“Should I remind me how sexually active you were last year? You said so yourself, remember? So maybe you’re just associating your own behavior with whatever you think you saw Nico doing.” Her lips tighten. “Maybe they were using the bathroom. Maybe they were hanging out or talking or whatever. You don’t know for certain that something happened.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying to you,” I grumble. “I don’t know if anything happened.”

We reach the fork in the road that leads to Greek Row, and I eagerly flick the turn signal. I’ve never been happier to see a sorority house and I’m not even banging anyone inside of it.

“Look, I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Demi doesn’t answer. Her profile is as tense as the current state of my shoulders.

I stop in front of the Theta house. I avoid her eyes as I put the Rover in park. “But I figured I should tell you. You know, just in case.”

“Tell me what? That my boyfriend was talking to some girl?”

“No, that he went upstairs with her, that they were alone in a bedroom, and that he walked out zipping up his pants. Get your head out of the sand, Demi. Men in relationships don’t do that kind of shit.”

I instantly regret my harsh tone. But rather than go silent or meek, Demi’s eyes turn molten. “You don’t know anything about my relationship, Hunter.”

“I know that you already suspected him of cheating on you once.”

“Yeah, when we were kids. He’s matured since then.”

Has he? I want to challenge. I keep quiet, but the unspoken question hangs in the air, and Demi hisses in response to it.

“He has,” she insists. “And you know what? I don’t appreciate you jumping to conclusions, and I don’t appreciate all your fear mongering!”

“Fear mongering?” I can’t help but snicker. “Jesus Christ. All I’m telling you is that I saw the dude zip up his pants. Do with that what you will.”

 

 

15

 

 

Demi

 

 

He was zipping up his pants.

Hunter’s words buzz in my brain as I stalk into house. Despite the late hour, a bunch of my sorority sisters are still up, watching a horror movie. The living room is dark, and I glimpse bowls of popcorn and hear a lot of shrieking at the screen. But I don’t join them. I’m not in the mood.

Instead I go to the kitchen and stick my head in the fridge. I need a snack. Pronto. When I’m agitated, I eat. It’s a habit I probably need to squash, because great metabolism doesn’t last forever, but my mom is in her forties and can still eat whatever she wants, so I’m hopeful for the future. I grab a block of cheddar and angrily start cutting the cheese into cubes.

I don’t care what Hunter says. Nico couldn’t have cheated. Yes, he was out on Saturday night with his friends. And fine, maybe they did wind up at a frat party. But that doesn’t mean he did anything shady. For all Hunter knows, Nico was hanging out with Pippa. I’m pretty sure Pippa went to that party, too.

I put down the knife and grab my phone, wasting no time texting my friend.

ME: Hey, were you at the Alpha Delt party on Sat??

 

 

As I wait for Pippa’s response, I pile the cheese cubes onto a plate and then rummage through the pantry for a box of crackers. I dump a bunch of those on the plate too.

When my phone buzzes, I dive for it.

PIPPA: Ya. Why??

 

 

ME: Did you see Nico there?

 

 

HER: No. Was he there?

 

 

ME: Maybe? Someone says they saw him.

 

 

HER: Hmmm. Well I did leave kinda early, like around 11. Do you know what time he got there?

 

 

ME: No clue. But just to be clear, you didn’t see him when you were there?

 

 

HER: Nope.

 

 

I bite my lip. All right. So he wasn’t with Pippa. That doesn’t mean anything.

PIPPA: What’s going on, D?

 

 

ME: Call me?

 

 

She calls less than five seconds later. I carry my cracker and cheese plate upstairs to my bedroom, balancing the phone on my shoulder. “Do you think Nico’s cheating on me?” I demand in lieu of hello.

“Cheating on you? Is that a joke?”

“No. Someone saw him in a compromising position with another girl at the party.”

Pippa laughs. “Bullshit.”

A tiny sliver of hope pierces into me. “You think so?”

“I know so. Come on, babe. That boy is obsessed with you.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s not cheating.”

“Trust me, there’s no way he would do anything to jeopardize your relationship. He’s constantly going on and on about how you guys are going to get married someday. I can’t see him throwing everything away for some random hook-up.”

I can’t, either. And, she’s right. Nico does have the tendency to boast about the amazing future we’re going to have. Why would he be planning a future with me if he’s hooking up with other women?

“Who told you about this?” Pippa asks.

“Hunter,” I confess.

“The hockey player?”

“Yes. He was at the party and he saw Nico leaving one of the upstairs bedrooms with a girl. Apparently he was zipping up his pants.”

A brief silence meets my ear. Then Pippa says, “No. I still don’t buy it.”

“You don’t?” The hope in my chest grows, joined by a rush of relief. “So, what, you think Hunter is lying?”

“Probably.”

“What’s his motivation to lie?”

“I bet he wants in your pants.”

“We’re just friends,” I say. And I can’t stop picturing the tortured expression on his face when he told me what he saw. It’s obvious he didn’t want to say anything.

Or…he could’ve been putting on an act, pretending that it pained him so much to tell me, but really it was all a plot to, as Pippa said, get in my pants. I mean, Hunter fully admitted to having a sexual fantasy about me once. And he’s a self-proclaimed former manwhore. Why should I trust anything he has to say about women and relationships?

On the flip side, I’ve known Nico since I was eight years old. He’s my best friend.

“Nico loves you,” Pippa says as if reading my mind. “I think Hunter is lying or else he misinterpreted what he saw.”

“So you think I’m being crazy?”

“I think you’re being crazy.”

“Thanks, chica.” I sigh. “Should I should say something to Nico?”

“I don’t know, babe. It might start a fight, but if you need to do it for your peace of mind, then yeah, you should. But don’t frame it like an accusation,” she advises. “Maybe treat it more as a joke? Like, omigosh hon, can you believe that?”

“That’s a good approach.”

We hang up a few minutes later, and I’m left sitting on my bed with a snack plate in my lap.