“Come on, wait.” His hand latches onto my shoulder.
I shrug it off and turn to glare at him. “What? You’re in the mood to insult me some more?”
“I wasn’t trying to insult you,” he protests. “I was just stating a fact.”
That stings. “Gee. Thanks.”
“Fuck.” He looks frustrated. “I insulted you again. I didn’t mean to do that. I’m not trying to be a dick, okay?”
“Of course you’re not trying. You just are.”
He has the nerve to grin, but his humor fades fast. “Look, I know the guy, all right? Kohl’s friends with one of my roommates, so he’s been over at my place a few times.”
“Goodie for you. You can date him then because I’m not interested.”
“Yes, you are.” He sounds very sure of himself, and I hate him for that. “All I’m saying is, Kohl has a type.”
“All right, I’ll humor you. What’s his type then? And not because I’m interested in him or anything,” I add hastily.
He smiles knowingly. “Uh-huh. Of course you’re not.” Then he shrugs. “He’s been at this college for, what, almost two months? So far I’ve seen him hook up with one cheerleader and two members of Kappa Beta. Know what that tells me?”
“No, but it tells me that you spend way too much time keeping track of who other dudes are dating.”
He ignores the barb. “It tells me Kohl is interested in chicks with a certain social status.”
I roll my eyes. “If this is another offer to make me popular, I’m gonna have to pass.”
“Hey, if you want to get Kohl’s attention, you’ve gotta do something drastic.” He pauses. “So yes, I’m reoffering to go out with you.”
“I re-pass. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to call a cab.”
“No, you don’t.”
My phone had gone idle, so I quickly type in my password to unlock it.
“Seriously, don’t bother,” Garrett says. “I can drive you home.”
“I don’t need a ride.”
“That’s what cabs do. They give you rides.”
“I don’t need a ride from you,” I amend.
“You’d rather pay ten bucks to get home instead of accepting a free ride from me?”
His sarcastic remark is right on target. Because yes, I most certainly trust a campus-employed cabbie to drive me home more than I trust Garrett Graham to do it. I don’t get into cars with strangers. Period.
Garrett’s eyes narrow as if he’s read my mind. “I’m not going to try anything, Wellsy. It’s just a ride home.”
“Go back to the party, Garrett. Your frat brothers are probably wondering where you are.”
“Trust me, they don’t give a shit where I am. They’re only interested in finding a tipsy chick to stick their dicks in.”
I gag. “God. You are disgusting, you know that?”
“Nope, just honest. Besides, it’s not like I said I’m looking to do that. I don’t need to get a woman drunk for her to sleep with me. They come to me sober and willing.”
“Congratulations.” I yelp when he snatches the phone out of my hand. “Hey!”
To my amazement, he turns the camera toward his face and snaps a picture.
“What are you doing?”
“There,” he says, handing the phone back. “Feel free to text that sexy face to your entire contact list and inform them I’m driving you home. That way if you show up dead tomorrow everyone will know who did it. And if you want, you can keep your finger on the emergency call button the whole time in case you need to call the cops.” He heaves out an exasperated breath. “Can I please take you home now?”
Although I’m not excited about standing outside alone and coatless to wait for the taxi, I still put up one last protest. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Half a beer.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“My limit is one,” he insists. “I’ve got practice tomorrow morning.”
My resistance crumbles at his earnest expression. I’ve heard a lot of rumors about Garrett, but none involving alcohol or drugs, and the campus cab service is notorious for taking its sweet ass time, so really, it won’t kill me to spend five minutes in a car with the guy. I can easily give him the silent treatment if he annoys me.
Or rather, when he annoys me.
“All right,” I concede. “You can take me home. But this doesn’t mean I’m tutoring you.”
His smile is the epitome of smug. “We’ll discuss it in the car.”
6
Garrett
Hannah Wells is into a football player. I can’t wrap my head around it, but I’ve already offended her once tonight, so I know I have to tread carefully if I’m going to win her over.
I wait until we’re in my Jeep and buckled up before I voice the cautious question. “So, how long have you wanted to fu—make love to Kohl?”
She doesn’t answer, but I can feel her death glare boring into the side of my face.
“Has to be a fairly recent thing since he just transferred two months ago.” I purse my lips. “Okay, let’s assume it’s been a month.”
No answer.
I glance over and see that she’s glowering even harder now, but even with that forbidding expression, she still looks hot. She’s got one of the most interesting faces I’ve ever seen—her cheeks are a little too round, her mouth a little too pouty, but combined with her smooth olive skin, vivid green eyes, and the tiny beauty mark over her top lip, she looks almost exotic. And that body…man, now that I’ve noticed it, I can’t un-notice it.
But I remind myself that I’m not driving her home in the hopes of scoring. I need Hannah too much to screw it up by sleeping with her.
After practice today, Coach pulled me aside and gave me a ten-minute lecture about the importance of keeping my grades up. Well, lecture is too generous a description—his exact words had been “maintain your average or I’ll shove my foot so far up your ass you’ll be able to taste my shoe polish in your mouth for years to come.”
Like the smartass I am, I asked if people actually still use shoe polish, and he responded with a string of colorful expletives before storming off.
