“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.

“Darius said Nico is losing his shit. The guys had to forcibly stop him several times from showing up at your house. D told him it was asking for trouble.”

I make a mental note to call Darius later for more details.

“But yeah, he’s definitely not over you, or handling this breakup well.” Pippa gazes at the ice, where the Zamboni is shuffling along to smooth out the shiny surface. Then she switches gears from my cheating ex to the friend he cheated with. “Corinne says you two are texting again.”

I nod. “She sent me a funny meme the other day and we had a short convo.”

“For what it’s worth, she still feels terrible about everything.”

“She should,” I mutter, but my anger toward our friend isn’t as powerful as it used to be. Even my anger at Nico has dimmed.

“I really hope you two can be friends again one day, so we can hang out the way we used to. Maybe over the holiday break the three of us could have a girls’ night?”

A sigh flutters out. “I mean, we could try.”

“Hold up—you’re texting and making hangout plans with the chick who slept with your boyfriend?” Brenna demands. Her mouth is wide with disbelief, drawing attention to her trademark red lips. It’s the only splash of color amidst her black turtleneck, leggings and leather boots.

Pippa shakes her head wryly. “Seriously, Demi, you’re so fucking forgiving and understanding it makes me want to punch you.”

“Really? Those two wonderful qualities of mine make you want to punch me? Also! You literally just suggested we do a girls’ night. You’re encouraging me to be friends with Corinne again.”

“Yeah, but by agreeing to it you’re setting a bad example for the rest of us. You know, the grudge holders.”

Brenna grins. “I hold a mean grudge, I’ll tell you that.”

I roll my eyes at both of them. “I want to be a psychologist. That means I ought to practice what I preach, right?”

The second period gets underway when the referee skates up to the faceoff and drops the puck.

“How does he not get hurt?” Pippa demands.

“Who, the ref?” Brenna asks.

“Yes! Look at that little guy! He’s way too close to the action. One of those huge monsters could smash into him at any second and break every bone in his body.”

“I know it looks dangerous, but the refs know how to stay out of the way,” Brenna assures her.

A cheer rocks the arena and I squint hard, trying to understand what I’m seeing. #12 is flying past the blue line at the center of the rink. “Oooh, that’s Hunter! And he’s all alone.”

Brenna supplies the hockey lingo. “He’s on a breakaway.”

Oh gosh, he’s tearing toward the opposing net, his stick snapping up in preparation for his shot. As my heart lodges in my throat, I find myself shooting to my feet.

“Holy shit, you’re into hockey!” Pippa accuses, staring up at me in shock.

“Into it? No. But did you see that shot?” Hunter missed, but it was still ridiculously thrilling to watch.

Pippa narrows her eyes. “Ohhhhh,” she finally says. “I get what’s happening. You’re not into hockey. You’re into the hockey player.”

“No,” I lie. Then I groan. “Well, maybe a little.”

Brenna lets out a hoot. “That means a lot. Have you found the key to his chastity belt yet?”

A laugh pops out of my mouth. “No, sadly. It’s still locked up tight.” I hesitate for a beat. I haven’t told anybody about kissing Hunter, but I suspect that’s about to change. I need advice, and there’s no better time like the present.

So while Brenna and Pippa sit there grinning at me, I confess to the two kisses, which I think of as Bathroom Kiss and Salsa Kiss. “Salsa Kiss involved a butt squeeze,” I confess. “But then he stopped it from going any further. I think I might need to accept he’s not interested.”

“Bullshit,” Brenna says.

Pippa nods in agreement. “If he wasn’t interested, he wouldn’t keep kissing you back.”