The Deal

“I don’t think that at all, dumbass. I just wanted to make sure you knew that if you decide to have a beer or two, you don’t have to worry. I’m on it.” He hesitates. “I know your friend had a bad experience with drinking in public, but I promise, I’d never let that happen to you.”


I wince when he says “your friend,” but luckily, I don’t think he notices. A part of me wishes I never fed him that old this happened to my friend excuse, but I can’t bring myself to regret it. Only my closest friends know about what happened to me, and yeah, I might trust Garrett, but I don’t feel comfortable telling him about the rape.

“So if you want to drink tonight, I promise nothing bad will happen to you.” He sounds so genuine that my heart squeezes with emotion. “Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say. Just…think about it, okay?”

My throat is so tight I can barely get a word out. “Okay.” I exhale a wobbly breath. “I’ll think about it.”

*

Garrett

Hockey players take up every inch of available space at Malone’s, a bar that doesn’t have much space to begin with. The place is so tiny that most of the time it’s standing room only.

Tonight there’s barely enough room to breathe, let alone stand.

The whole team has shown up for Dean’s birthday bash, and Mondays happen to be karaoke night at the bar, so the cramped room is loud as fuck and jammed with bodies. On the plus side, none of us had to flash our fake IDs at the door.

I suddenly realize that in a few months, my fake ID will be useless. And once I turn twenty-one in January, I’ll be rewarded with more than just legal adult status—I’ll finally have access to the trust my grandparents left me, which means I’ll be one step closer to ridding myself of my old man.

Hannah walks in about twenty minutes after the guys and me. I didn’t pick her up because her rehearsal ran late and she insisted she was fine taking a cab. She’d also insisted on going back to her dorm first to shower and change, and when I lay eyes on her, I whole-heartedly support that decision. She looks fucking gorgeous in her leggings, high-heeled boots and ribbed T-shirt. All black, of course, but as she gets closer, I’m on the lookout for her trademark flash of color—and I find it when she turns her head to greet Dean. A huge yellow hairclip with little blue stars holds her dark hair back. Half of it is still loose and frames her flushed face.

“Hey,” she says. “It’s sweltering in here. I’m glad I didn’t bother with a coat.”

“Hey.” I lean in and smack a kiss on her cheek. I would have loved to target those luscious lips, but even though I consider this a date, I’m pretty sure Hannah doesn’t. “How was rehearsal?”

“The usual.” She offers a glum look. “The usual being shitty.”

“What did Cass the Ass do this time?”

“Nothing major. Just acting like his jackass self.” Hannah sighs. “I won the argument about where to put the bridge in the arrangement, but he won about the second chorus. You know, for when the choir comes in.”

I groan loudly. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Wellsy. You caved on that?”

“It was two against one,” she says darkly. “MJ decided her song absolutely required a choir for maximum effect. We start rehearsing with them on Wednesday.”

She’s very obviously pissed, so I squeeze her arm and say, “Do you want a drink?”

I see her slender throat bob as she gulps. She doesn’t answer for a moment. She just looks into my eyes, as if she’s trying to mentally bore her way into my brain. I end up holding my breath, because I know something important is about to happen. Hannah is either going to place her trust in my hands, or she’s going to lock it up tight, which would be the equivalent of a bone-jarring hip-check, because damn it, I want her to trust me.

When she finally answers, her voice is so soft I can’t hear her over the music.

“What?”

A breath escapes her lips, and then she raises her voice. “I said, sure.”

With that one teeny word, my heart inflates like a goddamn helium balloon. Hannah’s trust, meet Garrett’s hands.

I fight to keep my happiness in check, settling for a nonchalant nod as I lead her toward the bar counter. “What’ll it be? Beer? Whiskey?”

“No, I want something tasty.”

“I swear to God, Wellsy, if you order peach schnapps or something girly like that, I will officially unfriend you.”

“But I am a girl,” she protests. “Why can’t I have a girly drink? Ooh, maybe a pi?a colada?”

I heave out a sigh. “Fine. That’s better than schnapps, at least.”

At the counter, I order Hannah’s drink and then proceed to scrutinize every move the bartender makes. Hannah also watches him with eagle eyes.

With two of the most vigilant patrons on the planet monitoring the pi?a-colada-making process from start to finish, there’s absolutely no doubt about the drug-free status of the glass I place in Hannah’s hand a few minutes later.

She takes a tiny sip, then smiles up at me. “Mmmm. Yummy.”