Hannah
“YOU LOST A bet,” Allie says dubiously.
“Yep.” I sit at the edge of the bed and lean over to zip up my left boot, deliberately avoiding my roommate’s gaze.
“And now you’re going out with him.”
“Uh-huh.” I rub my thumb over the side of the boot and pretend I’m wiping away a smudge on the leather.
“You’re going out with Garrett Graham.” “Mmm-hmmm.”
“I call shenanigans.”
Of course she does. A date with Garrett Graham? I might as well have announced I’m marrying Chris Hemsworth.
So no, I don’t blame Allie for looking so flabbergasted. The I lost a bet excuse was the best one I’d been able to come up with, and it’s feeble at best. Now I’m wondering if I should just fess up and tell her about Justin.
Or better yet, if I should cancel the date altogether.
I haven’t seen Garrett since…the big mistake…as I’m now referring to the kiss. He texted me yesterday after he wrote the makeup exam. Four measly words, two of which aren’t even real: “easy peasy lemon squeezy.”
I won’t lie, I was thrilled to hear it had gone well. But not thrilled enough to initiate an actual conversation, so I simply sent back one word
—“nice”—and that was the only contact we had up until twenty minutes ago, when he messaged to say he was on his way to pick me up for the party.
As far as I’m concerned, the kiss didn’t happen. Our lips didn’t touch, and my body didn’t ache. He didn’t groan when my tongue filled his mouth, and I didn’t whimper when his lips latched onto that sensitive spot on my neck.
It didn’t happen.
But…well, if it didn’t happen, then there’s no reason for me to bail on the party, now is there? Because no matter how confused and stricken the ki
—the big mistake had left me, I’m still eager for a chance to see Justin outside of class.
I can’t bring myself to tell Allie the truth, though. I’m usually so confident in other areas of my life. Singing, schoolwork, friends. When it comes to relationships, I revert back to that traumatized fifteen-year-old who required three years of therapy before she was able to feel normal again. I know Allie would disapprove if she knew I was using Garrett to get to Justin, and right now, I’m not in the mood to be lectured.
“Trust me, shenanigans are Garrett’s middle name,” I say dryly. “The guy treats life like a game.”
“And you, Hannah Wells, are playing along?” She shakes her head, incredulous. “Are you sure you don’t have a thing for this guy?”
“Garrett? No way,” I say immediately.
Uh-huh. Because you alwaaaaaays make out with guys you don’t like.
I banish the internal taunt. Nope, I didn’t make out with Garrett. I was simply meeting a challenge.
The mocking voice rears its head again. And you felt absolutely nothing, right?
Argh, why isn’t there an off switch for that sarcastic part of your brain? Except I know that doing that won’t erase the truth. I did feel something when we kissed. Those tingles that Justin evokes in me? I felt them the other night with Garrett. They were different, though. The butterflies didn’t just float around in my belly—they took flight and raced through my entire body, making every inch of me pulse with pleasure.
But it meant nothing. In the span of ten days, Garrett went from being a stranger to a nuisance to a friend, but that’s as far as I’m willing to take it. I don’t want to date him, no matter how good a kisser he is.
Before Allie can grill me further, Garrett texts to inform me he’s here. I’m about to tell him to wait in the car, but I guess we have different definitions of here, because a loud knock sounds on the door a second later.
I sigh. “That’s Garrett. Can you let him in? I just want to put my hair up.”
Allie grins and disappears. As I run a brush through my hair, I hear voices in the living area, followed by a squeaky protest and then heavy
footsteps heading to my bedroom.
Garrett appears in the doorway wearing dark blue jeans and a black sweater, and something terrible happens. My heart turns into a dolphin and does a stupid little flip of excitement.
Excitement, for fuck’s sake.
God, that ki—mistake really messed with my head.
He scrutinizes my clothes before raising one eyebrow. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
“Yes.” I bristle. “Got a problem with that?”
He tilts his head to the side like he’s Tim fucking Gunn judging an outfit on Project Runway. “I’m totally digging the jeans and boots, but the shirt has gotta go.”
