you paying attention to Andrews’ lecture about sexual compulsions? And two, that happened last year. Hunter’s different now. He’s not even dating at the moment.”
“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.”