Hannah

I WAKE UP in Garrett Graham’s arms for the second time in two weeks. Except this time…I want to be there.

Last night turned out to be a series of eye-opening experiences. I drank in public without having a panic attack. I was forced to accept that the rape screwed me up a lot more than I let myself admit.

And I decided that Garrett is the answer to all my problems.

My seduction attempt might have failed, but it wasn’t because of a lack of desire on Garrett’s part. I know exactly what was going through his mind

—Hannah’s drunk and not thinking clearly.

But he’s wrong.

My brain was sharp as a tack last night. I kissed Garrett because I wanted to. I would’ve slept with him because I wanted to.

Now, in the light of day, I still want it. Seeing Devon left me feeling scared and uncertain. It made me question what would happen if I got involved with Justin. Made me wonder if I’m simply inviting more frustration and disappointment into my life.

As insane as it sounds, a test run with Garrett might be just what I need to work through my issues. He said so himself—he doesn’t date girls, he sleeps with them. There’s no risk of him falling in love with me or demanding a relationship. And it’s not like we don’t have any chemistry. We have so much of it we could inspire an entire R&B song.

It would be the perfect arrangement. I could have sex with a guy without getting bogged down by all the relationship pressure. With Devon, my sex issues were made a hundred times worse because of that pressure, because the sex part was tangled up with the love part.

With Garrett, it can be just about the sex. Trying to put the pieces of my sexuality back together without worrying about disappointing someone I love.

But first, I need him to agree to it. “Garrett,” I murmur.

He doesn’t stir.

I scooch closer and stroke his cheek. His eyelids flutter, but he doesn’t wake up.

“Garrett,” I say again. “Mmmmfhrhghd?”

His gibberish makes me smile. I lean in and press my lips to his. His eyes fly open.

“Morning,” I say innocently.

He blinks in rapid succession. “Did I dream that or did you really just kiss me?” he asks groggily.

“You didn’t dream it.”

Confusion fogs his eyes, but he’s growing more alert. “Why?”

“Because I felt like it.” I sit up and take a breath. “Are you one-hundred percent awake? Because there’s something really important I need to ask you.”

A huge yawn overtakes his face as he slides into an upright position. The blanket falls to his waist and his bare chest is revealed, and my mouth promptly goes dry. He’s cut like a diamond. Hard edges and gleaming skin and pure masculinity.

“What’s up?” he says in a sleep-gravelly voice.

There’s absolutely no way to phrase this without sounding desperate and pathetic, so I simply blurt out the words and let them hang in the air.

“Will you have sex with me?”

After the longest pause imaginable, Garrett wrinkles his forehead. “Now?”

Despite the embarrassment tightening my stomach, I can’t stop the laugh that pops out. “Um, no. Not now.” Call me vain, but I refuse to have sex with anyone when I have morning breath and bed head, and haven’t shaved any pertinent areas. “Maybe tonight, though?”

Garrett’s expression is like a Wheel of Fortune spin, going from shocked to incredulous to mystified, inching toward intrigued before finally landing on suspicious. “I think this might be a prank, but I can’t figure out where you’re going with it.”

“It’s not a prank.” I meet his gaze head-on. “I want you to have sex with me.” Okay, wait, that sounds wrong. “I mean, I want to have sex with you. I want us to have sex with each other.”

His lips twitch.

Wonderful. He’s trying not to laugh at me.

“Are you still drunk?” he asks. “Because if you are, I promise to play the rare gentleman card and never bring up this conversation again.”

“I’m not drunk. I’m serious.” I shrug. “Do you want to or what?” Garrett stares at me.

“Well?” I prompt.

His dark eyebrows knit together in a frown. It’s pretty obvious he has no idea what to make of my request.

“It’s a simple yes or no answer, Garrett.”

“Simple?” he bursts out. “Are you kidding me? There’s nothing simple about this.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Are you forgetting what you told me at Maxwell’s party? The kiss meant nothing, we’re just friends, blah, blah.”

“I did not say blah blah,” I grumble.

“But you said everything else.” His jaw hardens. “What the hell changed from then to now?”

I swallow. “I don’t know. I just changed my mind.” “Why?”

“Because I did.” Aggravation pricks my chest. “What does it matter? Since when do guys cross-examine a girl about her motives for wanting to get naked?”

“Since you’re not the kind of girl who gets naked!” he sputters. I clench my teeth. “I’m not a virgin, Garrett.”

“You’re not a puck bunny either.”

“So that means I’m not allowed to sleep with a guy I’m attracted to?”

He rakes both hands over his scalp now, looking equally aggravated. Then he takes a breath, exhales slowly, and meets my eyes. “Okay, here’s the deal. I believe you’re attracted to me. I mean—one, who isn’t? And two, you moan like crazy whenever my tongue’s in your mouth.”

I bristle. “I do not.”

