The Mistake

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” I mumble, stepping away from the door. Change of plans. Nicotine overdose—no longer needed. Hiding in my bedroom—must get on that.

“Logan.” She approaches me with wary strides. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. You look upset. Are you okay?”

I flinch when she touches my arm. “I don’t want to talk about it, Wellsy. I really don’t.”

Her green eyes search my face. For so long that I shift in discomfort and break the eye contact. I try to take another step, but she stops me again, blocking my path as she releases a groan of frustration.

“You know what?” she announces. “I can’t fucking take this anymore.”

I blink in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

Rather than answer, she grabs my arm so hard it’s a miracle it stays in its socket. Then she drags me to the kitchen table and forcibly pushes me into a chair. Jeez. She’s freakishly strong for someone so tiny.

“Hannah…” I start uneasily.

“No. I’m done tiptoeing around this.” She yanks out a chair and sits beside me. “Garrett keeps telling me you’ll get over it, but it’s only getting worse, and I hate this awkwardness between us. You used to hang out with us and come to Malone’s and watch movies, and now you don’t, and I miss hanging out with you, okay?” She’s so upset that her shoulders are visibly shaking. “So let’s clear the air, all right? Let’s deal with it head-on.”

She takes a deep breath, then looks me square in the eye and asks, “Do you have a thing for me?”

Aw, hell.

Why, why didn’t I go straight up to my room?

Clenching my teeth, I scrape back my chair. “Well, this has been fun, but I think I’ll go upstairs and kill myself now.”

“Sit down,” she says sternly.

My ass hovers over the chair, but the sharpness of her tone reminds me too much of Coach Jensen when he’s reaming us out at practice, and my fear of authority wins out. I drop back down and blow out a tired breath.

“What’s the point of talking about this, Wellsy? We both know the answer to that question.”

“Maybe, but I still want to hear you say it.”

Annoyance tightens my throat. “Fine, you want to hear it? Do I have a thing for you? Yes, I think I do.”

Shock fills her expression, as if she truly didn’t expect me to reply.

Cue: the longest silence ever. Like, find a rope and tie it around your neck and hang your fucking self silence, because the longer she remains quiet, the more pathetic I feel.

When she finally speaks, she throws me for a loop. “Why?”

My forehead creases. “Why what?”

“Why are you into me?”

If she thought she was clarifying, she’s dead wrong, because I’m still baffled. What kind of question is that?

Hannah shakes her head as if she’s also trying to make sense of it. “Dude, I’ve seen the girls you bring home or flirt with at the bar. You have a type. Tall, skinny, usually blonde. And they’re always hanging all over you and showering you with compliments.” She snorts. “Whereas I just insult you all the time.”

I can’t help but grin. Her sarcasm does veer into insult territory more often than not.

“And you gravitate to the ones who are looking for something temporary. You know, a fun time. I’m not a fun-time girl. I like serious relationships.” She purses her lips thoughtfully. “I never got the sense that you were interested in relationships.”

The accusation raises my hackles. “Why? Because I’m a player?” Indignation makes my tone harsher than I intend for it to be. “Have you ever thought that maybe it’s because I haven’t met the right girl yet? But no, I couldn’t possibly want someone to cuddle with and watch movies with, someone who wears my jersey and cheers for me at games, and cooks dinner with me the way you and Garrett—”

Her snort of laughter makes me stop short.

I narrow my eyes. “What are you laughing about?”

In a heartbeat, the laughter dies and her tone grows serious. “Logan…during that whole speech? You didn’t once say you wanted to do that stuff with me. You said someone.” She beams. “I just got it.”

Well, good for her, because I have no fucking idea what she’s babbling about.

“This entire time, I thought you were looking at me all longing-like. But you were looking at us.” She laughs again. “And all those things you listed right now, they’re things Garrett and I do together. Dude, you don’t want me. You want me and Garrett.”

Alarm flits through me. “If you’re implying I want to have a threesome with you and my best friend, then I can assure you, I don’t.”

“No, you just want what we have. You want the connection and the closeness and all the gooey relationship stuff.”

My mouth snaps shut.