The Play (Briar U Book 3)

I had no idea there were so many men in the world. Obviously, I was aware the global population is in the billions, but how are there this many guys on this app, all within a sixty-mile radius of me? It’s way too much data. I’m on sensory overload as my finger flicks past profile after profile.

Like Dan, who enjoys kickboxing.

Or Kyle, who’s here for a good time, not a long time.

Or Chris, who wants me to “just ask.”

Or another Kyle, who describes himself with three eggplant emojis.

And another Kyle! This one likes to eat out. Hint hint, nudge nudge.

“Ewww! Why are all the Kyles so repulsive?” I demand.

Hunter thinks it over. “Coincidence,” he finally answers.

“Coincidence? That’s your best guess?” I can’t stop laughing. This is the most fun I’ve had in ages. I swipe to the next profile and gasp. “Oooh, I like him. Let’s swipe right on Roy.”

Hunter examines the potential suitor’s photos. He whistles softly. “Fuck yeah. Check out those obliques. I’d do him.”

“Glad we’re in agreement.” I grumble in disappointment when Roy and I don’t match. The last three guys I swiped right on, I matched instantly with.

“Don’t let it get to you,” Hunter says helpfully. “A guy with a body like that has options.”

Literally two seconds later, a bubble pops up announcing I matched with Roy.

“Ha!” I say in triumph.

Hunter grins. “Looks like you made the cut.”

“What about this guy?” I ask about the next profile.

“He’s wearing sunglasses and a hat in every picture. He’s either bald and ugly, or a murderer. Though I’m sure the latter would be enticing for you.”

“Oh, for sure. I’d sell my firstborn to be able to psychoanalyze a killer.”

“It worries me that I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

We swipe for a bit longer, but all the faces are melding together. I’m starting to get bored and the messages are starting to pour in. “Let’s talk to some of these matches and weed out the ones we don’t like,” I suggest.

But it doesn’t take long to realize we’re dealing with a quantity over quality situation.

“Christ, these messages are lame,” Hunter groans.

What’s up beautiful?

You’re so hottttt.

9 inches, at your service.

“Hard pass,” I declare, and promptly unmatch Mr. 9 Inches. I open the next message and give it a skim. The guy, Ethan, wrote an entire paragraph introducing himself. “Jeez. Check this one out.”

Hunter reads the message and whistles. “No way. He’s too thirsty. I don’t like him.”

“Me neither.” We seem to be on the same wavelength when it comes to the vibes we’re getting from these men.

Finally, I reach Roy’s message.

Hey Demi! I know this sounds cliché, but you’ve got beautiful eyes. How’s your night going?

“I like him,” I announce.

Hunter chuckles. “Isn’t it sad that all they have to do to gain our approval is possess basic conversational skills and not talk about their cocks? Shows how low of a bar we’re dealing with here.”

“You’re right—that’s sad as fuck. What should I say back?”

“Tell him you like his man-vee.”

Ignoring the suggestion, I type, Thanks! Your eyes are pretty nice too. So is the rest of you 😉

Hunter mock gasps. “Demi, you hussy!”

I grin and send a follow-up message.

ME: My night is okay. Doing some schoolwork. How about you?

HIM: My night would be a lot better if we were having a beer together 🙂

“Oh, he is good,” Hunter remarks.

HIM: What do you say? Should we meet up for a drink tonight?

“Ask him to go to Malone’s,” is Hunter’s advice.

“What? Right now? We’ve literally exchanged three messages.”

“So? You’re not looking for a pen pal or a sexting buddy. The point of this is to get a date, right? You need to meet in person to know if there’s any chemistry.”

“But does it have to be tonight?”

“Why not?”

“I have plans with TJ.”

“Then ask to meet up tomorrow. But trust me, a guy with an ass like that doesn’t last long on the meat market. I’d marry him in a heartbeat.”

I chew on my bottom lip. I suppose I could reschedule with TJ—he and I see each other all the time. And it might be nice to go on a date with someone new. I haven’t done that since high school, during one of my breaks with Nico.

“Okay,” I decide. “I’m meeting Roy tonight.”

“That’s the spirit!” Hunter raises his hand.

We high-five, and then I nervously type out a response to Roy. We make arrangements to meet at Malone’s in an hour. Hunter offers to drive me.

Next, I message TJ.

