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)
“Right? I nearly face-planted just now.”
We’re about fifty yards from the Coffee Hut when TJ brings up the subject of Hunter. “You two hang out a lot,” he remarks.
I can’t decipher his tone. I feel like it might contain a hint of disapproval, but I’m not certain. TJ can be so hard to read sometimes. “Well, yeah. We’re friends.”
Friends who kiss.
I keep that tidbit to myself. Hell, I don’t know why I’m even still thinking about it. I kissed the guy twice and would happily kiss him a hundred more times. But Hunter rejected me twice and doesn’t want a single kiss more.
Ugh, and he wouldn’t even promise that we could resume the kissing when the hockey season ends. He just reiterated that our friendship is too important, and we proceeded to spend the rest of the night hanging out with Dean and his other friends, pretending we hadn’t just sucked each other’s faces off.
It’s so vexing. Frustrating. I don’t believe it’s an ego problem on my end, because I’m confident I wouldn’t have much trouble finding someone to have sex with me. Half the men on Tinder would offer themselves up.
But I don’t want those men.
I want Hunter Davenport.
I haven’t allowed myself to delve too deeply about precisely what I want from him. To keep kissing him, for sure. And sex, absolutely. The mere thought of our naked bodies tangled together gets me hot.
I’m not looking beyond that. But I do think he’s wrong—I think we could be friends with benefits without it complicating anything.
Couldn’t we?
“I just think it’s weird,” TJ says, jolting me from my troubled thoughts.
“Why is it weird?”
“I dunno. He’s such a fuckboy.”
“Not really.”
“Yes really. I told you about catching him in the library last year, remember? Any guy who fucks chicks in public is slimy.”
“One, that’s not at all an accurate barometer of slime—lots of very respectable people possess exhibitionist tendencies. Weren’t you paying attention to Andrews’ lecture about sexual compulsions? And two, that happened last year. Hunter’s different now. He’s not even dating at the moment.”
“Yeah, probably because of the herpes.”
I give TJ a sharp look. “That’s a rude thing to say.”
He shrugs. “The truth isn’t always pretty.”
Now I roll my eyes. “What truth? You’re saying Hunter Davenport has herpes?”
“I think that’s what it was? I don’t remember exactly, but I’m friends with this chick in my dorm and she said Davenport gave her an STI this past spring. She used the word outbreak, so I just assumed herpes—but do the other ones give you outbreaks? What do chlamydia and gonorrhea do?”
“I don’t know.” I frown. “Are you being serious right now?”
“Honest to God.”
My stomach does a queasy little flip. TJ is a decent guy, and he doesn’t typically spread rumors, so I’m predisposed to believe he did hear something. But there’s no way it’s true. Hunter doesn’t have a sexually transmitted disease.
Well, I mean…he could.
Something else suddenly occurs to me. Is that why he’s not sexually active? Because he’s embarrassed about having something and passing it to someone else?
It’s possible, I guess. Either way, I’m uncomfortable discussing Hunter’s private business with TJ, who clearly doesn’t like him.
“Whatever. This is not a conversation we should be having,” TJ says before I can. “It’s really none of our business.”
“You’re right,” I agree.
“I shouldn’t have even said anything. But I wanted you to be aware, just in case. Since you’re spending so much time with him.”
Later that night, I drag Pippa to the hockey game with me and Brenna. Mostly because I’m worried Brenna will be so absorbed in the game that I won’t have anybody to talk to. Like me, Pippa isn’t a hockey fan. Neither of us could properly explain what’s currently happening on the ice. I just see big hulking boys skating very fast and wielding sticks.
Hunter told me his jersey number is 12, so I attempt to track those two digits with my gaze. I think he’s doing well? Then again, he hasn’t scored any goals, so maybe he’s doing poorly?
I truly don’t know how to measure hockey success. Nico played basketball in high school and used to score a ton of points in every game. But when I ask Brenna why nobody is scoring, she explains that hockey isn’t as point-laden as basketball. Apparently some games might end with only one goal between both teams. Or even a tie of zero.
Speaking of Nico, Pippa asks about him during the first intermission. “Did you ever hear from Nico after he attacked Hockey Boy?”
“Nope.”
“Has he tried to contact you?” Brenna asks curiously.
“No idea. I told you, I blocked him on everything, even email. I’m sure he’s figured that out by now.”
“Oh he has,” Pippa confirms.
I look over sharply. “You’ve spoken to him?”
“Me, personally? No. But Darius is speaking to him again.”
That brings a frown to my lips. I was texting with D the other day, and he didn’t once mention he’s back in contact with my ex.