I came to Briar set on earning a business degree and becoming an entrepreneur. But a friend and teammate who graduated a couple of years ago lured me out of my self-imposed retirement, and now here I am.
“I have to go, babe,” Jake tells Brenna.
“Have fun getting your picture taken with all those thirsty puck bunnies,” she chirps.
Nilsson barks with laughter. “It’s a charity event for a senior citizen curling organization,” Jake’s teammate reveals.
She’s unfazed. “Have you seen Jake?” she asks Theo. “Those old broads will be all over him. Puck bunnies transcend age.”
As Brenna signs off, I shove a piece of grilled chicken into my mouth. “I can’t believe that was Theo Nilsson,” I say between bites.
“Yeah, he’s really cool. We had dinner with him last week when they played the Bruins.”
“Don’t rub it in.”
Brenna’s trademark red lips purse in a saccharine smile. Even when she’s home alone, she still takes the time to slather on that fuck-me lipstick. She’s evil. “If you’re a good boy, I’ll invite you next time.”
“I’m always a good boy,” I protest. “Just ask my dick—poor dude wants to be bad and I ain’t having it.”
She laughs. “I feel like all this pent-up lust isn’t good for your health. What if your balls explode and you die?”
I think it over. “Maybe it’ll be like a thousand orgasms all rolled up in one explosion, and who would want to keep living after that? I feel like after you’ve experienced a thousand-orgasm explosion, there’s nowhere to go but down.”
“That’s a good point.” Brenna’s dark eyes track me as I get up and head for the kitchen to rinse my plate.
“I gotta go now,” I tell her, popping my head back into the living room. “See you later.”
“Where are you off to?”
“Study thing at the Theta house.”
“Ha! So much for the vow of celibacy.”
“Nope. The vow’s still intact. I’m just working on a project with a chick there.”
“A project,” she mocks.
“Yes, a project. The world doesn’t revolve around sex, Bee.”
“Sure it does.” She licks her lips lasciviously and my mouth tingles in response. So does my penis.
She’s right. Sex is everything and everywhere. A woman can’t even lick her lips without my brain sinking right into the sexual gutter.
So far, I’ve found only one solution for controlling my libido: marijuana. And I can’t even do that as often as I’d like, except for the occasional joint at a party. Weed mellows me out and reins in my carnal impulses, but it also makes me tired and slows me down during workouts. And there’s no way I want to tempt the NCAA drug-testing gods. So, like sex, it’s just another fun activity I get to avoid. My life is awesome.
�
�Anyway, I’m meeting some of the boys at Malone’s afterward to shoot pool. Don’t wait up.”
“What? No invite?” She mock pouts.
“Nope,” I reply and I don’t feel the slightest bit guilty about it. I live in the estrogen zone, and sometimes it’s imperative I escape it, even if it’s just for the night. “No girls allowed. There’s enough girls in this house already.”
“Oh, you love it. Rupi makes you lunch every day, Summer cooks you breakfast, and I’m always walking around in my underwear. Food and sexy material for your spank bank, Davenport. You’re living the dream.”
“If I was living the dream, I’d be banging all of you every night. At the same time.”
“Ha! You wish. Go have fun with your”—Brenna uses air quotes—“project.”
I give her the finger and leave, and fifteen minutes later I’m back on campus, parking my Land Rover on the tree-lined street that houses Greek Row. It’s Tuesday night and the area is surprisingly quiet. Usually there’s always some nightly party or event happening on Greek Row, but tonight I hear only the faint sound of music from a few of the fraternity houses.
I walk up the flower-lined path that leads to the front door of the Theta house. Nearly every window of the three-story Victorian is lit up. I ring the doorbell and a tall, skinny girl in sweats appears.
She arches an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Demi.” I lift the shoulder that’s holding my backpack. “We’re studying.”
Demi’s sorority sister shrugs, then turns her head and shouts, “Demi! Door!”
I enter the house, which has undergone a drastic makeover since I was here on the weekend. It’s neat as a pin and smells like lemon cleaner, and there’s no scantily clad chicks, drunken dudes, or puddles of beer all over the hardwood.
Footsteps echo on the wooden staircase, and the girl from psych class saunters down the steps, a lollipop sticking out of the corner of her mouth. Naturally, I zero in on her lips, which are glossy and tinged red from the candy she’s sucking on. Her dark hair is up in a high ponytail and she’s wearing plaid pants and a thin white tank top over a black sports bra.
She’s really fucking cute, and I have to force myself to stop checking her out.
“Hi,” she says, giving me a long appraisal.
“Mel, who was at the door?” someone shouts.
There’s a burst of chatter, and then half a dozen girls spill out of the kitchen into the front hall. They all stop abruptly when they notice me. One of them openly undresses me with her eyes, while the others are slightly more discreet.
“Hunter Davenport,” the ogler drawls. “Lord, you’re even better looking up close.”
I don’t normally get shy or stupid around women, but they’re all standing there appraising me, and it’s fucking disconcerting. “Maybe you should give me your number?” I murmur to Demi.
“Why would I do that?”
“So that next time I can text you when I’m here and you can quietly come get me and we could avoid all of…this…” I gesture to our audience.
“What’s the matter? Are you intimidated by a few girls?” Rolling her eyes, Demi leads me toward the stairs.
“Nah.” I wink. “I’m worried about you.”
“Me?”
“Well, yeah. If I keep coming over to see you, your sisters will start getting insanely jealous, and their resentment will eventually make them treat you poorly and you’ll lose all of your friends. Is that really what you want, Semi?”
