Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 125845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)
She picks up the phone. “Which one is he?”
I point at Hunter and the blonde. They’re still kissing in the picture.
Dammit. I was kind of hoping I’d look at it again and they’d be standing on opposite sides of the frame.
Corinne studies the image. “This is the guy you’re seeing?”
“Yep.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” She seems genuinely upset on my behalf. Or maybe it’s just pity. Poor Demi, the girl who keeps getting shafted for other chicks.
Pippa grabs the phone again and spends an inordinate amount of time examining the screen. “No, this is definitely an old picture,” she finally announces. “I recognize this girl.” She taps the face of the redhead beside Matt Anderson. “That’s Jenny.”
“Who’s Jenny?” asks Corinne.
“She was in one of my acting classes freshman year.” Pippa appears both relieved and triumphant. “It’s an old picture, D. I promise.”
“How can you be sure?” I’m almost embarrassed by the balloon of hope rising in my chest.
“Because she doesn’t go here anymore. She transferred to the drama program at UCLA more than a year ago.”
“Seriously?”
“How do you know it’s her?” TJ asks. “It’s not the clearest shot. Or maybe she’s in town visiting friends, you don’t know.”
“Hold on. Let me find her Insta account so we can compare pics. Amuse yourselves for a minute, girls and boy.” She bends over her phone, a woman on a mission.
I try to focus on Corinne as she chats about her new classes this semester, but when Pippa gives a shout of satisfaction, my focus ricochets back to her in an instant.
“See!” She lays down her phone, side by side with TJ’s. “That’s Jenny.”
I compare the pictures. It’s the same girl.
“And she’s not visiting,” Pippa adds. “According to her Insta, she’s been in Hawaii with her family for the past few weeks.”
Relief courses through me, so overpowering that I feel faint. And sick. And afraid.
Not defining a relationship is a terrible place to be in. But what’s even more terrible is the current state of my mind and heart. I went from zero to infidelity in a nanosecond. Instantly succumbed to suspicion and assumed Hunter had made out with someone else at a party.
I force myself to drink my entire daiquiri. To listen to Pippa and Corinne, to express interest when TJ talks about how he’s visiting his brother in England this summer. But I can’t concentrate. I’m too riled up from that false alarm. I feel stupid and uncertain.
I need to talk to Hunter.
“Hey, I’m going to take off,” I say when Pippa suggests ordering another round. “My head’s not in this.”
TJ looks disappointed. “It’s only nine-thirty.”
“I know. I’m sorry. But I’m emotionally exhausted.”
“It’s cool,” Pippa says, waving a hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow anyway. Dinner with Darius, remember?”
“Right.” I say my goodbyes, then zip up my parka and exit the bar.
Greek Row is a three-minute walk from here, but I’m not headed home. I order an Uber, and fifteen minutes later I’m in Hastings, ringing Hunter’s doorbell.
Summer lets me in. “Hey. I didn’t know you were coming over.” She greets me with a dazzling smile, because that’s the default mode for her face. Dazzling.
“Last-minute thing,” I answer vaguely.
Beyond her shoulder, I spot her boyfriend Fitz walking past the kitchen doorway in gray sweatpants and no shirt. He backs up when he catches sight of me, and lifts one tattooed arm in a quick wave. “Hey Demi. There’s leftover pizza if you want.”
“No thanks. I’m good. I’m just going to go up and see Hunter.” My heart beats faster as I climb the stairs and approach his bedroom door.
When I knock, he responds with a loud growl. “Go away, Rupi. I don’t want to watch Riverdale. It’s fucking stupid.”
“It’s me,” I answer with a laugh.
“Semi? Why did you even knock? Get your cute butt in here.”
I enter the room to find him sprawled on his bed. A hockey game flashes on the TV, but I can’t tell who’s playing. Hunter’s head is propped up on a pillow, his dark hair rumpled, and stubble shadowing his jaw.
Those dimples appear as he smiles at me. “I thought you didn’t want to come over.”
“I wasn’t going to, but then—”
“—but then you realized you wanted to get all up in my dick biz. Wise decision.”
I crack a smile. “No. I just…” I trail off.
I suddenly feel ridiculous for showing up like this. What am I supposed to say? I was out with friends and saw a picture of you kissing some girl and I thought it was recent and then I felt sick but it turned out to be old and yet I couldn’t stop freaking out so I raced over here for no good reason.
“What’s going on?” he asks, his forehead creasing. “What’s wrong?”
To my utter horror, hot tears fill my eyes.
“Demi.” He sits up. “What’s going on?”