The Deal

Hannah is wasted.

Not only that, but she refuses to go home. It’s one in the morning and the party has moved from the bar to my house, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t convince Hannah to call it a night.

It’s becoming crucial that I get her back to her dorm. My living room is full of hockey players and puck bunnies, all of whom score at least an eight on my drunk scale: rapidly on their way to throwing inhibition to the wind and making some huge-ass mistakes.

Dean has just dragged a laughing Hannah to the center of the living room and the two of them start dancing to ODB’s “Baby, I like it Raw,” which blasts out of the speakers at top-volume.

Hannah hadn’t been moving suggestively when she’d belted out Lady Gaga earlier, but she sure as shit is moving suggestively now. She’s gone from Disney Channel Miley Cyrus to Full-on Twerk Mode Miley, and it’s officially time for me to put a stop to it before she moves straight to Let’s Make a Sex Tape Miley. Wait—has Miley ever made a sex tape? Fuck, who am I kidding? Of course she has.

I march up to Hannah and Dean and forcibly break them apart, laying a firm hand on Hannah’s shoulder. “I need to talk to you,” I shout over the music.

She pouts. “I’m dancing!”

“We’re dancing,” Dean slurs.

I level a hard glare at my teammate. “Dance with someone else,” I snap.

As if on cue, a willing female partner appears like an apparition and yanks Dean into her arms. Dean all but forgets about Hannah, which allows me to drag her out of the living room without any further objections.

I curl my hand around her arm and lead her upstairs, and I don’t release her until we’re in the quiet safety of my bedroom. “Party’s over,” I announce.

“But I’m having fun,” she whines.

“I know you are.” I cross my arms. “You’re having too much fun.”

“You’re mean.” With an exaggerated sigh, Hannah flops down on the bed and falls onto her back. “I’m sleepy.”

I grin. “Come on, I’ll drive you back to the dorm.”

“I don’t wanna go.” She sticks out her arms and legs and proceeds to do snow angels on my bed. “Your bed is so big and comfy.”

Then her eyelids flutter closed and she goes still, another deep sigh escaping her lips.

I smother a groan as I realize she’s seconds away from falling asleep, but then I decide it might be better if I let her crash here and drive her home in the morning. Because if I take her home now and she gets a second wind, I won’t be there to keep her out of trouble.

“Fine,” I say with a nod. “Stay here and sleep it off, Cinderella.”

She snorts. “Does that make you my prince?”

“Damn straight.” I duck into the bathroom and rummage around in the medicine cabinet until I find some ibuprofen. Then I pour a glass of water and head back to the bed, sitting at the edge as I force Hannah to sit up. “Take two of these and chug the water,” I order, slapping the two pills into her palm. “Trust me, you’ll thank me in the morning.”

Shoving pills and water down someone’s throat is nothing new to me. I do it often with my teammates. Dean, in particular, who takes drinking to a whole new level, and not just on his birthday.

Hannah obediently follows my instructions before collapsing on the mattress again.

“Good girl.”

“I’m hot,” she mumbles. “Why is it so hot in here?”

My heart literally stops beating when she starts wiggling out of her leggings.

The material snags on her knees, eliciting a loud groan from her. “Garrett!”

I have to chuckle. Taking pity on her, I lean in to help her out, peeling the pants off her legs and doing my best to ignore the smooth, silky skin beneath my fingertips.

“There you go,” I say thickly. “Better?”

“Mmm-hmmm.” She reaches for the hem of her shirt.

Sweet Jesus.

I tear my gaze off her and stumble toward my dresser to find her something to sleep in. I grab an old T-shirt, take a deep breath, and turn around to face her.

Her shirt is off.

Fortunately, she’s wearing a bra.

Unfortunately, the bra is black and lacy and see-through, and I have a perfect view of her nipples behind that transparent fabric.

Don’t look. She’s drunk.

I heed the stern internal voice and forbid my gaze from lingering. And since there’s no way in hell I can take off her bra without coming in my pants, I shove the T-shirt over her head and hope she’s not one of those girls who hates sleeping in her bra.

“I had so much fun tonight,” Hannah babbles happily. “See? I might be broken but I can still have fun.”

I freeze. “What?”

But she doesn’t answer. Her bare legs kick at the blanket and then she slides beneath it, rolling over on her side with a tiny sigh.

She passes out within seconds.