The Deal

A shocked breath hisses out of his mouth. Although he doesn’t say a word, I can clearly see the tense set of his jaw, the hot fury in his eyes.

“It was…it…well, shit, I’m sure you can imagine how awful it was.” I swallow again. “But… Please don’t feel sorry for me, okay? It was awful and terrifying and it destroyed me at the time, but I worked through it. I’m not scared of all men, or angry at the world, or any of that stuff.”

Garrett says nothing, but his expression is fiercer than I’ve ever seen it.

“I’ve put it behind me. I really have. But it broke something inside me, okay? I can’t…I can’t…you know.” My cheeks are so hot it feels like I’ve come down with sunstroke.

He finally speaks, his voice coming out low and tortured. “No, I don’t know.”

I’m already in this deep, so I force myself to clarify. “I can’t have an orgasm with a guy.”

Garrett gulps. “Oh.”

I press my lips together, trying hard to tamp down the embarrassment climbing up my throat. “I thought that maybe if you and me…if we…you know, fooled around a bit, I might be able to…I don’t know…reprogram my body to…um, respond.”

Oh God. The words are stuttering out before my brain can edit them, and my face goes up in flames as I realize how pitiful I sound. The realization that I’ve officially reached the rock bottom equivalent of sheer humiliation unleashes my tears.

As a strangled sob tears out of my mouth, I attempt a frantic scramble off Garrett’s lap, but his arms tighten around me, one hand tangling in my hair to bring my head closer. I bury my face in his neck, trembling wildly as tears slide down my cheeks in salty waves.

“Hey, come on, don’t cry,” he begs. “It breaks my fucking heart to hear you cry.”

But I can’t stop. I gulp for air and shudder in his arms, and he strokes my hair and makes rough, soothing noises that only make me cry harder.

“I’m broken.”

My voice is muffled against his neck, but I hear his voice loud and clear as he says, “You’re not broken, baby. I promise.”

“Then help me prove it,” I whisper. “Please.”

He gently pulls my head up. I meet his gaze and find nothing but raw emotion and shining sincerity.

“Okay,” he whispers back. Then he lets out a long, unsteady breath. “Okay. I will.”





23




Garrett


Half the guys in the weight room are hung-over as hell. I, surprisingly, am not one of them. Nope, this morning’s revelations pretty much zapped away any headache or queasiness I might have felt.

Hannah was raped.

Those three words have been running through my head since I dropped her off at her dorm, and every time they pop up, red-hot fury blasts through me like a freight train. I wish she’d told me his name, his phone number, his fucking address.

But it’s better that she hadn’t, otherwise I’d probably be in my car right now on my way to commit murder.

Whoever he was, I hope to God he paid for what he did to Hannah. I hope to God he’s rotting in jail at the moment. Or better yet, I hope he’s fucking dead.

“Two more.” Logan looms over me as I lie on the bench press. “Come on, man, you’re slacking.”

I blow out a breath and curl my fingers around the barbell. I channel all my rage into heaving the weights over my head, as Logan spots me from above. Once I finish the last set of reps, he drops the bar in the rack and sticks out his hand. I allow him to haul me to my feet and we switch places.

Christ, I need to get my head on right. Thank fuck we’re not on the ice today because I’m not sure I even remember how to skate at the moment.

Hannah was raped.

And now she wants to have sex with me.

No, she wants me to fix her.

Holy mother of God. What was I thinking, agreeing to do this? I’ve wanted her naked ever since that first kiss, but not like this. Not as some kind of sexuality experiment. Not when I’m feeling this much pressure to…to what? Make it good for her? Not let her down?

“Any time now,” comes Logan’s mocking voice.

I snap out of my distressed thoughts and realize that he’s waiting for me to drop the barbell into his outstretched hands.

Taking a breath, I force myself to focus on making sure Logan doesn’t die on my watch rather than obsessing over Hannah.

“So I’m pissed at you,” he tells me as he bends his arms and brings the bar low to his chest. Then he grunts out a breath and lifts.

“What did I do now?” I ask with a sigh.

“You told me you weren’t interested in Wellsy.”

My chest tenses, but I pretend to be unfazed as I count out his set. “I wasn’t, at least not when you and I talked about it before.”

Logan grunts with each upward extension of his arms. We’re both lifting twenty pounds less than usual because last night’s drink fest means neither one of us is operating at a hundred percent today.

“So, what, now you are interested?”

I swallow. “Yeah. I guess I am.”