For the first time in sixty-two minutes, Hunter’s gait stutters. He grabs the handrail to steady himself, but the laughter shaking his body doesn’t subside. “Fuck. You’re a psychopath, Davis. I knew it.”

“Nah, I stole that killing method from an episode of Cheerleaders Who Kill. I’m not creative enough to plan a gruesome murder. Anyway, this Rashida chick was so predatory and so obvious about it that she needed the reminder that he had girlfriend. God knows he wasn’t acting like it. I felt like he was encouraging the flirting, which annoyed me even more. We started arguing about it and Nico got pissy, announced he was taking a walk, and disappeared for a few hours.”

“A few hours?” Hunter narrows his eyes. “Let me guess, Rashida disappeared about the same time?”

“Good guess. She claimed she drove into town to buy snacks, and the cupboard in the cabin was restocked, so maybe she did. But I still found it suspicious.”

“Hell yeah, it was suspicious.”

“I confronted Nico and he insisted he was alone in the woods and hadn’t seen or spoken to Rashida in hours. He told me I was being ridiculous and overreacting, and freaked out on me so hard that I felt guilty for making the accusation and ended up apologizing to him for a whole year afterward.” I frown deeply. “I want to believe he didn’t do anything, but…”

“But you don’t,” Hunter finishes.

“I don’t. And I feel like an asshole for it.”

“You shouldn’t. Always trust your gut, Demi. If people are acting shady it’s usually because they’ve done something shady. And the fact that he lost his shit and yelled at you speaks volumes. Guilty people attack. Innocent people don’t.”

“Maybe, but…whatever, this was years ago. We were kids.” I shrug. “We’re in our twenties now and it’s in the past.”

“Is something like that ever truly in the past?” Hunter’s voice becomes gruff. “I feel like an incident like that would always lurk in the back of my mind. Like, let’s say Summer changed her mind and decided she liked me and not Fitz after all? It’d be niggling at me for our entire relationship—does she actually want me, is she thinking about him right now, that kinda shit. I think it’s better to…” He makes a snipping motion with his fingers. “Cut it off. Start fresh. If a well runs dry or goes bad, you dig a new one, right? You don’t drink from the poisoned water.”

I snort. “You know much about wells, Connecticut boy?”

“You don’t need firsthand experience with something to use it as a metaphor.” Hunter’s expression turns pensive. “But, look, Nico does seem like a decent guy, and he’s obviously in love with you, if that makes you feel better.”

“It does, actually.” I appreciate impartial third-party observations. They mean more than the false assurances and platitudes you tend to receive from people who love you.

Another girl passes by. Her stride slows drastically when she notices Hunter. He’s finally sweating, his damp shirt clinging to the most impressive chest I’ve ever seen. His pecs are perfectly defined, and his arms are spectacular. I don’t blame any of these women for going gaga over him.

Hunter spares a glance for his admirer, then gravely looks my way. “You have no idea how nice it is to hang out with someone who doesn’t want to fuck me.”

“Oh my God, that’s the most conceited thing I ever heard.”

“It’s true.” He waves his hand around. “Look at them, Semi, look at them all! They’re all so fuckable and they all want me. Meanwhile, you’re like this beautiful neutral creature with no desire to bang me. It’s glorious.”

“They’re all fuckable? I feel like that’s an exaggeration.”

“We’ve already established my dick doesn’t discriminate. Even you don’t have immunity.”

I swivel my head. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Ah. Nothing.” He’s obviously hiding something as he presses a few buttons on the machine to trigger the cool-down setting. When he glances at me again, his expression is sheepish. “I have a confession to make, but you have to promise not to be mad.”

“I will never promise that. Ever.”

“Seriously?

“Seriously. Tell me at your own peril.”

“Fine. I jerked off the other night—”

“Congratulations. Did your penis tingle when you came?”

“I wasn’t finished.”

“So you didn’t come?”

“I meant I wasn’t finished speaking,” he growls. “I jerked off the other night…fantasizing about you.”

My jaw drops.

Um. What?

“Oh. My. God.” I stare at him in utter disbelief. “Why would you ever tell me that?”

“Because I felt guilty about it. Like I needed to go to church and confess.”

I can feel myself blushing, and I suspect I’m redder than a tomato. Yes, I have many male friends, but this is the first time one of them has confessed to pleasuring themselves while fantasizing about me. I mean…it’s flattering, I guess? If TJ or Darius or—

I shudder at the mere thought of it.

Okay. Interesting response. The idea of my other guy friends masturbating to me is extremely unappealing. But the idea of Hunter stroking his cock and fantasizing about me is…

My thighs actually clench together at the dirty image.

Oh my God.

No.

Nope.

In. Ap. Propriate.

Hunter heaves a big sigh. “I feel so much better now that I got that off my chest.”

“Well, I don’t!” I can’t get the image out of my mind now, and that is so, so wrong.

His dark eyes twinkle. “Take it as a compliment.”

“No, thanks.”

He uses the hem of his shirt to mop up the sweat on his brow, which means he literally just flashed his entire chest to me and the rest of the gym. His washboard abs are glistening.

“Anyway, aside from the teeny little hiccup of me yanking it with you in mind, I’m truly digging this thing we have.” He gestures between us. “Promise me this will never change.”

“That what will never change?”

“That you’ll never want to sleep with me,” he says dramatically.

The sheer arrogance… I release a sigh of my own and reach over to pat his stupidly muscular arm. “I promise I will never want to sleep with you, Hunter.”

11

Hunter

I’ve been avoiding Greek Row parties since the Theta Beta Nu lingerie torture fest, but the boys insist on hitting a frat party after our game on Saturday. We played at Suffolk, so the bus doesn’t drop us off on campus until past eleven. Then we have to drive to Hastings, because we all live off-campus and the guys want to change. Or, in Foster’s case, grab his weed.

Hard partying during the season is minimal, but drinking and the occasional joint isn’t unheard of. I know several hockey guys who do coke, but Coach Jensen runs a clean program at Briar. Every now and then someone hits up a concert and does MDMA, but it’s not a frequent occurrence. We’re all wholly aware of the NCAA’s strict (and random) drug-testing protocol.