I examine my loose blue-and-white striped sweater but I honestly don’t see the issue. “What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s too baggy. I thought we talked about how you need to show off your stripper tits.”
A strangled cough comes from behind him. “Stripper tits?” Allie echoes as she steps into the room.
“Ignore him,” I tell her. “He’s a chauvinist.”
“No, I’m a guy,” he corrects, then proceeds to flash his trademark grin. “I want to see some cleavage.”
“I like this sweater,” I protest.
Garrett glances at Allie. “Hi, I’m Garrett. What’s your name again?” “Allie. Hannah’s roommate and BFF.”
“Great. Well, can you tell your roomie and BFF that she looks like a reject from a sailing show?”
She laughs, and then, to my horror—Benedict Arnold!—she agrees with him. “It wouldn’t hurt to wear something more form-fitting,” she says tactfully.
I scowl at her.
Garrett beams. “See? We’re all in agreement. Go big or go home, Wellsy.”
Allie looks from me to Garrett, and I know exactly what she’s thinking. But she’s wrong. We’re not into each other, and we’re certainly not dating. But I suppose it’s better she think that than know I’m going out with him to impress someone else.
Garrett strides to my closet like he owns it. When he pokes his dark head inside, Allie shoots me a grin. She seems highly entertained by all this.
He flips through the hangers to examine my wardrobe, then pulls out a sheer black top. “How about this?”
“No way. It’s see-through.” “Then why do you own it?” Good question.
He holds up another hanger, this time a red sweater with a gaping V- neck. “This one,” he says with a nod. “You look great in red.”
Allie’s eyebrows hit the ceiling, and I curse Garrett for putting all these unnecessary ideas in her head. But at the same time, my chest goes warm and gooey, because…he thinks I look great in red? As in, he’s actually noticed what I’ve worn in the past?
Garrett tosses me the shirt. “Okay, get changed. We want to be fashionably late, not asshole late.”
Allie snickers.
I glare at them both. “Can I please have some privacy?”
They’re either oblivious to my annoyance or they’re choosing to ignore it, because I hear them chatting easily in the living room. I suspect Allie is grilling him about our “date,” and I hope to God that Garrett sticks to the bet story. When his husky laughter floats into my bedroom, an involuntary shiver skitters up my spine.
What is happening to me? I’m losing sight of what I want. No, of who I want. Justin. Justin frickin’ Kohl. I shouldn’t be kissing Garrett—or Dean, for that matter—and getting distracted by the strange rush of heat he unleashes inside me.
It’s time to get my head on straight and remember why I agreed to this charade in the first place.
Starting right now.
*
Garrett
BEAU MAXWELL LIVES off campus with four of his teammates. Their house is only a few blocks from mine, but a helluva lot bigger, and it’s packed like a hockey arena on game night when Hannah and I walk inside. Deafening hip-hop blasts from the speaker system, and several warm, sweaty bodies jostle us as we venture deeper into the house. All I can smell is alcohol, sweat, and cologne.
I pat myself on the back for convincing Hannah to wear that red top, because holy fucking hell, it looks amazing on her. The material is so thin it outlines every sweet curve of her chest, and that neckline…Sweet Jesus. Her tits are practically pouring out of it, like they’re trying to pop out and say hello. I don’t know if she’s wearing a pushup bra or if her breasts are really that big, but either way, they’re bouncing like crazy with every step she takes.
Several people wander over to say hello to me and there’s a shit ton of curious stares in Hannah’s direction. She fidgets at my side, clearly feeling out of place. My chest goes softer than butter when I glimpse the deer-in- the-headlights look in her eyes.
I reach for her hand, which prompts her gaze to fly up to mine in surprise.
Bringing my lips close to her ear, I murmur, “Relax.”
Leaning in is a big mistake, because she smells fantastic. That sweet, familiar cherry fragrance mingles with the faint hint of lavender and something uniquely feminine. It takes a serious amount of willpower not to press my nose into her neck and inhale her. Or taste her with my tongue. Lick and kiss the hot flesh of her throat until she moans.