ME: I need a rain check on dinner. I have a……DATE. Gasp! Can you believe it? How’s tomorrow night?

I see him typing, but it takes almost a full minute before the message arrives.

TJ: No prob. Tomorrow works.

ME: Okay perfect. You da best.

TJ: xoxo

There’s an army of butterflies wreaking havoc on my stomach. “Oh God,” I tell Hunter. “I’m so nervous! And I only have an hour to take a shower and figure out what to wear.”

“Go take the shower. I’ll pick an outfit for you.” Hunter’s already striding toward my closet.

“Clothes,” I warn, wagging my finger at him. “Please pick real clothes, Hunter.”

He’s cackling as I close the bathroom door.

By the time we arrive at Malone’s, my palms are sweaty and my heart is beating dangerously fast. Am I actually doing this? Suddenly I don’t feel so ready.

Hunter parks the Land Rover in the tiny lot behind the bar. He cuts the engine and turns to appraise me. “I do good work,” the jackass says with a pleased nod.

I’ll allow him the outfit—he picked a pair of dark blue skinny jeans, a soft gray sweater that hangs over one shoulder and shows some skin, and black suede boots with short heels. It’s a cute outfit and I look cute in it.

But the accessories? He doesn’t get any credit for those. “I hate these earrings,” I gripe, carefully arranging the big hoops so that they don’t catch in my hair. “You know this. And yet you still peer-pressured me into wearing them.”

“Because you look hot in them,” he protests. “Trust me, they up the outfit’s hotness factor from a nine to an eleven. Just quit complaining and wear them for tonight. One night.”

“Ugh. Fine.” As I slide out of the SUV, I’m surprised to see Hunter do the same. “You’re coming in with me?”

He gives a nod. “Don’t worry, I’ll sit at the bar. I’ll stick around until I’m sure he won’t murder you. Just pretend I’m not there.”

I’m genuinely touched. “Thank you. You’re a good friend.”

We round the side of the building toward the entrance. I can’t believe I’m going on a date. A Tinder date, to boot. That’s pretty much code for “maybe I’ll have sex with you tonight.”

Wait, tonight? I can’t have sex with anyone tonight. I just realized I forgot to shave my legs.

Dammit, why didn’t I shave my legs?

It’s fine, it’s only a drink, I reassure my panicky self.

We enter the bar and I conduct a quick scan of the main room. It’s busier than I expected for a Monday night, but college students go out drinking any night of the week, I guess. My pulse accelerates when I notice a tall, muscular guy pushing away from the bar.

His eyes widen appreciatively when he spots me. “Demi?” he calls out.

“Roy?”

“That’s me.” He smiles, flashing a pair of dimples. Oh no, he has dimples. I’m in trouble. “There’s a free table over there,” Roy says warmly. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” Ugh, that was so dorky. I’m bad at this.

A smattering of high, standing tables make up the main room. Two are empty, and we choose the more secluded of the pair. I glance over my shoulder. Hunter winks and nods in encouragement, then wanders toward the bar stools.

“Sorry for being so forward, but you are even hotter in person.” Roy openly checks me out, so I don’t feel bad doing the same.

His shirt is outrageously tight, probably tighter than any piece of clothing I own. I can clearly see the outline of every muscle, and his nipples. Hard little beads poking out for all to see. I’d always been indifferent to man nipples, but Roy’s body-hugging shirt brings so much attention to them that I can’t look away. I force myself to redirect my gaze to the TV screens above our heads. One is playing Monday night football, the other shows an NHL game.

“Do you like sports?” Roy asks.

“I’ll watch football if it’s on. I’m not too into hockey, although I have a friend who plays. And my ex-boyfriend played basketball, so I had no choice but to pay attention to the NBA.” Dammit, you’re not supposed to bring up another guy when you’re on a date. That feels like a major no-no.

Okay, I’m really bad at this.

But Roy doesn’t seem fazed. “I never played any sports.” He gestures to his huge, muscly body. “I know, I know, doesn’t look like it, but I got this physique from working out.”

“So you’re, like, a gym guy?”

He nods vigorously. “Seven days a week. How about you? Do you go to the gym?”

“I use the one in the student fitness center a couple times a week. But I don’t do more than use the treadmill, lift some weights, nothing fancy.”