I’m not exaggerating when I say that hockey is my entire life, but I guess that’s bound to happen when your father is a fucking superstar. The old man had my future planned out when I was still in the womb—learn to skate, learn to shoot, make it to the pros, the end. Phil Graham has a reputation to uphold, after all. I mean, just think about how badly it’d reflect on him if his only son didn’t grow up to be a professional hockey player.
Yes, that’s sarcasm you’re detecting. And here’s a confession: I hate my father. No, I despise him. The irony is, the bastard thinks everything I’ve done has been for him. The intense training, the full-body bruises, killing myself twenty hours a week in order to better my game. He’s arrogant enough to believe that I put myself through all that for him.
But he’s wrong. I do it for me. And to a lesser extent, I do it to beat him. To be better than him.
Don’t get me wrong—I love the game. I live for the roar of the crowd, the crisp air chilling my face as I hurtle down the ice, the hiss of the puck as I release a slap shot that lights the lamp. Hockey is adrenaline. It’s excitement. It’s…soothing, even.
I look at Hannah again, wondering what it’ll take to persuade her, and it suddenly occurs to me I’ve been thinking about this Kohl thing the wrong way. Because yeah, I don’t think she’s his type, but how is he hers?
Kohl plays it off like he’s the strong, silent type, but I’ve hung out with him enough times to see through the act. He uses that man of mystery bullshit to draw girls in, and once they bite, he turns on the charm and lures them right into his pants.
So why the hell is a levelheaded girl like Hannah Wells salivating over a bigshot like Kohl?
“Is this just a physical thing or do you actually want to date him?” I ask curiously.
Her exasperated sigh echoes
in the car. “Can we please not talk about this?”
I flick the right turn signal and drive away from Greek Row, heading for the road that leads back to campus.
“I was wrong about you,” I tell her in a frank tone.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I thought you were upfront. Ballsy. Not someone who’s too much of a pussy to admit she’s into a guy.”
I hide a grin when I see her jaw harden. I’m not surprised that I hit a nerve. I’m pretty good at reading people, and I know without a shred of doubt that Hannah Wells isn’t the kind of woman who backs down from a challenge, not even a veiled one.
“Fine. You win.” She sounds like she’s speaking through clenched teeth. “Maybe I’m into him. A teeny, tiny bit.”
My grin breaks free. “Gee, was that so hard?” I ease my foot off the gas as we approach a stop sign. “Why haven’t you asked him out then?”
Alarm ripples through her voice. “Why would I do that?”
“Uh, because you just said you’re into him?”
“I don’t even know him.”
“How else are you going to get to know him if you don’t ask him out?”
She shifts in her seat, looking so uncomfortable I can’t help but laugh.
“You’re scared,” I tease her, unable to keep the delight out of my voice.
“I am not,” she says instantly. Then she pauses. “Well, maybe a little. He…he makes me nervous, okay?”
It takes some effort to mask my surprise. I hadn’t expected her to be so…honest, I guess. And the vulnerability she’s radiating is slightly unsettling. I haven’t known her long, but I’ve gotten used to her sarcasm and confidence. The uncertainty on her face seems out of place.
“So you’re going to wait around for him to ask you?”
She scowls at me. “Let me guess—you think he won’t.”
“I know he won’t.” I give a little shrug. “Men are all about the chase, Wellsy. You’re making it too easy for him.”
“Hardly,” she says dryly. “Considering I haven’t even told him I’m interested.”
“Oh, he knows.”
That startles her. “No, he doesn’t.”
“A man always knows when a woman wants him. Believe me, you don’t have to say it out loud for him to pick up on the vibes you’re sending out.” I grin. “Hell, it only took five seconds for me to figure it out.”
“And you think if I go out with you, he’ll magically be interested in me?” She sounds skeptical, but no longer hostile, which is a promising sign.
“It’ll definitely help your cause. You know what intrigues guys even more than the chase?”
“I can’t wait to hear it.”
“A woman who’s out of reach. People want what they can’t have.” I can’t help but smirk. “Case in point—you wanting Kohl.”
“Uh-huh. Well, if I can’t have him, then why bother going on a date with you?”
“You can’t have him now. Doesn’t mean you’ll never have him.”
I reach another stop sign, and I’m annoyed to see that we’re almost back at campus. Shit. I need more time to persuade her, so I drive a bit slower and hope she doesn’t notice I’m going ten under the limit.
“Trust me, Wellsy, if you show up on my arm, he’ll notice.” I pause, pretending to think it over. “Tell you what—there’s this party next Saturday and Loverboy will be there.”
“One, don’t call him that. And two, how do you know where he’ll be?” she says suspiciously.
“Because it’s Beau Maxwell’s birthday bash. You know, the quarterback? The whole team will be there.” I shrug. “And so will we.”
“Mmm-hmmm. And what happens when we get there?”
She’s playing it off as casual, but I know I’ve got her exactly where I want her.
“We mingle, have a few beers. I’ll introduce you around as my date. Chicks will want to murder you. Guys will wonder who you are and why you haven’t been on their radars before. Kohl will wonder too, but we’re going to ignore him.”
