The Deal

Yep, that’s it.

I bite my lip as I debate what to do. I haven’t thought about Justin all week, but that doesn’t trump the fact that I’ve been thinking about him all semester. Something drew me to him in the first place, and I can’t just ignore that. Besides, I don’t even know what’s happening between me and Garrett. He hasn’t brought up the whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing. I don’t know if I want to be his girlfriend.

I have a type when it comes to guys. Quiet, serious, moody. Creative, if I’m lucky. Plays music is always a plus. Smart. Sarcastic but not in a snide way. Unafraid to show his emotions. Someone who makes me feel…at peace.

Garrett has some of those qualities, but not all of them. And I’m not sure peaceful is the accurate word to describe how I feel when I’m with him. When we’re arguing or shooting wisecracks back and forth, it’s like my whole body is wired with electricity. And when we’re naked…it’s like an entire Fourth of July fireworks display going off inside me.

I think that might be a good thing?

Fuck, I don’t know. My track record with guys isn’t exactly a series of successes. What do I know about relationships? And how can I be certain that Justin isn’t the guy I should be with if I don’t go out with him at least once?

“So why do they call it the crease?” Dex asks in fascination after the second period commences. “And why does it sound so dirty?”

On my other side, Allie leans in to grin at Dexter. “Babe, everything about hockey sounds dirty. Five-hole? Poke check? Backdoor?” She sighs. “Come home with me one time and listen to my dad yell Jam it in! over and over again when he watches hockey, and then you can talk to me about dirty. Not to mention uncomfortable.”

Dex and I laugh so hard we almost fall out of our chairs.

*

Garrett

As the guys and I shuffle out of the guest locker room after the game, we’re still riding the high of crushing the home team. Even though it’s one of our sophomores who landed that last beauty of a goal that secured our win, I’ve decided that Hannah is my good luck charm and must now attend all of our games, because the last three times we played Harvard, we got our asses handed to us.

We agreed to meet outside the arena after the game, and sure enough, she’s waiting there for me when I walk outside. She’s with Allie, along with a dark-haired chick I don’t recognize and an enormous black guy who I’m amazed isn’t on the football team. Because he should be. Maxwell would come in his pants if he had a monster like that on his O-line.

The moment Hannah spots me, she wanders away from her friends and walks over to me. “Hey.” She looks surprisingly shy, and she hesitates, as if she’s not sure if she should hug or kiss me.

I solve her dilemma by doing both, and as I brush my lips over hers, I hear a victorious “I knew it!” echo from her friends’ direction. The exclamation comes from the girl who isn’t Allie.

I pull back to grin at Hannah. “Keeping us a secret from your friends, huh?”

“Us?” She raises her eyebrows. “I didn’t realize we were an us.”

Now is definitely not the time to discuss the status of our relationship—if it even is one—so I just shrug and say, “How’d you like the game?”

“It was intense.” She smirks at me. “I notice you didn’t score a goal, though. Slacking much?”

My grin widens. “I sincerely apologize for that, Wellsy. I promise to do better next time.”

“You’d better.”

“I’ll score a hat trick just for you, how about that?”

My teammates shuffle past us and head for the bus waiting twenty feet away, but I’m not ready to leave Hannah yet. “I’m glad you came.”

“Me too.” She sounds like she really means it.

“Are you busy tomorrow night?” The team has another game tomorrow, but it’s an afternooner, and I’m dying to get Hannah alone again so we can…yeah. “I thought we could hang out after I get back from—” I stop talking when a shadow appears in my periphery vision, and my shoulders set in a tight line when I spot my father descending the front steps of the building.

This is the point of the evening I dread. Time for the big nod, followed by the silent walk-away.

As if on cue, I get the nod.

But not the walk-away.

My father startles the shit out of me by saying, “Garrett. A word.”

His deep voice sends a chill up my spine. I fucking hate the sound of his voice. I hate the sight of his face.

I hate every goddamn thing about him.

Hannah’s expression creases with concern when she sees my face. “Is that…?”

Instead of answering, I take a reluctant step away. “I’ll be back in a minute,” I mumble.