The Mistake

“Oh my God!” She runs over to my bed and flops down. “Tell me everything!”


She’s still wearing her party clothes from last night, a teeny minidress that rides up her thighs when she sits, and silver stilettos that she kicks away in an excited blur of legs.

When Ramona had walked into our room, I’d lasted all of three seconds before spilling the news, but now, with her staring excitedly at me, reluctance jams in my throat. I’m suddenly embarrassed to tell her what happened last night, because…well…I’m just going to say it: because it was underwhelming.

I had fun watching the movie with him. And I loved fooling around with him—at least until those final moments—but the guy got off and then left. Who does that?

No wonder all his hook-ups take place at frat parties. The girls are probably too drunk to notice whether they have an orgasm or not. Too drunk to realize that John Logan is selling nothing but false advertising.

But I already opened my big mouth, so now I have to follow through and give Ramona something. As she gawks at me, I explain how Logan showed up at the wrong door and ended up staying to watch a movie.

“You watched a movie? That’s it?”

I feel my cheeks warm up. “Well…”

Another screech flies out of her mouth. “Oh my God! Did you fuck him?”

“No,” I’m quick to answer. “Of course not. I hardly even know him. But…well, we did make out.”

I’m hesitant to disclose any more than that, but the revelation is enough to light up Ramona’s eyes. She looks like a kid who’s just gotten her first bicycle. Or a pony.

“You made out with John Logan! Eeeeeh! That is so awesome! Is he good a kisser? Did he take off his shirt? Did he take off his pants?”

“Nope,” I lie.

My best friend can’t sit still anymore. She hops off the bed and bounces around on the balls of her feet. “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe I wasn’t here to witness it.”

“You’re into voyeurism now?” I ask dryly.

“If I’m voyeur’ing John Logan? Um, yeah. I’d watch the two of you make out for hours.” She gasps suddenly. “Oh my God, text him right now and ask him to send you a dick pic!”

“What? No!”

“Aw, come on, he’ll probably be really flattered and—” Another gasp. “No, text him to invite him over tonight! And tell him to bring Dean.”

I hate to rain on her parade, but considering the way Logan rushed off last night, I have no choice but to dump a bucket of cold water on Ramona’s joy. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” I confess. “I didn’t get his number.”

“What?” She looks devastated. “What is wrong with you? Did you at least give him yours?”

I shake my head. “He didn’t have his phone on him, and there wasn’t an opportunity for me to give him my number.”

Ramona goes quiet for a moment. Sharp brown eyes focus on my face, narrowing, probing, as if she’s trying to telepathically tunnel into my brain.

I fidget self-consciously. “What?”

“Be honest,” she says. “Was he actually here?”

Shock slams into me. “Are you kidding?” When she offers a tiny shrug, my shock turns to horror. “Why would I make that up?”

“I don’t know…” She tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear, her discomfort obvious. “It’s just…you know, he’s older, and hot, and you didn’t exchange numbers…”

“So that means I’m lying?” I shoot to my feet, beyond insulted.

“No, of course not.” She starts to backpedal, but it’s too late. I’m already pissed off and heading for the door. “Where are you going?” she wails from behind me. “Aw, come on, Gracie. I believe you. You don’t have to storm out.”

“I’m not storming out.” I toss her a cool look over my shoulder, then grab my purse. “I’m meeting my dad in fifteen minutes. I really do have to go.”

“Really?” she says skeptically.

“Yes.” I have to force myself not to scowl at her. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not super mad at you right now.”

She darts over and throws her arms around me before I can stop her, squeezing tight enough to impede the airflow to my lungs. It’s one of her trademark Forgive Me hugs, which I’ve been on the receiving end of more times than I can count.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” she begs. “I’m sorry I asked that. I know you wouldn’t make it up, and when you get back, I want to hear all the details, okay?”

“Yeah…okay,” I mutter, not because I mean it, but because I want to get out of here before I smack her in the face.

She pulls back, relief etched into her features. “Awesome. Then I’ll see you lat—”

I’m out the door before she can finish that sentence.





6




Grace