A waiter comes up to take our order. Roy asks for a Bud Light. I’m not in love with beer, but I don’t feel comfortable drinking anything harder. My nerves are tickling my tummy and making my fingers tremble.

“I’ll have a Bud Light too,” I finally decide.

Once the server is gone, Roy picks up where we left off. “Have you used the pool in the fitness center? It’s great for swimming laps.”

“No, I haven’t. Like I said, my workouts are pretty mild.” I shrug. “I have a great metabolism.”

“Working out has nothing to do with metabolism. Fitness is about health. Healthy heart rate, healthy mental state, healthy bones.” He goes on about the benefits of exercise for several minutes, until my eyes start glazing over.

Finally, I interrupt him. “You kind of lost me there, bud.”

Roy offers a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I’m really passionate about fitness.”

“I can tell.”

“Let’s talk about other stuff.” He rests his forearms on the table. A heavy silver watch adorns his left wrist, and it sparkles under the light fixtures. “So you’re looking for something casual, huh?”

Oh boy. This topic is even more awkward. I’d way rather talk about his biceps curls. “Um, yeah. I mean, I recently broke up with my long-term boyfriend, so…”

“So you’re on the rebound,” he supplies.

I nod.

“Me too,” Roy confesses.

“Really?” His profile bio didn’t mention that. “When was your break-up?”

“A couple days ago.”

A couple days ago? And he’s already on Tinder? At least my break-up can be measured in weeks.

“That’s very recent,” I say carefully. “Are you sure you should be, you know, doing this?” I gesture between us.

Roy’s right hand fiddles with his bulky watch. “Truthfully? I don’t know. But I need to get over her, and I figured this is the best way. Putting myself right back out there, you know?”

Uneasiness trickles up my throat.

“Can I ask why you and your ex broke up?”

I answer truthfully. “He cheated.”

“Oh man, that sucks. Were you together long?”

“We’ve known each other since we were eight. First kiss at twelve. Officially boyfriend and girlfriend at thirteen.” As I recite the details, I’m startled to notice the lack of accompanying emotions. My heart didn’t even clench when I listed each Nico milestone.

“Wow,” Roy marvels. “That’s a lot of history.”

The server returns with our beers, and I gratefully accept my bottle. I’m not entirely sure how this date is going, but I’m leaning toward not well.

We clink our bottles together. “Cheers,” I say.

“Cheers.” He takes a long swig.

I do too, and it requires all my willpower not to blanch. I hate the taste of beer. Why did I even order this? What a stupid decision. I wonder if I should flag down the waiter and ask for a glass of water.

“So we’re both unlucky in love.” Roy observes me over the rim of his bottle.

“Guess so. What happened with your girlfriend?”

“She said I didn’t spend enough time with her.” He swallows another quick sip. “She thinks she should be my number one priority and that I focus on trivial shit instead of her.”

I think it over. “Well, she has a point and she also doesn’t. Obviously your partner needs to be a top priority, but we’re in college. We also need to prioritize our classes, our assignments, our social lives—”

“No,” he interrupts. “She means the gym. She thinks I’m addicted to the gym.”

I can’t stop my gaze from lowering to his pecs. The ones that are straining against his shirt, fighting to break free. This shirt cannot hold me! those pecs are screaming.

I think maybe Roy’s ex is right.

“But screw that,” he says irritably. “She should be proud of all the work I put into looking like this. Other dudes pump themselves full of ’roids, HGH. They poison their bodies. But me? This is all natural. My body is a temple.”

A snort rings out from behind me. For fuck’s sake. Is someone eavesdropping on us?

I turn my head—and sigh when I recognize the familiar profile. It belongs to Hunter, who’s lurking at the neighboring table. He was supposed to be at the bar, dammit.

My discomfort only grows at the knowledge that my friend is listening in. But maybe it doesn’t matter, because it’s also becoming painfully obvious that Roy and I will not be entering into a Friends with Benefits arrangement.

“I don’t get why I have to choose,” he’s grousing.

I fix him with a serious look. “Did you love her?”

“With all of my heart,” he says passionately.

“Then how is it even a choice? Cut back on your gym time, you dummy.”

Another snort.

“It is a choice,” he argues. “An impossible choice.”

“Oh, come on now. That’s an exaggeration. You can’t love the gym more than a woman. You can’t get married to the gym, Roy. You can’t have babies with the gym.”

