Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 125845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)
The four of us walk around the side of the house and through the gate. The backyard is massive, housing a kidney-shaped pool, a large expanse of lawn, and the infamous hot tub. Luckily, the tub is full, so even if we wanted to get in, there’d be no room. Chicks are doubling up on guys’ laps, and each other’s.
Several partygoers let out a huge cheer at our entrance. “Briar hockey!” someone shouts, raising a red cup.
“Briar hockey!” the crowd shouts back.
Not gonna lie—it’s awesome being campus celebrities. The football team hasn’t done well for nearly a decade, but the hockey program has always been excellent. We kick ass on a frequent basis, and we’ve got no shortage of fans.
Guys come up to slap me on the shoulder. Girls begin swarming, one of whom makes a beeline for Conor.
The nice thing about Conor is that he’s a “one at a time” sort of man. When he sets his sights on a woman, they tend to remain on that woman. Granted, his focus doesn’t last more than a week or two. When it comes to hooking up, Con even gives Dean Di Laurentis a run for his money. But for the time being, his interest is directed solely at the cute blonde elbowing her way through the mob.
Conor slings an arm around her shoulder. “Hey babe.”
“Hi!” Her lips are stained red from the cherry snow cone in her hand. She raises it to Con’s mouth and chirps, “Want some?”
“Fuck yeah.” And he growls and chomps off the top of it like a savage.
Michelle giggles, and the other girls disperse unhappily as they realize they won’t be reeling in the big fish tonight.
Conor introduces me to Michelle and we chat for a bit, while Bucky and Foster dart off to grab us drinks. Michelle inquires as to why there’s a bulge in my shirt pocket, which forces us to explain the Pablo situation. You’d think she’d be horrified by the sheer scope of our immaturity, but instead she laughs in delight and tells Conor how adorable he is. He gives her the Penis Eyes and before long they’re making their way inside the house, likely in search of some privacy.
“Hockey man!” a loud voice exclaims, and I turn to see Nico sauntering over.
I blink in surprise. “Hey,” I greet Demi’s boyfriend. “Fancy meeting you here.”
We exchange a macho fist bump. “All these dumbasses here won’t quit cheering—I assume you just won a game?” he asks with a grin.
“Yup, yup.”
“Nice. I guess Briar’s unstoppable tonight—the basketball team won, too. Fucking destroyed Yale. We all just came from there.”
“Is Demi with you?” I peer past his shoulder.
“Nah, she’s at home. It’s boys’ night.” He gestures to a small group a few yards away, and I note that it includes more than boys. Quite a few scantily clad women are hanging all over Nico’s friends.
My brain suddenly summons Demi’s confession on the treadmill the other night. How she secretly believes, even years later, that Nico cheated on her in high school.
And now, running into him at a frat party with a bunch of chicks in tow, my internal alarm system is triggered.
But maybe I’m being a jerk. Just because he’s hanging out with some girls doesn’t mean he’s stepping out on Demi.
“Anyway, I spotted you from over there and wanted to say hello,” Nico says, raising his cup in a toast. Except he does it so abruptly that liquid spills over the edge, and the potent odor of vodka reaches my nostrils. His clumsy hands and hazy eyes tell me he’s pretty drunk. “Catch you later, ’kay?”
“Cool. Cheers.” I lift my own cup.
Nico strolls back to his friends. I’m mollified to see that he doesn’t stand next to any of the girls, but is immediately engrossed in conversation with a short, balding guy in a black tank top. I don’t care if Nico catches me watching him—I’m just looking out for Demi. She’s a good egg.
“Just like you,” I tell Pablo, patting my pocket.
“I. HAVE. ARRIVED!”
The majestic shout is courtesy of Mike Hollis, who emerges onto the patio from the back door, both arms raised in a victory pose. Rupi scampers at his heels like an annoyed kitten.
Despite being incredibly obnoxious, Hollis was quite popular when he attended Briar. Old teammates and a slew of fans wander over to say hello and he accepts their welcome and their praise as if he’s Meghan Markle greeting the commoners.
Rupi spots me and marches up. She’s clad in traditional Rupi attire: a knee-length, high-waisted skirt and a prim, buttoned tee with a high neckline.
“I really wanted to watch Riverdale tonight, Hunter,” she huffs.
I throw an arm around her tiny shoulders. “Sorry, Rupes. But sometimes we need to make sacrifices for those we love.”
A huge smile practically breaks her face in two. “Oh my gosh, that was the sweetest thing you’ve ever said. I knew you were a secret softie.”