Hannah
BRIAR UNIVERSITY IS five miles from the town of Hastings, Massachusetts, which has one main street and only about two-dozen shops and restaurants. The town is so miniscule it’s a miracle I managed to land a part-time job there, and I thank my lucky stars for it every day because most students are forced to make the hour-long drive to Boston if they want to work during the school year. For me, it’s either a ten-minute bus ride or a five-minute drive, and then I’m at Della’s, the diner I’ve been waitressing at since freshman year.
Tonight I’m lucky and get to drive over. I have an arrangement with Tracy, one of the girls who lives on my floor. She lets me use her car whenever she doesn’t need it as long as I return it with a full tank of gas. It’s a sweet deal, especially in the winter when the whole area turns into a snow-covered skating rink.
I don’t particularly like my job, but I don’t hate it either. It pays well and it’s close to campus, so really, I can’t complain.
Scratch that—tonight I’m definitely allowed to complain. Because thirty minutes before my shift ends, I find Garrett Graham in one of my booths.
Seriously.
Does this guy ever give up?
I have no desire to go over there and serve him, but I don’t have much of a choice. Lisa, the other waitress on duty, is busy tending to a group of faculty members at a table across the room, and my boss Della is behind the baby-blue Formica counter dishing out slices of pecan pie to three freshman girls sitting on the tall swivel stools.
I set my jaw and march up to Garrett, making my displeasure obvious as I meet his twinkling gray eyes. He runs a hand through his cropped dark hair and flashes a lopsided grin.
“Hey there, Hannah. Fancy meeting you here.”
“Yeah, fancy,” I mutter, yanking my order pad out of my apron pocket. “What can I get you?”
“A tutor.”
“Sorry, that’s not on the menu.” I smile sweetly. “We serve really good pecan pie, though.”
“You know what I did last night?” he says, without acknowledging the sarcasm.
“Yep. You were text stalking me.”
He rolls his eyes. “Before that, I mean.”
I pretend to think it over. “Um…you hooked up with a cheerleader? No, you hooked up with the girls’ hockey team. No, wait, they’re probably not ditzy enough for you. I stick with my original guess—cheerleader.”
“Sorority sister, actually,” he says smugly. “But I’m talking about what I did before that.” He raises one dark eyebrow. “But I’m very intrigued by your interest in my s*x life. I can give you details about that another time if you want.”
“I don’t.”
“Another time,” he echoes in a dismissive tone, folding his hands on the blue-and-white-checkered tablecloth.
He’s got big hands with long fingers, short nails, and knuckles that are slightly red and cracked. I wonder if he’s been in a fight recently, but then I realize the busted-up knuckles are probably a hockey player thing.
“I was at study group yesterday,” he informs me. “There were eight other people there, and you know what the highest mark in the group was?” He blurts out the answer before I can hazard a guess. “C-plus. And our combined average was a D. How am I supposed to pass this makeup if I’m studying with people who are as dumb as I am? I need you, Wellsy.”
Wellsy? Is that a nickname? And how on earth does he know that my last name is Wells? I never told—argh. Damn sign-up sheet.
Garrett notices my surprised look and cocks his brows again. “I learned a lot about you in study group. Got your number, your full name, even found out where you work.”
“Congratulations, you really are a stalker.”
“Nope, just thorough. I like to know what I’m up against.”
“Jesus Harold Christ! I’m not tutoring you, okay? Go bug somebody else.” I point at the menu in front of him. “Are you ordering? Because if
not, then please go away and let me do my job in peace.”
“Jesus Harold Christ?” Garrett snickers before picking up the laminated menu and giving it a cursory glance. “I’ll have a turkey club.” He sets the menu down, then reaches for it again. “And a bacon double cheeseburger. Just the burger, no fries. Actually, I changed my mind—yes to the fries. Oh, and a side order of onion rings.”
My jaw almost hits the floor. “You’re seriously going to eat all that?” He grins. “Of course. I’m a growing boy.”