She laughs. “Oh no! You’re right. From now on you should climb in through my window. Like Romeo.” Her tongue shifts her lollipop to the other side of her mouth. “Spoiler alert: Romeo dies.”
She ushers me into a room on the second floor and closes the door.
I examine the bedroom. The walls are yellow and the bed is one of those four-post ones that looks like it should have a billowing canopy but doesn’t. The bedspread is purple, and there’s a stuffed panda chilling on one of the pillows.
Demi’s desk is laden with textbooks. Chem, bio, and a math one I can’t read the title of. I raise my eyebrows. If she’s taking all of those in one semester, that’s an intense course load and I don’t envy her at all.
But my gaze is more interested in the large bulletin board over the desk. It’s practically overflowing with pictures, and I move toward it to take a closer look. Hmmm, there are a helluva lot of dudes in these photographs. Some girls, too, but Demi’s friend group seems to consist mostly of guys. Several photos feature Demi with the same raven-haired guy. Boyfriend?
“So, how are we doing this?” I ask, dropping my bag on her desk chair.
“Well, Andrews said we’re supposed to treat these meet-ups like real therapy sessions.”
“Right.” I waggle my eyebrows. “You ready to play doctor?”
“Gross. I’m not playing anything with you, hockey boy.”
“That’s hockey man, thank you very much.”
“Okay, hockey man.” Demi digs into her schoolbag and pulls out the manila envelope we got in class yesterday. She sits on the edge of the bed with the envelope on her lap. “All right, so I figured you would be the patient, and I’d be the doctor. That means you’d be doing the easier part of the write-up.”
I frown. “What makes you think I need the easy part?”
“Oh, sorry, I don’t mean to insult your intelligence,” she says, sounding sincere. “But a friend told me you’re a business major.”
“So?”
“So I’m the psych major in this partnership, and I think writing the case study and doing all the diagnosis work would be more beneficial to me than you, since I want to make a career out of this. But if you really don’t want to do the research element, we can draw straws.”
I think about it for a moment. She does have a point about the career stuff. And I don’t mind doing the research portion. “Sure, whatever. I’ll be the patient.”
“Perfect. Done.”
“See how well we work together?” My gaze drifts to the small loveseat tucked beneath the window. “Sweet, it’s like a real shrink’s office.” I stride over to the couch and cram my too-large body onto it, stretching my legs over the edge. Then I reach for my zipper. “Pants on or off?”
4
Demi
I burst out laughing at the outlandish question. “Please, for the love of God, keep your pants on.”
“You sure?” Hunter says, his fingers poised over the button of his jeans.
“Positive.”
“Your loss.” He winks and shoves his hands behind his head.
Davenport is entertaining, I’ll give him that. He’s also too attractive for his own good. My sorority sisters left drool puddles on the floor when he walked by them before. Most of them have a huge thing for jocks, so they’ll probably burst into my room begging for details the second Hunter leaves.
He stretches out on my little couch and kicks off his shoes. He’s wearing jeans that are ripped at the knees, a black T-shirt, and an unzipped gray hoodie. Muscular but not bulky, he’s got a great body, and the heart-stopping face to go with it. And when he flashes me a cocky grin, I’m horrified to feel heat rise in my cheeks. That smile of his is dangerous. No wonder Pax is obsessed with this guy.
I open the large envelope and extract a stapled packet with the instructions for our assignment, as well as two other envelopes. One is labeled “DOCTOR,” the other “PATIENT.”
“Here.” I toss the patient envelope at the couch. Hunter catches it easily.
Inside my envelope, I find a stack of papers, and flip through it. It’s blank templates that I’m supposed to use for my “session notes.” I skim the instructions bundle. We need to log a minimum of eight sessions, but we can do as many as we want. My session notes will apparently be included in the appendix for the case study I’ll need to write. My package also includes diagnostic tools and tip sheets.
From the couch, Hunter chuckles softly. I glance over to see him s
kimming through papers. His stack isn’t as big as mine, likely because his part of the project involves more research.
“We probably should’ve decided on our roles in class,” I realize. “I don’t know if we can do much of a session before you’ve brushed up on your fake condition.”
But Hunter just shrugs. A wry note enters his voice as he studies his papers again. “It’s cool. I know enough to wing it, at least for this first chat.”
“You sure?”
“Yup.” He slides the paperwork back into the envelope and drops it on his bag. Then he gets comfortable again. “All right, let’s go.”
As per Andrews’ instructions, I’m not allowed to record the session. But I’m confident in my note-taking abilities. I crunch the last bit of my lollipop between my teeth, swallow the candy, and toss the little stick in the wastebasket.
Once we’re both settled, we start going through the formalities. “So, Mister…?” I wait for him to fill in the rest.
“Sexy.”
“Veto. You can do better than that.”
“Big,” he supplies.
I sigh. “Smith,” I say firmly. “You’re Mr. Smith. First name, um, Damien.”
“Like the devil kid from that horror movie? Veto. It’s bad karma.”
“You’re bad karma,” I mutter. Jesus, it’s taking forever just to record his fake name. At this rate, the project will never get done. “Fine, your first name is Richard, you picky dick.”
He snorts.
“It’s nice to meet you, Dick Smith,” I say sweetly. “I’m Dr. Davis. What brings you here today?”
I half-expect another bullshit line, something about how this Dick needs to be sucked. But he surprises me. “My wife thinks I need therapy.”
My eyebrows shoot up. Ooh, getting right down to it. I love it. “Is that so… And why does she think that?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. She’s the one who needs therapy. She’s always losing her mind over something.”
I jot down his phrasing. “What do you mean by that, losing her mind?”
The Play: Briar U Page 3
