As for the rebound idea I floated with Hunter via text, I’m finding myself more and more open to the idea. In fact, I’m kind of excited about it as I walk to class on Monday morning.

I’m wearing a parka with a fur-lined hood, an oversized messenger bag over one shoulder, fur-lined boots, and holding a steaming coffee cup in my hand.

You know that saying—dress for the job you want? Well, I dress for the season I want. It’s the end of November and it still hasn’t snowed, and I’m growing tired of this weird in-between period where there are no leaves on the trees but no snow on the ground. It’s eerie and I hate it.

Pax, TJ and I chat about our Thanksgivings until Professor Andrews arrives. Hunter texted early this morning that he wouldn’t be in class today. Apparently he has a physical with the team doctor.

I see him later that night, though, when he comes over for our—sob—final therapy session. My session logs are filled with notes. Hunter’s done with all his research. Now it’s just a matter of him writing the technical paper, and me writing the case study and detailed diagnosis, but those aren’t due for a few more weeks.

“Since we’re officially done, am I allowed to tell you your diagnosis?” I ask him.

“Hit me,” Hunter says with a grin. He’s sprawled on the loveseat, his hands propped behind his head, his arms bare. He runs hot, according to him, so every time he’s in my room he strips down to a wife-beater or T-shirt, showing off those sculpted arms.

“Congratulations, you suffer from Narcissistic Personality Disorder, with a hint of antisocial PD.”

“You’re good.”

“Thank you. I figured it out after like the second session, but NPD is actually super hard to diagnose properly,” I say, which leads to a short discussion about the disorder and what Hunter learned during his research. He concurs that NPD cases are tough, especially because narcissists are so skilled at manipulating people, including psychologists.

“My father had our therapist eating out of his palm,” Hunter admits.

I try to mask my eagerness. I hadn’t wanted to bring it up myself, but I’ve been thinking a lot about our last session. Hunter’s breakdown. His revelation that we’d been discussing his own father this entire time. My breakup with Nico had dominated my thoughts after that session, but now it’s in the forefront of my mind as I cautiously study Hunter.

“I’m really sorry you had to go through all that crap with him,” I say in a quiet voice.

He shrugs. “Whatever. Other people have it worse.”

“So? My boyfriend cheated—other women might have a husband of thirty years who cheated and six kids at home. Does that diminish my own experience, because someone has it worse? There’s always someone with a shittier life than yours. That doesn’t turn the shit in your life into roses.”

He exhales sharply. “That is very true, and you’re too smart for your own good.”

I chuckle. “I know. And I mean it, I’m sorry for everything your father has put you through.”

“Thank you.” His tone ripples with…awe, maybe? I can’t tell. But it’s evident he’s genuinely appreciative of my words.

Then I realize what he’d said before—our therapist—and surprise jolts through me. “Wait, your father actually went to therapy? Willingly?”

“Willingly, hell no. It was one of those extremely rare times when Mom tried to stand up for herself. She told him if he didn’t change his behavior, she would leave him. I mean, nobody bought that, but I guess she sounded serious enough that he capitulated. So we went to family therapy. Mom thought Dad and I also needed to clear the air between us, so I was forced into it. Christ, the whole thing was a shitshow.”

“Why’s that?”

“He completely manipulated the therapist during his individual sessions. I don’t know what he told her, but when we saw her as a family, she was squarely on Team Dad. She spoke as if Mom and I were the evil perpetrators and he was the victim. It was unreal.”

“Wow. I’m so sorry, babe. I can’t even imagine having a parent like that. Parents aren’t supposed to be the selfish ones. I mean, we’re the kids. We’re the selfish ones.”

Hunter offers a sad smile. “In my house, my father is the only person who matters. You’re lucky—your dad might want you to get back with your ex, but at least he doesn’t treat you like a piece of property.”

That is a very good point. Empathy continues to swell in my belly. I want to go over and give him a big hug, but I suspect he’d feel embarrassed.

“What’s going on with all that, anyway?” Hunter asks, changing the subject. “Have you spoken to Nico?”

“Nope, and I don’t plan on it, not for a long time.”

“And the rebound situation?”

My heart skips a beat. “Well. You won’t give me one, so I guess I’m on the hunt.”

He looks startled for a second and then he laughs. “Come on, you said you were basically joking about that.”

“Right.”

But was I?

I suddenly find myself staring at him. With his classically handsome features, Hunter Davenport is objectively one of the best-looking men I’ve ever met.

If we’re talking subjectively, then…ugh, then yes. I think he’s incredibly hot. He has a sexy mouth and a killer smile. And dimples. What is it with me and guys with dimples? It’s like my sexual kryptonite.

My gaze travels the length of his body. He’s wearing jeans, and I wonder what he’s packing underneath them. Considering women are constantly throwing themselves at him, he must have some good dick game. And check me out, talking about dick games as if I know what good dick actually entails. My list of lovers is a resounding ONE.

“So. Just because we haven’t checked in for a while—you’re still a monk?” Somehow I muster up a casual tone.

“Yup yup.”

“Don’t say yup yup.”

“I can’t believe I’ve lasted this long.” His expression becomes tortured. “We’re at seven months, almost eight.”

“When does this celibacy vow expire? I mean, you don’t plan on keeping it forever, right?”

“Nah, till the end of the season.”

“And then what? You’ll go wild in the summer? You still have your senior year at Briar,” I remind him.

“I know.” He groans. “Honestly, I’ll probably go nuts in the summer and fuck anything that moves.” Another groan. “My balls hurt all the time, Semi.”

I grin. “Aw, do you want me to make it better?”

“Stop teasing.”

“I’m not teasing.”

Am I? Lord, I don’t even know anymore. What I do know is that I desperately need that rebound.

“I need that rebound,” I say out loud.

Hunter purses his lips. “I don’t know if I like the idea anymore. You hooking up with some random dude is…worrisome.” He holds up a hand. “And stop saying you want me to do it because we both know you don’t mean it. Besides, this dick’s broken.” He points to his groin as if I don’t know where a penis is located.