Boy? Nuh-uh. I’m only noticing it now—probably because I’ve been too distracted by how insufferable he is—but Garrett Graham is all man. There’s nothing boyish about him, not his chiseled good looks or his tall frame or that ripped chest of his, which suddenly flashes to mind as I remember the picture he sent me.
“I’ll also take a slice of that pecan pie and a Dr. Pepper to drink. Oh, and some tutoring.”
“Not on the menu,” I say cheerfully. “But the rest is coming right up.”
Before he can argue, I abandon his booth and head to the back counter to place his order with Julio, our night cook. A nanosecond later, Lisa rushes over and addresses me in a hushed voice.
“Oh my God. You know who that is, right?” “Yep.”
“It’s Garrett Graham.”
“I know,” I answer dryly. “That’s why I said yep.”
Lisa looks outraged. “What is wrong with you? Why aren’t you freaking out right now? Garrett Graham is sitting in your booth. He talked to you.”
“Holy shit, he did? I mean, his lips were moving, but I didn’t realize he was talking.”
I roll my eyes and walk over to the drink station to pour Garrett’s drink. I don’t look his way, but I can feel those smoky gray eyes following my every movement. He’s probably sending telepathic orders for me to tutor him. Well, too bad for him. There’s no way I’m wasting the little spare time I have on a college hockey player who thinks he’s a rock star.
Lisa trails after me, oblivious to my sarcasm and still gushing about Graham. “He’s so gorgeous. Like unbelievably gorgeous.” Her voice lowers to a whisper. “And I hear he’s amazing in bed.”
I snort. “He probably started that rumor himself.”
“No, Samantha Richardson told me. She hooked up with him last year at the Theta kegger. Said it was the best s*x of her life.”
I have no response, because I couldn’t care less about the s*x life of some girl I don’t even know. Instead, I shrug and hold out the Dr. Pepper. “You know what? Why don’t you take his booth?”
The way Lisa gasps, you’d think I just handed her a check for five million dollars. “Are you sure?”
“Yep. He’s all yours.”
“Oh my God.” She takes a step forward as if she’s going to hug me, but then her gaze darts to Garrett and she appears to have second thoughts about broadcasting her terribly unwarranted joy. “I owe you so big for this, Han.”
I want to tell her that she’s actually doing me the favor, but she’s already dashing toward the booth to wait on her prince. I watch in amusement as Garrett’s expression clouds over at Lisa’s approach. He picks up the glass she sets in front of him, then meets my gaze and slants his head.
As if to say, you’re not getting rid of me that easily.
*
Garrett
SHE’S NOT GETTING rid of me that easily.
Clearly Hannah Wells hasn’t been around many athletes. We’re a stubborn lot, and the main thing we all have in common? We never, ever give up.
God help me, but I’m going to convince this girl to tutor me, even if I die trying.
But now that Hannah has dumped me off on the other waitress, it’s a long while before I get another opportunity to plead my case. For the next twenty minutes, I endure the blatant flirting and undisguised interest of the curly-haired brunette who’s serving me, but although I’m polite to her, I don’t flirt back.
The only person I’m interested in tonight is Hannah, and my gaze sticks to her like glue as she works the room. I wouldn’t put it past her to make a
run for it when I’m not looking.
Her uniform is kinda hot, if I’m being honest. Powder-blue dress with a white collar, big buttons down the front, and a short white apron around her waist. Looks like an outfit right out of Grease, which I guess makes sense considering Della’s is a 50s-themed diner. I can easily picture Hannah Wells fitting in during that era. Her dark, shoulder-length hair has a slight wave to it, and her bangs are pinned to the side with a blue barrette, giving the hairstyle an old-fashioned vibe.
As I watch her work, I wonder what her story is. I asked around at study group, but nobody knew much about her. One guy told me she’s from a small town in the Midwest. Someone else said she dated some guy in a band all through sophomore year. Other than those two meager details, she’s a total mystery.
“Can I get you anything else?” my waitress asks eagerly.
She’s looking at me like I’m a celebrity or some shit, but I’m used to the attention. Fact: when you’re the captain of a Division I hockey team that’s won two consecutive national titles, people know who you are. And women want to fuck you.
