A moan leaves my throat at the exact moment the bedroom door swings open.
“Hey, G, I need to borrow a—”
Dean grinds to a halt.
With a squeak of horror, I tear my mouth away from Garrett’s and shoot to my feet.
“Oops. Didn’t mean to interrupt.” Dean’s grin takes up his entire face, and his twinkling green eyes make my cheeks scorch.
I snap back to reality faster than you can say biggest mistake ever. Holy shit. I’ve just been caught making out with Garrett Graham.
And I was enjoying it.
“You’re not interrupting,” I blurt out.
Dean looks like he’s fighting back laughter. “No? Because it sure seems like it.”
Despite the tight knot of embarrassment lodged in my throat, I force myself to glance at Garrett, silently pleading for backup, but his expression catches me off guard. Deep intensity and a flash of annoyance, but the latter is directed at Dean. And thrown into the mix is something akin to fascination, as if he can’t believe what he and I just did.
I can’t believe it either.
“So this is what you two do when you’re up here,” Dean drawls. “All that deep, intensive tutoring.” He air-quotes the last word, chuckling in delight.
His teasing irks me. I don’t want him thinking that Garrett and I are…involved. That we’ve been fooling around for the past week behind everyone’s backs.
Which means I have to nip his suspicions in the bud. ASAP.
“Actually, Garrett’s just helping me brush up on my make-out skills,” I tell Dean in the most casual voice I can muster. At this point, telling the truth is far less humiliating than letting his imagination run wild, but the confession sounds insane when I utter it out loud. Yep, just honing my kissing skills with the captain of the hockey team. No biggie.
Dean snickers. “’That so?”
“Yes,” I say firmly. “I have a date coming up and your friend here thinks I don’t have any moves. Trust me, we’re not into each other. At all.” I realize that Garrett still hasn’t said a single word, and I turn to him for confirmation. “Right, Garrett?” I ask pointedly.
He clears his throat, but his voice is still gravelly as hell when he speaks. “Right.”
“Okay…” Dean’s eyes gleam. “Then I’m calling your bluff, baby doll. Show me your moves.”
I blink in surprise. “What?”
“If a doctor told you you’ve got ten days to live, you’d go for a second opinion, wouldn’t you? Well, if you’re worried about being a crappy kisser, you can’t just take G’s word for it. You need a second opinion.” His brows lift in challenge. “Let me see what you’ve got.”
“Stop being a jackass,” Garrett mutters.
“No, he has a point,” I answer awkwardly, and my brain screams, What?
He has a point? Apparently Garrett’s body-melting kisses have turned me into a crazy person. I’m shaken up and confused, and most of all, I’m worried. Worried that Garrett will know I…what? That I’d never been so turned on from a kiss before? That I loved every second of it?
Yes, and yes. That’s precisely what I don’t want him to know.
So I saunter over to Dean and say, “Give me a second opinion.”
He seems startled for a second, before breaking out in another grin. He rubs his hands together, then cracks his knuckles as if he’s preparing for a fight, and the ridiculous gesture makes me laugh.
When I reach him, his bravado falters. “I was just kidding, Wellsy. You don’t have to—”
I cut him off by leaning on my tiptoes and pressing my mouth to his.
Yep, that’s me, just another college coed kissing one guy after the other.
This time, there’s no heat. No tingles. No sense of overpowering desperation. Kissing Dean is nothing compared to the way it felt kissing Garrett, but Dean seems to enjoy it, because he lets out a groan when I part my lips. His tongue enters my mouth, and I let it. Only for a few seconds, and then I step back and put on my most nonchalant face.
“Well?” I prompt.
His eyes are completely glazed over. “Uh.” He clears his throat. “Uh…yeah…I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
He looks so stunned that I can’t help but smile, but my humor dissolves when I turn to see Garrett rising from the bed, his chiseled face darker than a thundercloud.
“Hannah,” he starts roughly.
But I can’t listen to the rest. I don’t want to think about that kiss anymore. Or ever. The mere memory of it makes my head spin and my heart pound.
“Good luck on the makeup tomorrow.” The words rush out in a fast stream of nervousness. “I’ve gotta take off now, but let me know how it goes, ’kay?”
Then I quickly gather up my things and hurry out of the room.
17
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.