The Mistake

“Nice to meet you, sweetheart,” Beau says, a smile curving his lips. “Gotta say, this is the first time I’ve seen Logan show up to a party with a date.”


“Get used to it,” Logan tosses back. “I don’t plan on leaving the house without her anymore.” Then he kisses my neck, and a shiver races through me. His hand is a solid weight on my hip, keeping me tight to his body, and…yep, I’m not imagining it—there’s another solid weight beneath me. His very noticeable erection against my ass.

Sometimes it still amazes me that I’m the one turning him on. My entire freshman year, all I heard was rumor after rumor about John Logan. He sleeps around, he’s a great lay, he doesn’t do relationships. So what the heck is he doing dating me? And by dating, I mean dating. We haven’t even had sex yet, for God’s sake.

As I marvel over the knowledge that somehow I managed to land—or maybe tame is the better word?—a guy like Logan, the conversation continues around me. Logan and Beau get into an animated debate about drug testing in college sports, though I’m not quite sure how they reach that topic. I’m too busy enjoying the way Logan’s fingers absently stroke my hip over my dress. God, I wish he was touching my bare skin. I wish he’d done more than kiss me the other night. I ache for this guy. All the fucking time.

“There you are.” A girl in a slinky green dress and black combat boots saunters into the den and heads Beau’s way. “I was looking everywhere for you.”

“Too loud out there,” he sighs. “I think I’m turning into an old man, S. God, baby, make me feel young again. Please.”

She laughs and leans down to brush her lips over his cheek. “My pleasure, big boy.”

I make an effort not to stare too hard at her, but it’s difficult not to. She’s got olive-toned skin, bottomless dark eyes, and thick brown hair that cascades down her back, and she’s stunning. I don’t throw that word around a lot, but there’s no other way to describe this girl. Stunning. Not to mention ridiculously seductive. Seriously, she’s oozing Scarlett Johansson-level sex appeal, from the way she looks at Beau to the way she moves her hips as she perches on the arm of his chair.

Her expression darkens when she notices Dean on the couch. “Richie,” she says coolly.

“Sabrina,” Dean answers, a derisive gleam in his green eyes.

“I noticed you actually bothered showing up for class this morning.” Sabrina smirks. “You realized the TA is a dude, huh? You poor thing. Can’t fuck your way into a passing grade this semester.”

“Blow me, Sabrina.”

She cocks a brow. “Yeah? Pull it out, big boy.”

Dean raises a brow of his own. “I should. Maybe having something in your mouth will finally shut you up.”

Sabrina throws her head back and laughs. “Oh, Richie, you really think that’ll shut me up?” She winks at Beau. “Tell him the kind of noises I make when your dick is in my mouth.”

I have no idea what’s happening right now. The animosity between Dean and this Sabrina chick is polluting the air, but it fades the moment Beau hauls the gorgeous brunette to her feet.

“’Scuse us,” he says, and the gleam of arousal in his eyes reveals exactly why he’s dragging Sabrina away.

Once they’re gone, I glance over at Dean with a quizzical look. “Why does she call you Richie?”

“Because she’s a fucking bitch,” is his answer, which is no answer at all.

“Aw, you look upset,” the redhead murmurs to him. “Let me help with that.”

In the next breath, they’ve got their tongues in each other’s mouths again.

I turn to Logan. “What just happened?”

“No fucking idea.” Grinning, he plants a kiss on my lips, then stands and pulls me up with him. “Come on, let’s go mingle. I think I saw Hollis and Fitzy around here somewhere.”

We leave the den and reenter the land of the loud and wasted, where Logan introduces me to a few more people before we track down some of his teammates. I’m not having a bad time. Not having a great time, either, but that’s not because of anything Logan says or does. It’s because as the party unfolds, I start to notice something that makes me feel…prickly.

The girls. Lots and lots of girls.

Lots and lots of girls who have no problem flirting shamelessly with my date.

The attention Logan receives is staggering. And really fucking annoying. It’s one thing for someone to come over and say hello to him. But these girls don’t stop with hello. They rake their manicured fingernails along his bare arm. Bat their mascara-thick eyelashes at him. Call him “baby” and “hon.” One even kisses his cheek. Bitch.

I try hard not to let it get to me. I knew going into this that he was popular. I also knew that hooking up had been a sport for him before he’d met me. But that doesn’t mean I appreciate having the evidence of his former player days smack me in the face every other second.

By the time the ninth chick—yes, I’m keeping count—sashays up to him and gets her flirt on, I’ve officially had enough.