“No, thanks. Just the bill, please.”
“Oh.” Her disappointment is unmistakable. “Sure. Coming right up.”
Before she can go, I voice a gruff question. “Do you know when Hannah’s shift is over?”
Her disappointed expression transforms into one of disbelief. “Why?” “She’s in one of my classes. I wanted to talk to her about an
assignment.”
The brunette’s face relaxes, but a flicker of suspicion lingers in her eyes. “She’s off now, but she can’t leave until her table does.”
I glance over at the only other occupied table in the diner, where a middle-aged couple is sitting. The man has just pulled out his wallet, while his wife peers at the bill through her horn-rimmed glasses.
I pay for my food, bid my waitress goodbye, then head outside to wait for Hannah. Five minutes later, the older couple waltzes out of the diner. A minute after that, Hannah appears, but if she sees me lurking near the door, she doesn’t let on. She simply buttons up her coat and takes off toward the side of the building.
I waste no time hurrying after her. “Wellsy, wait up.”
She looks over her shoulder, frowning deeply. “For the love of God, I’m
not tutoring you.”
“Sure you are.” I shrug. “I just need to figure out what you want in return.”
Hannah whirls around like a dark-haired tornado. “I want to not tutor you. That’s what I want.”
“All right, so it’s obvious you’re not interested in money,” I muse as if she hasn’t spoken. “Has to be something else then.” I mull it over for a beat. “Booze? Weed?”
“No, and no, and get lost.”
She starts walking again, her white sneakers slapping the sidewalk as she marches toward the gravel lot at the side of the diner. She makes a beeline for the silver Toyota hatchback parked right next to my Jeep.
“Okay then. I guess you’re not into party favors.”
I follow her to the driver’s side, but she completely ignores me as she unlocks the door and tosses her purse into the passenger seat.
“How about a date?” I offer.
That gets her attention. She straightens up like someone shoved a metal rod up her spine, then swivels her head in astonishment. “What?”
“Ah. I’ve got your attention.”
“No, you’ve got my disgust. You actually think I want to go out with you?”
“Everyone wants to go out with me.” She bursts out laughing.
Maybe I should feel insulted by the response, but I like the sound of her laughter. It’s got a musical quality to it, a husky pitch that tickles my ears.
“Just out of curiosity,” she says, “after you wake up in the morning, do you admire yourself in the mirror for one hour or two?”
“Two,” I reply cheerfully. “Do you high five yourself?”
“Of course not.” I smirk. “I kiss each of my biceps and then point to the ceiling and thank the big man upstairs for creating such a perfect male specimen.”
She snorts. “Uh-huh. Well, sorry to burst your bubble, Mr. Perfect, but I’m not interested in dating you.”
“I think you’re misunderstanding, Wellsy. I’m not looking to make a love connection with you. I know you’re not into me. If it makes you feel better, I’m not into you either.”
“That does make me feel better. I was starting to worry I might actually be your type, and that’s too terrifying to even contemplate.”
When she tries to duck into the car, I curl my fingers over the doorframe to keep it open. “I’m talking about image,” I clarify.
“Image,” she echoes.
“Yeah. Do you think you’d be the first girl who went out with me to boost her popularity? Happens all the time.”
Hannah laughs again. “I’m perfectly content with my current rung on the social ladder, but thanks so much for offering to ‘boost my popularity.’ You’re a prince, Garrett. Really.”
Frustration scrambles up my throat. “What’ll it take to change your mind?”
“Nothing. You’re wasting your time.” She shakes her head, looking as frustrated as I feel. “You know, if you take all the effort you’re using to harass me and channel it to your studies, you’d get an A-plus-plus-plus on that midterm.”
She shoves my hand out of the way, slides into the driver’s seat, and shuts the door. A second later, the engine roars to life, and I’m pretty sure that if I hadn’t stepped back in time, she would’ve run right over my foot.
I wonder if Hannah Wells was an athlete in another life, because she is one stubborn woman.
Sighing, I stare at her blinking red taillights and try to figure out my next move.
Absolutely nothing comes to mind.