The floor beneath my feet is vibrating, and I don’t know if it’s from the heavy bass track blasting from the speakers, or because of Hunter shaking uncontrollably with laughter.

“You have a point,” Roy says, albeit begrudgingly. “But I don’t see why I should give up my passion.”

“She’s not asking you to give it up. She’s clearly asking you to find a balance,” I answer pragmatically.

“A balance,” he echoes.

“Yes. Listen. What’s your girlfriend’s name?”

“Kaelin.”

“I think Kaelin has a point. If you truly view her on the same level as the gym, then she’s right to be upset. Kaelin is a human being, Roy. The gym is just a room full of machines.”

Behind me, Hunter howls.

I ignore him. “I think you need to examine your priorities,” I advise. “A rebound isn’t the right move for you. Granted, it’ll be a rebound with a ridiculously hot woman—”

“The hottest,” he agrees, and my ego takes comfort in that.

“But it’s not the right move,” I repeat.

He sips his beer. “What’s the right move then?”

“Calling Kaelin and asking her to get together and talk. And maybe actually listen to what she’s telling you. She’s not trying to control you. She simply wants to be with you.” I really hope I’m not misinterpreting this, and that Kaelin didn’t dump him because he’s clearly in love with the gym, and I do mean in love in a sexual way. But heck, it warrants a conversation, seeing as how he’s obviously not over her.

“I know this is totally rude…” Roy reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a twenty-dollar bill, way too much money for two shitty beers. “But do you mind if I bail on you?”

“Absolutely not. Go get ’er, Tiger.” I accept the twenty. Might as well use it to buy me and Hunter a round.

Speaking of Hunter, he appears at my side the moment Roy disappears. “That was the craziest fucking date I’ve ever spied on,” he declares, his jaw half open.

“Tell me about it. Is this what it’s like to be back in the saddle? You just have to ride a bunch of donkeys?”

“Dude. First of all—the way that man was jacked, he’s a majestic steed, not a donkey.”

“And second of all?”

“Oh, I don’t have a second point.”

I sigh. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

“Well, you didn’t do yourself any favors by being such a therapist.”

“How is that a bad thing?”

“It is when you’re trying to hook up. You’re supposed to ride the man’s dick, Semi, not convince him to get back together with his girlfriend.”

“You’re right. I really do suck at this,” I moan.

Hunter pulls the Bud Light out of my hand and sets it on the table. “Let’s get this garbage out of the way. We will not be drinking Bud Light tonight.”

“We?”

“Your date bailed. I’m all you got, babe. I’ll go and grab us some actual beer.”

Hunter is gone all of three seconds before another guy approaches me. He has a shaved head, an oversized hoodie, and very white teeth.

“Hey, beautiful. Want some company?”

I’m about to say no, but he’s already sidling up beside me.

“What happened to your friend?” White Teeth asks.

“He’s getting our drinks. So if you don’t mind—”

He leans in closer, and I instinctively lean back. I don’t like it when people infringe on my space cushion.

“What’s the matter?” White Teeth drawls.

“You’re in my space cushion,” I retort. “I’d appreciate it if you moved.”

He furrows his brow. “What do you need space for? We’re getting to know each other.”

To my sheer relief, Hunter returns with our drinks. He takes one look at the intruder and levels him with a hard glare. “No,” Hunter says coldly.

“No what?” White Teeth sounds annoyed.

Hunter widens his stance. “This ain’t happening. Get lost.”

I smile at Hunter’s menacing pose. Apparently he’s my new protector.

My very attractive protector.

Dammit, I need to stop thinking about how hot is. He doesn’t want a rebound with me. He already made that clear.

It would be so much easier if he agreed to it, though. I’m attracted to him, and, more importantly, I trust him. But I’m not making a play for my friend, especially when he explicitly stated he’s not into it.

The Space Cushion Encroacher stalks off in a huff, while Hunter stares after him in amusement. “That was easy.” Then, with an extravagant gesture, he presents me with a tall can of beer. It’s called Jack’s Abbey House Lager.

“It’s in a can,” I remark.

“Yeah, cans are making a big comeback in craft beer circles. You’re really living now, babe.”