Oh man. I’m in big trouble. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that kiss. Every time the memory floats into my head, my pulse races and my balls tighten, and all I want to do is kiss the crap out of her again.
The overpowering lust, however, is accompanied by a sense of crushing rejection. Because, clearly, I was the only one affected by that damn kiss. If Hannah had felt something, even in the slightest, she wouldn’t have stuck her tongue down Dean’s throat two seconds later. Dean. One of my best friends.
But she’s not here with Dean tonight, now is she? Nope, she’s my date, and we’re here to make another guy jealous—why can’t I give in to temptation? This might be the only chance I get.
So I plant a soft kiss on the side of her throat before whispering, “You’re gonna be the center of attention tonight, babe. Smile and pretend you’re enjoying it.”
I steal another kiss, this time on the corner of her jaw, and she sucks in a breath. Her eyes widen, and either I’m imagining it, or there’s a glimmer of heat there.
Before I can interpret what I’m seeing, one of the linebackers interrupts us. “Graham! Yo, good to see you, man!” Ollie Jankowitz lumbers over and slaps my back, and the contact jars my entire body because the dude is monster-sized.
“Hey, Ollie,” I say before nodding at Hannah. “Do you know Hannah?”
He wears a blank look for a second. Then his eyes dip to her chest, and a slow smile stretches across his bearded face. “I do now.” He sticks out one meaty paw. “Hey, I’m Oliver.”
She awkwardly shakes his hand. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you.” “Got anything to drink in this place?” I ask Ollie.
“Kegs are in the kitchen. Lots of other party favors floating around, too.”
“Nice. Thanks, man. I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”
I lace my fingers through Hannah’s and lead her to the kitchen, which is packed with drunken frat brothers. I haven’t spotted Beau yet, but I know we’ll run into him eventually.
I’m not too thrilled at the prospect of seeing Kohl, though.
I grab two plastic cups from the stack on the granite counter and make my way to one of the kegs. The frat boys protest, but when they notice who’s pushing them aside, they part for me like the Red fucking Sea. Just another perk of being the captain of Briar’s revered hockey team. I pour two beers, then duck away from the crowd and hold a cup out to Hannah, who adamantly shakes her head.
“It’s a party, Wellsy. Won’t kill you to have one measly beer.” “No,” she says firmly.
I shrug and take a sip of the watery alcohol. The beer is cheap as fuck, but that’s probably a good thing. Means there’s no chance of me getting wasted off this shit, not unless I drink a whole keg to myself.
As the kitchen empties out, Hannah leans against the counter and sighs. “I hate parties,” she says glumly.
“Maybe that’s because you refuse to drink,” I tease. “Go ahead and bring on the prude jokes. I don’t mind.”
“I know you’re not a prude.” I wag my eyebrows. “A prude doesn’t kiss the way you do.”
Her cheeks redden. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means you’ve got a s*xy tongue and you know how to use it.” Ah shit, wrong thing to say. Because now I’m hard. Luckily, my jeans are tight enough to keep my erection from tenting like an asshole.
“Sometimes I think you say things just to make me blush,” Hannah accuses.
“Nope. I’m just being honest.” A swell of voices wafts past the kitchen, and I find myself praying that nobody walks in. I like being alone with Hannah.
And even though there’s no reason to put on a show when we’re alone, I still move closer and sling one arm around her shoulder as I take another sip of water-beer.
“In all seriousness, why are you so anti-drinking?” I ask gruffly.
“I’m not anti-drinking.” She pauses. “I actually kind of like it. In moderation, of course.”
“Of course,” I echo, rolling my eyes before reaching for the second cup I left on the counter. “Would you have a beer already?”
“No.”
I have to laugh. “You just said you liked it.”
“I don’t mind drinking in my room with Allie, but I never do it at parties.”
“Oh jeez. So you sit at home like a wino when you drink?” “No.” She looks exasperated. “Just…drop it, will you?” “Do I ever drop anything?”
