The Deal

I chuckle. “Shit, you got roped into doing that?” The annual Halloween dorm crawl involves people popping into a dorm, getting free drinks, and then moving on to the next building. I’ve heard it’s actually a lot more fun than it sounds.

She sticks out her chin glumly. “I did it last year too. It sucked. You guys better stop in at Bristol House if you’re planning on going.”

“I’d love to, gorgeous,” Logan says in a flirty tone that makes me stiffen. “Don’t expect G here to show up, though.”

She looks over at me. “You’re not going out on Halloween?”

“Nope,” I reply.

“Why not?”

“Because he hates Halloween,” Dean informs her. “He’s scared of ghosts.”

I flip him the bird. But rather than own up to the real reason I hate October thirty-first with every fiber of my being, I just shrug and say, “It’s a pointless holiday with silly traditions.”

Logan snickers. “Says the Fun Police.”

Tucker finishes serving everyone, then sits down and shoves a fork into his lasagna. “Motherfucker, that’s good,” he mumbles between mouthfuls.

After that, all conversation ceases to exist, because the guys and I are ravenous after three hours of shooting drills, which means we’ve turned into cavemen. We waste no time demolishing the lasagna, garlic bread and Caesar salad Hannah made for us. And I mean demolishing. There’s barely half a serving left in the pan by the time we’re through with it.

“I knew I should have tripled the recipe,” Hannah says ruefully, staring at the empty dishes in wonder. Then she tries to get up to clear the table, at which point Tucker all but bodychecks her out of the kitchen.

“My mama taught me manners, Wellsy.” He gives her a stern look. “Someone cooks for you, you clean. Period.” His head swivels to the doorway just as Logan and Dean try to sneak out. “Where’re you ladies going? Dishes, assholes. G, you get a free pass since you have to drive our lovely chef home.”

In the hall, I plant my hands on Hannah’s waist and crook my neck to kiss her. “Why can’t you be taller?” I grumble.

“Why can’t you be shorter?” she counters.

I brush my lips over hers. “Thanks for cooking dinner. That was really sweet of you.”

A blush tints her cheeks. “I figured I owed you…you know…” The pinkish tinge darkens to red. “Because you’re a sex god and all.”

I chuckle. “Does that mean every time I give you an orgasm you’ll cook me a meal?”

“Nope. Tonight was a one-time deal. No more home-cooked meals for you.” She stands on her tiptoes and brings her mouth to my ear. “But I still get the orgasms.”

Like I could ever, ever say no to that.

“Come on, I’ll drive you back. You’ve got an early class tomorrow, right?” I’m surprised to realize that I actually know her schedule.

I’m not sure what’s happening between us. I mean, I agreed to help her with her sex problem, but…problem solved, right? She got what she wanted from me, and we didn’t even need to have sex to make it happen. So technically, there’s no reason for her to sleep with me. Or even keep seeing me, for that matter.

And me…well, I don’t want a girlfriend. My attention is and has always been focused solely on hockey, graduating, and the draft I’m planning on entering come graduation. Not to mention impressing the scouts who are already starting to show up at our games. Now that the season is in full swing, this means more practices and games and less time to devote to anything—or anyone—other than hockey.

So why does the thought of not spending any more time with Hannah bring the oddest clench of regret to my gut?

She tries to take a step down the hall, but I tug on her hand and kiss her again, and this time it’s not a peck. I kiss her hard, losing myself in her taste and her heat and every damn thing about her. I never expected her. Sometimes people sneak up on you and suddenly you don’t know how you ever lived without them. How you went about your day and hung out with your friends and fucked other people without having this one important person in your life.

Hannah breaks the kiss with a soft laugh. “Get a room,” she teases.

I decide it might be time to reevaluate my stance on girlfriends.

*

Hannah

“Bwahahahahaha! Happy Halloweeeeen!”

I turn away from the closet—where I was just in the process of trying to find a Halloween-esque outfit that’s not a costume because I fucking hate dressing up—and gawk at the creature gracing my doorway. I can’t make heads or tails of what Allie is wearing. All I see is a skintight blue bodysuit, lots of feathers, and…are those cat ears?

I steal Allie’s trademark phrase by demanding, “What on God’s green planet are you supposed to be?”

“I’m a cat-bird.” Then she gives me a look that says, uh-doy.

“A cat bird? What is…okay…why?”