The Deal

I battle a rush of unease as I turn off the light. She’s broken? What the hell does that mean?

Frowning, I slip out of the bedroom and quietly close the door behind me. Hannah’s cryptic words continue to echo in my head, but I don’t have the opportunity to dwell on them because when I go downstairs, Logan and Dean waste no time dragging me into the kitchen for a round of shots.

“It’s his birthday, dude.” Logan says when I object. “You’ve gotta take a shot.”

I cave in and accept the shot glass. The three of us clink our glasses together, slugging back the whiskey. The alcohol burns my throat and heats my stomach, and I welcome the hot buzz that floats through my body. This whole night, I’ve been…off. That stupid song. Hannah’s tears at the bar. The confusing way she makes me feel.

I’m raw and on edge, and when Logan pours me another drink, this time I don’t object.

After the third shot, I’m no longer thinking about how confused I am.

After the fourth one, I’m not thinking at all.


It’s two-thirty in the morning when I finally drag my drunken ass upstairs. The party has all but fizzled. Only Dean’s puck bunnies remain, lying on the couch with him in a tangle of bare arms and legs. I pass the kitchen and spot Tucker asleep at the counter, his hand still curled around an empty beer bottle. Logan had disappeared into his bedroom a while ago with a cute brunette, and as I walk past his room, I hear the kind of groans and moans that tell me he’s VBF.

My bedroom is bathed in shadows when I walk inside. I blink a few times, and my eyes adjust to the darkness to find a Hannah-shaped lump on the bed. I’m too tired to brush my teeth or follow my own hangover-prevention regimen—I just strip to my boxers and climb in next to Hannah.

I try to be as quiet as possible as I get comfortable, but the rustling of the sheets causes Hannah to stir. A soft moan ripples through the darkness, and then she rolls over and a warm hand presses against my bare chest.

I stiffen. Or rather, my chest does. Down below, I’m softer than pudding. That’s whiskey dick for you, which is damn sad considering I only had five shots. Man. Me and alcohol really don’t mix.

Even if I wanted to take advantage of Hannah right now, I’d be totally useless. And shit, that’s a totally repulsive thing to think, because I’d never take advantage of her. I’d rip my own dick off before forcing myself on someone.

But apparently there’s only one person with honorable intentions in this bed tonight.

My pulse speeds up when soft lips latch onto my shoulder.

“Hannah…” I say warily.

There’s a beat of silence. A part of me prays that she’s asleep, but Hannah shoots down that hope by murmuring, “Uh-huh?” Her voice is throaty, and sexy as fuck.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

Her lips meander from my shoulder to my neck, and then she sucks on my suddenly feverish flesh, finding a sweet spot that sends a zing of heat straight to my balls. Jesus. My cock might not be working properly right now, but that doesn’t mean I’m incapable of feeling arousal. And holy hell, there’s no word to describe how aroused I am as Hannah’s greedy mouth explores my neck like she’s sampling a damn buffet.

I smother a groan, touching her shoulder to still her. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Nuh-uh. You’re wrong. I totally do.”

The groan I’ve been holding rumbles out as she climbs on top of me. Her firm thighs straddle mine. Her hair tickles my collarbone as she leans forward.

My heart takes off in a fast, pounding gallop.

“Stop being difficult,” she tells me.

Then she kisses me.

Oh hell.

I should stop her. I really, really should. But she’s warm and soft and she smells so good I can’t fucking think straight. Her mouth moves eagerly over mine, and I kiss her back hungrily, wrapping my arms around her and stroking her lower back as our lips mold together. She tastes like pi?a coladas, and she makes the sexiest sounds I’ve ever heard as she takes deep pulls on my tongue like she can’t get enough.

“Hannah,” I mumble against her eager lips. “We can’t.”

She licks my bottom lip, then bites it hard enough to summon a growl from my throat. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I need to derail this lust train before it hurtles to the point of no return.

“I love your chest,” she breathes, and holy hell, now she’s rubbing her breasts against my pecs and I can feel her nipples poking right through her shirt.

I want to rip that fucking shirt off. I want to draw those puckered nipples deep into my mouth and suck. But I can’t. I won’t.

“No.” I thrust my hand in her hair and bunch it between my fingers. “We can’t do this. Not tonight.”

“But I want to,” she whispers. “I want you so bad.”

She’s just uttered the words every guy wants to hear—I want you so bad—but damn it, she’s drunk and I can’t let her do this.