Her exasperation turns to defeat. “Look, I get paranoid about what might be in my cup, all right?”
Insult prickles my skin. “For fuck’s sake, you think I’d roofie you?” “No, of course not.”
Her swift response eases my concerns, but when she adds, “Not you, anyway,” it triggers my suspicion.
“Did…” I frown deeply. “Did that happen to you?”
Hannah’s face goes stricken for a beat, and then she slowly shakes her head. “It happened to a friend of mine in high school. She was drugged.”
My jaw falls open. “Seriously?”
She nods. “Someone slipped her GHB at a party…and, um…let’s just say it wasn’t a good night for her, okay?”
“Oh shit. That’s all kinds of fucked up. Was she okay?”
Hannah looks sad. “Yeah. She was fine.” She gives an awkward shrug. “But it made me distrustful about drinking in public. Even if I pour the drink myself…who knows what will happen if I turn away, even for a second. I refuse to take that chance.”
My voice thickens. “You know I’d never let that happen to you, right?” “Um, yeah. Sure, I do.” But she doesn’t sound fully convinced, and I
can’t bring myself to be offended about it because I suspect her friend’s experience really screwed with Hannah’s head. And with good reason.
I’ve heard horror stories like that before. As far as I know, it hasn’t happened at Briar, but I know it goes on at other colleges. Girls unwittingly ingesting E or Rohypnol, or getting shit-faced out of their minds while immoral creeps take advantage of them in that state. I honestly don’t understand guys who would do that to a woman. As far as I’m concerned, they should all be behind bars.
But now that I know the reason behind her no-drinking rule, I quit bugging Hannah about having a beer, and we head back to the main room. Hannah’s eyes scan the crowd, and I instantly stiffen because I know she’s looking for Kohl.
Fortunately, he’s nowhere to be seen.
We mingle for a while. Every time I introduce her to someone, they look surprised, as if they can’t understand why I’m with her and not some ditzy sorority girl. And more than one guy ogles Hannah’s breasts before winking at me as if to say good job.
I officially take back my earlier claim—I wish I hadn’t convinced her to wear that top. For some reason, the appreciative stares she’s receiving really piss me off. But I swallow the possessive caveman urges and try to enjoy the party. The crowd is more football than hockey, but I still know almost everyone there, which causes Hannah to mutter, “Jeez. How do you know all these people?”
I smirk at her. “I told you I’m popular. Hey, there’s Beau. Come on, let’s go over and say hi.”
Beau Maxwell is the typical college quarterback. He’s got it all—the looks, the swagger, and most important, the talent. But although anyone else in his position might think it’s their right to be a total douchebag, Beau’s actually kinda decent. He’s a history major like me, and he looks genuinely happy to see me tonight.
“G, you made it! Here, try this.” He holds out a bottle of…something.
The bottle is black and has no label, so I have no clue what he’s offering. “What is it?” I ask with a grin.
Beau grins back. “Moonshine courtesy of Big Joe’s sister. This shit is
potent.”
“Yeah? Then get it the hell away from me. I’ve got a game tomorrow afternoon. Can’t show up with a moonshine hangover.”
“Fair enough.” He bats his baby blues at Hannah. “You want some, honey?”
“No, thanks.”
“Beau, Hannah. Hannah, Beau,” I introduce.
“Why do you look so familiar?” Beau demands, looking her up and down. “Where do I know you fr—oh shit, I know. I saw you sing in the spring showcase last year.”
“Really? You were there?”
Hannah sounds simultaneously surprised and pleased, and I wonder if maybe I’ve been living on a different planet or some shit, because how am I the only one who doesn’t know about these showcases?
“Damn straight I was there,” Beau declares. “And you were awesome.
You sang…what was it again? “Stand By Me,” I think?” She nods.
I wrinkle my forehead as I glance at her. “I thought you were only allowed to sing originals.”
“That’s a senior level requirement,” she explains. “Freshmen and sophomores can sing whatever they want because they’re not in the running for the scholarships.”
