The Play

Instead of choosing a designated driver, we take an Uber back to campus because everybody’s planning on having some drinks to celebrate winning our games this weekend. But our schedule has been light so far. Next week we’re facing some tough matchups, including Boston University, and they’re undefeated this season. But it’s early yet.

Conor is next to me in the backseat, with Foster on his other side. Con’s scrolling through his phone. Probably browsing his digital black book.

I’m on egg duty tonight, so I wore a collared shirt with a pocket that I could stick Pablo in. “Look at this manwhore,” I tell the egg. “You ever see anything so disgusting?”

Conor’s head lifts from the screen. “Oh, can it. I’ve heard the rumors about you, Mr. I Boned Every Woman on Campus Last Year.”

He’s got me there. “Who are you talking to?” I ask curiously.

“This chick Michelle. She’s meeting us at the party.”

He resumes his texting, so I follow suit, because Foster is also on his phone and I’m tired of being ignored. I message Hollis, who’s home for the weekend and wanted to party with us tonight. He and Rupi were arguing about it when I left. He wanted to go, she wanted to stay home. Girlfriends, amiright?

ME: Dude, just sling that little hellcat over your shoulder and come out. You know you want to…

 

 

HOLLIS: I really really want to. Been soooo long since I went to a party :((( Is this what it’s like having a gf? Constant snuggling?

 

 

I’m typing a response when another message pops up.

HOLLIS: I didn’t mean that. Having a girlfriend is the most rewarding experience in a young man’s life. Girlfriends are to be treasured.

 

 

ME: Rupi, did you steal Mike’s phone?

 

 

NO, is the response, and I start laughing because it’s so obvious that she did. Corny words aside, Hollis has never texted in full sentences in his life.

ME: Throw the man a bone, Rupes. He wants to go to a party, not a weeklong EDM festival. Basically means having a beer or two and grinding up all over you to shitty music. Be nice to him for once.

 

 

No reply. My phone remains silent all the way to campus, not lighting up until the guys and I are sliding out of the Uber.

HOLLIS: U are da fucking man, Davenport! SEE YOU THERE!!!!!!!!

 

 

Well. I did my good deed for the day.

A crowd gathers outside the Alpha Delta house. This terrific weather we’ve been experiencing is still holding up, and although it’s almost midnight the air is balmy and people are in shorts and T-shirts. The frat even set up a snow cone machine on the front lawn. I love college.

Conor thumps me on the arm. “Michelle says she’s out back.” He winks. “In the hot tub.”

Foster pales. “Oh, Jesus, no, do not go in that hot tub. You’re gonna get syphilis of the leg.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Don’t you remember that gross rash on Jesse’s leg? During preseason? Yeah, he got it from soaking in the Alpha Delt hot tub, AKA Bacteria Central.”

“It’s true, he did,” Bucky confirms. “I don’t think anyone ever checks the pH levels or whatever the hell you’re supposed to do.” He wags a finger at me. “Don’t bring Pablo anywhere near it.”

“Yeah, you might boil the fucker,” Foster guffaws.

“He’s already hard-boiled,” I argue. “He can’t get any more boiled.”

“So?”

“So I could crack him open right now and he’d be delicious.”

“Dude, don’t do that,” drawls Conor. “That egg has changed so many hands these past couple weeks it probably has syphilis.”

I snort and pat my breast pocket. “Congrats. You get to live another day, Mr. Eggscobar.”

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?”