The Deal

We go quiet again, and I suddenly become aware of the hard ridge poking against my butt. His very obvious erection makes me laugh. “Really, dude? Again?”


He chuckles. “What was that you were saying about my stamina the other day? Shame on you. Dude.”

Still laughing, I roll over and plaster myself to his warm, hard body. “Round two?” I murmur.

His lips find mine. “Fuck yeah.”





30




Hannah


“I can’t believe this is happening,” Dexter announces—for about the millionth time—from the backseat of Garrett’s Jeep.

Next to Dex, Stella sighs and voices her agreement—also for the millionth time. “I know, right? We’re in Garrett Graham’s car. Part of me is tempted to go Carrie Underwood on it and carve my name into his leather seats.”

“Don’t you dare!” I order from the driver’s seat.

“Relax, I won’t. But I feel like if I don’t leave my mark on this car, nobody will ever believe I was in it.”

Hell, I can’t believe she’s in it. I wasn’t surprised when Allie jumped on the chance to come to Cambridge with me, since she’s still on the quest for details about Garrett, but I was startled when Stella and Dex insisted on coming along.

So far during this car ride, both of them have asked me at least twice if Garrett and I are dating. I’ve replied with my standard response—we just hang out sometimes. But it’s getting harder to convince even myself of that.

We blast music for the rest of the drive. Dex and I sing along, and our harmonies are ridiculously awesome—why didn’t I ask him to duet with me, damn it? Allie and Stella can’t stay on key to save their lives, but they join in for the choruses, and we’re all in high spirits when I pull into the parking lot of the hockey center.

I’ve never been to Harvard before, and I wish I had more time to explore the campus, but we’re running late as it is, so I usher my friends inside because I don’t want us to lose out on finding seats. I’m floored by how big and modern the arena is and how many people are here tonight. Luckily, we find four empty seats near the Briar team’s side of the rink. We don’t bother hitting up concessions since we ate a shit ton of corn chips in the car.

“Okay, so how does this game work again?” Dexter asks me.

I grin. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. I’m a black kid from Biloxi, Han-Han. What the fuck do I know about hockey?”

“Fair enough.”

As Allie and Stella chat about one of their acting classes, I give Dex a quick rundown of what he can expect. And yet when the players hit the ice, I realize my explanation hasn’t done it justice. This is the first hockey game I’ve seen in person, and I don’t expect the roar of the crowd, the deafening blare of the PA system, the lightning fast speed of the players.

Garrett’s jersey is #44, but I don’t need to look at the number to know which black-and-silver-clad player he is. He’s the center of the starting line, and the second the ref drops the puck, Garrett wins the opening faceoff and snaps the puck back to Dean, who I thought was a wing but is apparently a defenseman.

I’m too busy watching Garrett to focus on any of the other players. He’s…mesmerizing. He’s already tall without skates on, so the added height makes him appear massive. And he’s so fucking fast I have a tough time keeping my gaze on him. He flies down the ice, chasing the puck that Harvard has stolen from us and checking the opposing player like a pro. Briar takes an early lead, thanks to a goal by a player the announcer refers to as “Jacob Berderon,” and it takes me a second to realize he means Birdie, the dark-haired senior I met at Malone’s.

The clock on the scoreboard ticks down, but just when I think Briar will shut out Harvard in the first period, one of the opposing forwards gets a fast snapshot past Simms to tie the game.

As the period ends and the players disappear into their respective tunnels, Dex pokes me in the ribs and says, “You know what? This ain’t half bad. Maybe I should start playing hockey.”

“Can you skate?” I ask him.

“Naah. But it can’t be that hard, right?”

I snort. “Stick to music,” I advise. “Or if you’re really determined to get into sports, play football. Briar could use you.”

From what I’ve heard, our football team is putting up the worst record the school has seen in years, winning only three of the eight games they’ve played so far. But Sean said they still have a chance to make it to the post-season if they, and I quote, “get their motherfucking shit together and start winning some motherfucking games.” It makes me feel sorry for Beau, who I genuinely enjoyed talking to at the party.

The moment I think about Beau, Justin’s face swooshes into my head like a gust of wind.

Shit.

We have a dinner date Sunday night.

How the hell did I forget about that?

Because you were too busy having sex with Garrett?