“Yeah, my sister had to sing an original,” Beau tells us. “She was in the senior group. Joanna Maxwell? Do you know her?”
Hannah gasps. “Joanna’s your sister? I heard she landed a part on Broadway this summer.”
“She did!” Beau beams with pride. “My big sis is a Broadway star. How ‘bout that?”
We’re drawing even more stares now that we’re chatting with the birthday boy, but Hannah seems oblivious to it. I, on the other hand, am annoyingly aware of the attention—from one person in particular. Kohl has just entered the living room, and his lips pinch when our gazes meet. I nod in hello, then turn my head and very deliberately plant a kiss on Hannah’s cheek.
Her head jerks up in surprise, so I justify the random gesture by saying, “I’ll be right back. Going to grab another beer.”
“Okay.” She instantly turns back to Beau and they continue chatting about his sister.
I’m not sensing any romantic interest on her part, though, which brings an odd pang of relief. The real threat is across the room, and he marches purposefully in our direction the second I step away from Hannah and Beau.
I intercept Justin before he can reach the chatting duo, giving him a casual slap on the arm. “Kohl. Great party, huh?”
His nod is absent-minded, his gaze still focused beyond my shoulder at Hannah. Fuck. Can he actually be interested in her? I figured this big charade of ours wouldn’t result in anything I needed to worry about, but evidently my plan is working too well. Kohl only has eyes for Hannah, and I don’t like it. Not one bit.
I glance at his empty hands and grin. “Come on, let’s get you a drink.” “Naah, I’m good.” He’s already brushing past me, heading right where I
don’t want him to go.
The moment Hannah notices Justin, her cheeks turn pink and a startled look crosses her eyes, but she recovers quickly and greets him with a hesitant smile.
Oh hell no. My back snaps straighter than a hockey stick. I want to stalk over there and yank her away from Kohl. Or better yet, yank her right into my arms and kiss the living daylights out of her.
I do neither—because this time I’m the one being intercepted.
Kendall appears in my path, her long blond hair braided over one shoulder, the tail end of it dangling in her cleavage. She’s dressed to the nines in a teeny red dress and impossibly high heels, but her expression is stormy as fuck.
“Hi,” she says tightly.
“Hey.” I clear my throat. “How’s it going?”
Her lips flatten in displeasure. “Seriously? You’re on a date and that’s
what you say to me?”
Shit. Half my attention remains on Hannah, who is now laughing at something Kohl said. Thankfully Beau is still there to serve as a buffer, but I’m not happy to see her and Justin looking so chummy.
The rest of my attention is on Kendall, who I’m suddenly afraid might make a scene.
“You said you didn’t want a girlfriend,” she hisses out. “I don’t,” I’m quick to reply.
She’s so pissed she’s actually trembling. “Then how do you explain
her?” One manicured finger lifts in Hannah’s direction.
Great. Well, now I’m screwed. I can’t insist that it’s not a date, because Kohl is supposed to think it is. But if I say it is a date, Kendall might very well slap me.
I lower my voice. “She’s not my girlfriend. It’s a date, yeah, but it’s not a serious thing, okay?”
“No, not okay. I’m really into you! And if you’re not into me, then fine.
But at least have the decency to—”
“Why?” I’m unable to stop the question that had bitten at my tongue last week when she and I called it quits.
Kendall blinks in confusion. “Why what?” “Why are you into me?”
She scowls at me, as if she’s genuinely insulted that I would ask that.
“You don’t even know me,” I say softly. “You haven’t tried to get to know me.”
“That’s not true,” she objects, her scowl dissolving into a worried frown.
I let out a troubled breath. “We’ve never even had a real conversation, Kendall, and we’ve seen each other dozens of times since the summer. You haven’t asked me a single question about my childhood, or my family, or
my classes. My teammates, my interests—hell, you don’t even know my favorite color, and that’s the kind of thing you find out in Getting to Know You 101.”
“Yes, I do,” she insists.
I sigh again. “Yeah? What is it then?”