“Agree to disagree.” He folds his sleek, muscular arms over his sleek, muscular chest. “But I don’t believe that you underwent some magical

transformation where suddenly you want to jump my bones just for the hell of it. You know, for funsies.” His head tilts thoughtfully. “What is it, then? Do you want to get back at your ex or something? Make Loverboy jealous again?”

“No,” I say stiffly. “I just…” Frustration slams inside me. “I just want to do it, okay? I want to do you.”

His expression is a peculiar combination of amused and annoyed. “Why?” he asks again.

“Because I want to, damn it. Why does there need to be some deep, philosophical meaning behind it?” But I can see from his face that I haven’t convinced him, and I’m smart enough to know when to admit defeat. “You know what? Forget it. Forget I asked—”

He grabs hold of my arm before I can hop off the bed. “What the hell is going on, Wellsy?”

The concern in his eyes hurts more than his rejection. I practically begged him for sex and he looks worried for me.

God, I can’t even proposition a guy right. “Forget it,” I mutter again.

“No.”

I yelp when he suddenly pulls me onto his lap.

“We’re not having this conversation anymore,” I protest as I try to scramble off him.

He plants his hands on my waist to trap me in place. “Yes, we are.”

His gray eyes bore into my face, searching, probing, and I’m mortified to feel tears pricking my eyelids.

“What’s this about?” he says gruffly. “Tell me what’s wrong, and I’ll try to help.”

A hysterical giggle flies out of my mouth. “No, you won’t! I just asked

for your help and you shot me down!”

He looks even more bewildered than before. “You didn’t ask me for help, Hannah. You asked me to fuck you.”

“Same damn thing,” I mumble.

“For fuck’s sake, I have no frickin’ idea what you’re talking about!” He inhales slowly as if trying to calm himself down. “I swear to God, if you don’t tell me what you’re babbling about in the next two seconds, I’m going to lose my shit.”

Misery lodges in my throat. I wish I never opened my mouth and asked him. I should have just snuck out of his room while he slept and pretended that I never threw myself at him last night.

But then Garrett reaches up and strokes my cheek with infinite tenderness, and something inside me cracks open.

I let out a shaky breath. “I’m broken, and I wanted you to fix me.” Alarm widens his eyes. “I…still don’t understand.”

Not many people know about what happened to me. I mean, it’s not like I go around advertising that I was raped to everyone I meet. I have to trust someone implicitly in order to confess something so monumental.

If you told me a few weeks ago that I would be confiding in Garrett Graham about the most traumatic experience of my life, I would’ve peed my pants laughing.

And now here I am, doing just that.

“I lied to you at Beau’s party,” I admit.

His hand drops from my face, but his gaze stays locked on mine. “Okay…”

“I don’t know anyone who was drugged in high school.” My throat closes up. “I was the one who got drugged in high school.”

Garrett’s body goes rigid. “What?”

“When I was fifteen years old, a guy I went to school with drugged me.” I gulp down the acid coating my windpipe. “And then he raped me.”

A shocked breath hisses out of his mouth. Although he doesn’t say a word, I can clearly see the tense set of his jaw, the hot fury in his eyes.

“It was…it…well, shit, I’m sure you can imagine how awful it was.” I swallow again. “But… Please don’t feel sorry for me, okay? It was awful and terrifying and it destroyed me at the time, but I worked through it. I’m not scared of all men, or angry at the world, or any of that stuff.”

Garrett says nothing, but his expression is fiercer than I’ve ever seen it. “I’ve put it behind me. I really have. But it broke something inside me,

okay? I can’t…I can’t…you know.” My cheeks are so hot it feels like I’ve come down with sunstroke.

He finally speaks, his voice coming out low and tortured. “No, I don’t

know.”

I’m already in this deep, so I force myself to clarify. “I can’t have an orgasm with a guy.”

Garrett gulps. “Oh.”

I press my lips together, trying hard to tamp down the embarrassment climbing up my throat. “I thought that maybe if you and me…if we…you know, fooled around a bit, I might be able to…I don’t know…reprogram my body to…um, respond.”

Oh God. The words are stuttering out before my brain can edit them, and my face goes up in flames as I realize how pitiful I sound. The realization that I’ve officially reached the rock bottom equivalent of sheer humiliation unleashes my tears.

As a strangled sob tears out of my mouth, I attempt a frantic scramble off Garrett’s lap, but his arms tighten around me, one hand tangling in my hair to bring my head closer. I bury my face in his neck, trembling wildly as tears slide down my cheeks in salty waves.

“Hey, come on, don’t cry,” he begs. “It breaks my fucking heart to hear you cry.”

But I can’t stop. I gulp for air and shudder in his arms, and he strokes my hair and makes rough, soothing noises that only make me cry harder.

“I’m broken.”

My voice is muffled against his neck, but I hear his voice loud and clear as he says, “You’re not broken, baby. I promise.”

“Then help me prove it,” I whisper. “Please.”

He gently pulls my head up. I meet his gaze and find nothing but raw emotion and shining sincerity.

“Okay,” he whispers back. Then he lets out a long, unsteady breath. “Okay. I will.”