“Hey, hey, stop,” I order.

“Hunter? What are you doing here?” She blinks a few times before her eyes go feral again. “Let me go. He deserves an ass kicking!”

“Yes, he does,” I agree, and Nico scowls at me. “But karma will do that job for you, trust me.”

“Hunter, let me go!” Now she’s grunting, gritting her teeth, attempting to punch her way out of my grip. So I fling her over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry. “Hunter!” she screeches in outrage. “Put me down!”

“No. I’m not watching you get arrested for assault tonight, okay?” I kick away a piece of Nico’s PlayStation, while trying to contain a struggling Demi. “You’re already guilty of property damage.”

“I don’t care!” she says stubbornly. “Now I want to do bodily damage.”

“I know you do, Semi, but trust me, he ain’t worth it.”

But the riled-up woman in my arms is still flapping her arms like a trapped bird trying to get free. I spare a dark look at Nico before marching off toward my Land Rover. Only when I reach the vehicle do I set Demi down. The moment her socked feet meet the sidewalk, her steely demeanor seems to crumble. Suddenly she turns into a vulnerable girl, tears welling in her eyes.

“He humiliated me,” she whispers.

“I know, babe. C’mere.” I open my arms, but she ducks her head shamefully.

“No. I don’t want a hug,” she mumbles.

“Fine, then get in the car.”

“Why?”

“You’re coming over to my place and we’re getting drunk. You could use the distraction.”

Demi hesitates. She glances in the vicinity of the Theta house, where Nico is slowly walking toward his pick-up truck. Then she tears her gaze away and opens the passenger’s door of my Rover.

We’re on the road a few seconds later. Demi doesn’t say a single word. She keeps her gaze straight ahead.

“I’m so sorry,” I say gruffly.

She finally speaks, her voice trembling with each word. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. You were right—about everything. And I snapped at you and called you a fuckboy.” She sniffles. “I feel horrible about that. Please tell me you accept my apology.”

“Of course I do. It’s all good with us, Demi. I promise.”

She still refuses to look at me. “He was the fuckboy. He cheated on me. More than once, with more than one person.”

“Yeah, I gathered.”

I turn onto the main road that leads to town. It’s a straight ten-minute drive, and then I’m pulling up into the driveway behind Summer’s silver Audi. The lights are still on in the living room.

“Come on, you look like you need that drink.”

Fat teardrops slip out the corners of her eyes. She blinks them back fast. “Okay.”

We walk inside. Demi reaches down as if to remove her shoes before realizing she’s not wearing any. Pink and gray striped socks cover her small feet. She stares at them for a moment as if questioning whether they even belong to her.

“Yo, Hunter? That you?” Hollis calls from the living room.

“Yeah,” I call back.

“Good timing—we’re about to start a new game.”

I guess he and Rupi ironed out their insane differences. “I brought a friend with me,” I answer as I unlace my boots.

“Oooh,” teases Brenna. “Is it a sexy friend?”

I examine Demi. All I see are quivering lips, smudges of mascara under red-rimmed eyes, and a shell-shocked expression.

“Fuck off,” she says ruefully.

I snicker. “Sorry, but sexy isn’t on your side right now.”

When we enter the living room, the girls take one look at my guest and jump to their feet. “Are you okay?” Summer blurts out.

Brenna glares at me, then turns to Demi. “What did he do to you?”

“Oh, screw off, Bee.”

Demi laughs through her tears. “Be nice to him. He just stopped me from physically assaulting my cheating boyf—ex-boyfriend,” she corrects.

“Ugh! Cheaters are the worst kind of dirt bags,” Summer declares.

“The worst,” Hollis agrees.

“You poor thing,” Rupi clucks, tugging Demi toward the couch.

In the blink of an eye, she’s surrounded by the girls, who immediately start pressing for details.

“If you guys don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about it,” Demi admits. She gulps a few times, then gives a half-hearted smile and points to the board game on the coffee table. “What are we playing?”

18

Demi

“I’ve barely seen you these past couple weeks.” Disappointment and compassion war in TJ’s eyes, but after a beat he reaches across the table and gives my hand a squeeze, showing that his compassion won out. Which is a relief, because I’m simply not equipped to reassure him right now. My mental health comes first, and I’ve been AWOL for reasons that have nothing to do with him or our friendship.

“You didn’t miss much. I haven’t been great company.” I pick at the edge of my banana muffin.

“You’re always great company,” TJ says with a smile.

“That’s sweet of you to say.”

“It’s the truth. How are you doing?”

“Better. I mean, my boyfriend cheated on me, so I’m not throwing any parades right now, but I’m also not tempted to commit violence and blow up his apartment.” Which, considering my behavior following Corinne’s housewarming, is certainly progress.

I honestly think I blacked out that night. I remember everything I did, but the memories feel removed and are filtered through a red haze. Throwing Nico’s clothes out the window, smashing his PlayStation, punching him in the face. The clearest of the memories are the ones involving Hunter and his roommates. That silly board game we played had succeeded in calming me down, and therefore I’m forever indebted to Zombies!™

“Have you spoken to him?” TJ asks. “Or do you still have his number blocked?”

“Still blocked.” I had no choice but to do it. Nico was calling and texting so often it was becoming intolerable. “But he did show up at the house last week,” I admit.

TJ frowns deeply. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“There was nothing to tell. He knocked on the door, and Josie and the others threatened to castrate him if he came by again.”

“Good. And don’t forget, my offer still stands—I’ll beat him up for you if you want.”

I give a dry smile. “He’s not worth it. Besides, I don’t want you getting hurt.” TJ isn’t scrawny, but he’s five-eight with a lanky build. Nico would murder him in a fight.

His hand tightens over mine.

“I didn’t mean it in a you’re-a-wimp sense,” I backpedal. “I know you’re not. I just mean he’s not worth the effort. Besides, you’d have to get in line. Pax is already doing extra arm days at the gym to bulk up, so that he can, and I quote, ‘fuck him up and not in the good way.’” We both snicker. “And Darius isn’t speaking to him at all.”