moment. Then it transforms into a glimmer of determination. “Fine. I won’t hit on you anymore. But only if you make me a promise.”
“Demi—”
“After the season ends—” She slants her head, defiant. “I get to be the one you cross the finish line with, friendship be damned.”
25
Demi
A few days before the break starts, I manage to squeeze in a coffee date with TJ, who meets me at the Theta house. It’s chilly outside, but we both agree a winter walk through campus would be lovely, so we set off in the direction of the Coffee Hut.
“Are you mad at me?”
TJ’s wounded tone has me glancing over in surprise. “Of course not. I’ve just been crazy-busy. I’m working on the case study, cramming for finals, planning the sorority’s holiday party with Josie, organizing a Secret Santa for everyone in my Biology tutorial. Life is nuts right now.”
“No, I know. I just miss you.”
“Aw, I miss you too.” I link my arm through his.
“Are you around tonight?” he asks. “There’s this skating thing at the rink in Hastings.”
“What skating thing?”
“It’s, like, a winter fair? It’s the first year the town is holding it. I thought it would be cool to go. Drink some hot cocoa, skate for a bit, get our picture taken with Santa.”
“That sounds fun. I love fairs. Oh—but I have Hunter’s game tonight.”
“Hunter’s game?”
I nod. “Briar’s playing against…you know what, I didn’t even ask who they’re playing. But it’s a home game, and I promised him I’d go. It’ll probably end around nine-thirty, ten? How long is the fair open until?”
He opens a browser on his iPhone, and I notice the Town of Hastings webpage is already loaded up. “It says here it goes till midnight.”
I brighten. “Okay, that works, then. I should be done by ten-ish, and that’ll give us a couple hours at the fair. Sound like a plan?”
“Sounds great.” He smiles, a rare sight to behold.
I can’t deny that TJ isn’t the easiest person to get to know. He keeps his emotions locked up tight, but once he warms up to people, he’s actually super sweet. He can be moody at times, which is probably why I can’t spend long chunks of time with him. That doesn’t mean I don’t like him, though. I also can’t spend an inordinate amount of time with Pax, whose melodramatic nature eventually drains my patience.
TJ and I navigate the winding path, snow crunching beneath our feet. The ground is icy, and he tightens his hold on my arm as we encounter a particularly precarious section of the path.
“They need to salt this,” he gripes.
“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