“Ergh. I probably should’ve told you to grab me a vodka cran or something fruity. I’m not a fan of most beers.” I pause in thought. “Actually, I can’t think of a single beer I like. They all taste the same to me: bad.”

“Trust me, you’ll like this one. It goes down so smooth. Just try it.”

As Hunter watches expectantly, I take a big swallow of his magical beer.

“Well?” he demands.

My gaze drops to my suede boots. “It tastes exactly like the other one.”

“Are you joking right now? You think Abbey House and Bud Light taste the same? I’m so ashamed of you right now.”

“I told you, I’m not a beer girl.”

“You’re a disgrace.”

“You’re a disgrace.”

Hunter grins as I stick out my tongue at him. He sips his own can of pretentious beer, then says, “I’m sorry it didn’t work out with Mr. Muscles.”

“It’s fine. To be honest, it was nice to get out of the house. And it’s good practice, right?”

We do some people-watching as we savor our beers. Well, Hunter savors. I just hold my nose and swallow. We crack each other up by creating fake backstories for various bar patrons, and in no time at all I’ve forgotten all about being ditched by Roy. I have more fun with Hunter, anyway.

Around nine-thirty we leave the bar and head for the parking lot. As I’m zipping up my parka, one of my earrings nearly gets caught in the hood and I curse under my breath.

“I hate these stupid things,” I complain as I move the hoop aside. “They’re a menace.”

“You’re a menace.”

Yes, this is our thing now. It makes us snicker every time, which I suppose indicates that either our shared sense of humor is immature, or we are.

Hunter starts the Rover and reverses out of the parking spot. “I’m taking you home?” He glances over.

“Yep, thank you.” I buckle my seatbelt, laughing when I notice that my Bluetooth is the device that connects to his car.

“You didn’t un-sync!” he accuses. “You promised me you did.”

“I lied to you, Hunter.” Chortling, I load a playlist that includes a bunch of Whitney Houston ballads, which I know he doesn’t like.

“You’re evil,” he says as he drives us away from town.

“Sorry, I can’t hear you. Whitney is singing.”

Then, just because I can, I sing along to “Greatest Love of All” until Hunter threatens to leave me on the side of the dark, deserted road if I don’t shut up.

“Hey, could you turn off my butt heater?” he asks. “My ass is on fire.”

“Sure.” I’m holding my phone, so I go to plop it into the cup holder. But the Rover hits a pothole at that exact moment and the phone slips from my hand and tumbles to Hunter’s feet.

“Chrissake, Semi. Grab that before it gets stuck under the gas pedal.”

“Chill out. Hold on.” I lean toward him and stretch out my arm, but the moving car sends my phone skittering across the floor mat. “Dammit, I can’t reach it. Can you try to kick it toward my hand?”

“No. I’m fucking driving.”

“Just try.”

Groaning, he tries to poke the phone with his left foot, and the SUV swerves slightly.

“Okay, no, stop doing that,” I order. “Focus on driving. I’ll do it.”

I unbuckle my seatbelt and crawl over his lower body. My hand begins wiggling around in the vicinity of his calves. The car swerves again.

“Pay attention to the road!”

“Trying to,” he grinds out. “But you keep bumping my leg.”

I bend over as far as I can, until my head is squished in Hunter’s lap. I stretch out my arm again, and—yes! My fingers collide with the phone and I swiftly close a fist around it.

“Got it!” I announce, and then I move to sit up and—

I can’t.

“Demi,” Hunter orders. “Move.” The car rocks slightly to the right.

I try to lift my head again, and a jolt of pain shoots through my ear. “Oh my God,” I wail. “I told you. I fucking told you.”

“Told me what? Jesus, get up—”

“I can’t!” My voice is muffled against the fly of his jeans. “My earring is stuck.”

“Stuck on what?”

“On you! On your jeans! I don’t know what.” The position I’ve found myself in has my head wrenched to the side, so all I can see is Hunter’s knees, and his foot on the gas pedal. Rather than attempt an escape, I keep my head planted flat on his thigh.

“Try to unsnag yourself,” he pleads.

I refuse to budge. “No. It’ll rip my earlobe off, Hunter.”

“It won’t.”

“It will.” Honest-to-God tears well up in my eyes.

He growls in frustration. “It’s not gonna rip your—fuck, you know what, hold on. Let me pull over,” he says.

And that’s when we hear the sirens.