“And why would we do that?”
“Because it’ll drive him crazy. Make you seem even more unattainable.”
She bites her lip. I wonder if she knows how easy it is to read her emotions. Annoyance, anger, embarrassment. Her eyes reveal everything and it fascinates me. I work so hard to mask what I’m feeling—a lesson I learned from childhood—but Hannah’s face is an open book. It’s kinda refreshing.
“You have a lot of confidence in yourself,” she finally remarks. “Do you honestly think you’re such hot shit that the mere act of going to a party with you will turn me into a celebrity?”
“Yes.” I’m not being arrogant, just truthful. After two years at this school, I know the kind of cred I have.
Though honestly? Sometimes I don’t feel half as cool as people think I am, and I’m pretty sure that if any of them took the time to actually get to know me, they’d probably change their opinion. It’s like that pond I skated on when I was a kid—from a distance, the ice looked so shiny and smooth, until you got close enough to it, and suddenly all the uneven edges and crisscrossed skate marks became visible. That’s me, I guess. Covered with skate marks that nobody ever seems to notice.
And jeez, clearly I’m feeling way too philosophical tonight.
Next to me, Hannah has gone quiet, chewing on her lip as she considers my proposal.
For a split second, I almost tell her to forget it. It seems…wrong that this girl cares what a douche like Kohl thinks about her. Hannah’s intelligence and razor-sharp tongue is wasted on a guy like that.
But then I think of my team, and all the guys that are counting on me, and I force myself to ignore my misgivings.
“Think about it,” I coax. “The makeup is next Friday, which gives us a week and a half to study. I’ll write the exam, and then on Saturday night we’ll go to Maxwell’s party and show Loverboy how sexy and desirable you are. He won’t be able to resist, trust me.”
“One, don’t call him that. Two, stop telling me to trust you. I don’t even know you.” But despite the grumbling, I can see her capitulating. “Look. I can’t commit to tutoring you for the whole semester. I honestly don’t have time.”
“It’ll just be this week,” I promise.
She hesitates.
I don’t blame her for doubting me. Truth is, I’m already thinking of how I can convince her to hold my hand for the duration of Tolbert’s course, but…one battle at a time.
“So do we have a deal?” I prompt.
Hannah stays quiet, but just when I’ve given up hope, she sighs and says, “All right. We’ve got a deal.”
Hot damn.
A part of me is genuinely shocked that I managed to wear her down. I’ve been badgering her for what feels like an eternity, and now that I’ve won, it’s almost like experiencing a sense of loss. Figure that out.
Nevertheless, I give myself a mental high five as I drive into the lot behind the dormitories. “What dorm are you in?” I ask as I put the Jeep in park.
“Bristol House.”
“I’ll walk you in.” I start to unbuckle my seatbelt, but she shakes her head.
“It’s fine. I don’t need a bodyguard.” She holds up her phone. “All prepped to dial 911, remember?”
A short silence falls over us.
“Well.” I stick out my hand. “It was a pleasure doing business with you.”
She stares at my hand like I’m a carrier for Ebola. I roll my eyes and withdraw the gesture.
“I work until eight tomorrow,” she says. “We can meet up when I’m done. You don’t live in the dorms, right?”
“No, but I can come to you.”
She blanches as if I’ve offered to shave her head. “And have people think we’re friends? No way. Text me your address. I’ll come to your place.”
I’ve never met anyone who’s so repulsed by my popularity, and I have no idea what to make of it.
I think
I might like it.
“You’ll be the most popular girl on your floor if I came over, you know.”
“Text me your address,” she says firmly.
“Yes, ma’am.” I beam at her. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
All I get in return is a sour look and a flash of her profile as she turns to open her door. She hops out of the car without a word, then reluctantly taps on the passenger window.
Stifling a grin, I press the button to roll down the window. “Forget something?” I mock.
“Thank you for the ride,” she says primly.
And then she’s gone, her green dress fluttering in the night breeze as she hurries toward the darkened buildings.
7
Hannah
Normally I pride myself on having a good head on my shoulders and making sound decisions, but agreeing to tutor Garrett? Stupider than stupid.
I’m still cursing myself for it as I make the drive over to his house the following evening. When he cornered me at the Sigma party, I had every intention of telling him to fuck off and leave me alone, and then he’d dangled Justin under my nose like a carrot, and I caved like a cheap tent.
Great. And now I’m mixing metaphors.
I think it might be time for me to face a grim truth: I have zero common sense when it comes to Justin Kohl. Last night I left the party with the sole purpose of forgetting about him¸ and instead of doing that, I allowed Garrett Graham to fill me with the most destructive emotion known to mankind—hope.
Hope that Justin might notice me. Hope that he might want me. Hope that I might’ve finally met someone who can make me feel something.
It’s embarrassing how besotted I am with the guy.
I park my borrowed car in the driveway behind Garrett’s Jeep and next to a shiny black pick-up, but I leave the engine running. I keep wondering what my old therapist would think if she knew about the deal I’d struck with Garrett. I want to say she’d be against it, but Carole was all about empowerment. She always encouraged me to take control of my life and grab hold of any opportunity that allows me to put the attack behind me.