She hesitates for a beat, then says, “Blue.”
“Actually, it’s black,” another voice pipes up, and then Hannah appears at my side, and I’m so fucking relieved that I almost give her a bear hug.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she chirps, “but…dude, where’s our beer? Did you get lost on your way to the kitchen or something?”
“I got sidetracked.”
Hannah glances at Kendall. “Hi. I’m Hannah. Sorry, but I need to steal him away for a second. Thirst calls.”
The fact that Kendall doesn’t object tells me that my point has hit home, and Kendall’s expression is a mixture of shame and guilt as Hannah takes my arm and drags me into the hallway.
Once we’re out of sight, I lower my voice and say, “Thanks for the save.
She was either about to burst into tears, or kick me in the balls.”
“I’m sure the latter would’ve been well-deserved,” Hannah replies with a sigh. “Let me guess—you broke her heart.”
“No.” Annoyance rises in my throat. “But it turns out our amicable parting wasn’t as amicable as I thought it was.”
“Ah. I see.”
I narrow my eyes. “So my favorite color is black, huh? What makes you think that?”
“Because every frickin’ shirt you own is black.” She shoots a pointed look at my sweater.
“Maybe that’s because black goes with everything—did you ever think about that?” I smirk. “Doesn’t mean it’s my favorite color.”
“Fine, I’ll bite. What’s your favorite color then?” I let out a sigh. “It’s black.”
“Ha! I knew it.” Hannah sighs, too. “So, what, do we have to hide in the hall for the rest of the night now to avoid that girl?”
“Yup. Unless you want to take off?” I say hopefully. I’ve lost all enthusiasm for this party, especially now that Kohl has arrived. Before she can answer, I strengthen my case by adding, “Kohl took the bait, by the
way. So if we take off now, you’ll leave him wanting more, which was the plan, right?”
Hesitation digs a line into her forehead. “Yeah, I guess. But…” “But what?”
“I was enjoying talking to him.”
Damned if that doesn’t feel like a knife to the heart. But why? I’m not interested in Hannah. Or at least I hadn’t been before. All I’d wanted was her tutoring services, but now…now I don’t know what I want.
“What did you guys talk about?” I ask, and hope she doesn’t hear the edge in my voice.
Hannah shrugs. “Class. Football. The showcase. He asked me if I want to have coffee sometime and study for Ethics together.”
Uh, what?
“Are you shitting me?” I burst out. “He’s macking on my date right in front of me?”
Amusement dances in her eyes. “We’re not actually together, Garrett.” “He doesn’t know that.” I can’t control the anger simmering in my gut.
“You don’t hit on another man’s date. Period. That’s a dick move.” A frown touches her lips.
I eye her. “Would you want to go out with a guy who does something that shady?”
“No,” she admits after a long beat. “But…” She appears to be thinking it over. “There wasn’t anything overtly s*xual about the invitation. If he was hitting on me, he would’ve asked me to dinner. Coffee and studying can be construed as a friend thing.”
She could be right, but I know how guys think. That son of a bitch was hitting on her in plain sight of the guy she came to the party with.
Dick. Move.
“Garrett…” Her voice becomes wary. “You know that kiss didn’t mean anything, right?”
The question catches me off guard. “Uh. Yeah. Of course I know that.” “Because we’re just friends…right?”
The pointed note in her tone irks, but I know now is not the time to argue about this. Whatever this is.
So I nod and say, “Right.”
Relief floats through her eyes. “Good. Okay, well, maybe we should go.
I think we’ve done enough mingling.” “Sure. Whatever you want.”
“Let’s just say bye to Beau first. You know, I really like that guy. He’s not at all what I expected…”
She continues to chatter my ear off as we go back to the living room, but I don’t hear a single word. I’m too busy dealing with the truth bomb that’s just been dropped on my head.
Yes, Hannah and I are friends. In fact, she’s the only female friend I’ve ever had. And yes, I want to keep being Hannah’s friend.
But…
I also want to sleep with her.
