The Deal

by Elle Kennedy

I’m so mortified that my cheeks feel like they’re burning from the inside out. “Can you tell your slutty friend to call me when he’s done? Actually, no. Tell him he’s out of luck. My time is precious, damn it. I’m not tutoring him anymore when he obviously doesn’t take my schedule seriously.”

  With that, I march out of the house, my emotions alternating between embarrassment and anger. Unbelievable. How is fooling around with some girl more important to him than passing his midterm? And what kind of jerk would do that when he knows I’m coming over?

  I’m halfway to Tracy’s car when the front door bursts open, and Garrett rushes out. He at least had the decency to put on a pair of jeans, but he’s still not wearing a shirt. Or shoes, for that matter. He hurries over to me, his expression a mixture of sheepish and annoyed. “What the hell was that?” he demands.

  “Are you kidding me?” I retort. “I should be asking you that question. You knew I was coming over!”

  “You said nine!”

  “I changed it to seven, and you know it.” My lips twist in a scowl. “Maybe next time you should pay more attention to me when I call you.”

  He rakes a hand through his short hair, and his biceps bulge as he does it. The cold air causes goose bumps to rise on his smooth, golden skin, and my gaze is unwittingly drawn to the thin line of hair that arrows toward his unbuttoned waistband.

  At the sight, an odd flicker of heat travels from my breasts to my core. My body suddenly feels tight and achy, my fingers tingling with the urge to…oh, for fuck’s sake. No. So what if the guy is totally cut? That doesn’t mean I want to ride him like a cowgirl.

  He already has someone else doing that to him.

  “I’m sorry, okay?” he grumbles. “I screwed up.”

  “No, not okay. One, you clearly don’t respect my time, and two, you clearly don’t want to pass this class, otherwise your pants would be zipped and your textbook would be open.”

  “Oh really?” he challenges. “So you expect me to believe that you study twenty-four-seven and never hook up with anyone?”

  Discomfort churns in my stomach, and when I don’t answer, suspicion floods his eyes. “You do hook up, don’t you?”

  An irritable breath escapes my lips. “Of course I do. Just…not in a while.”

  “What’s a while?”

  “A year. Not that it’s any of your business.” I set my jaw and unlock the driver’s door. “Go back to your floozy, Garrett. I’m going home.”

  “Floozy?” he echoes. “That’s a rude assumption, don’t you think? She could be a Rhodes scholar, for all you know.”

  I raise one eyebrow. “Is she?”

  “Well, no,” he relents. “But Tiffany—”

  I snort. Tiffany. Of course her name is Tiffany.

  “—is a very smart girl,” he finishes darkly.

  “Uh-huh, I’m sure she is. Go back to Ms. Smart then. I’m outta here.”

  “Can we reschedule for tomorrow?”

  I open the car door. “No.”

  “Is that so?” He clamps his hand over the doorframe. “Then I guess our date on Saturday is off too?”

  He stares at me.

  I stare right back.

  But we both know he won’t be the one backing down.

  I suddenly flash back to the conversation I had with Justin in the hallway the other day. My cheeks heat up again, but this time it has nothing to do with the fact that I just caught Garrett with his pants down. Literally. Justin has finally acknowledged my existence, and if I bail on this party, I’ll be passing up the opportunity to talk to him outside of school. It’s not like we travel in the same circles, so unless I want to limit myself to a once-a-week interaction in Ethics, I need to be proactive and seek him out away from the lecture hall.

  “Fine,” I mumble to Garrett. “I’ll see you tomorrow. At seven.”

  His mouth curves in a self-satisfied smile. “That’s what I thought.”

  15

  Garrett

  I make sure to be home—and alone—when Hannah shows up on Thursday night. I’m more amused than embarrassed that she walked in on Tiff and me yesterday, and hey, at least it hadn’t been for the money shot. Hannah’s face would’ve been a hundred times redder if she’d heard Tiffany’s screams of orgasm.

  Honestly, a part of me wonders if Tiff had been faking those porn star moans. I don’t claim to be a stud in bed, but I’m attentive as hell and I’ve never had any complaints in the past. But last night was the first time I felt like the chick in my bed was putting on a show. There’d been something incredibly…unsatisfying about the whole thing. I don’t know if she was faking it or simply exaggerating her pleasure, but either way, I’m not too eager for a repeat performance.

  Hannah knocks on my door, but she doesn’t stop at one knock. She does it at least ten more times, and then two more even after I’ve shouted for her to come in.

  The door swings open and Hannah stumbles inside, tightly covering her eyes with both palms. “Is it safe?” she asks loudly. Eyes still shut, she stretches her arms out in front of her like a blind person feeling their way through the darkness.

  “You’re such a fucking brat,” I say with a sigh.

  Her eyelids pop open, and she fixes me with a dark look. “I’m just being careful,” she answers in a haughty tone. “God forbid I walk in on another one of your sex fests.”

  “Don’t worry, we hadn’t even gotten to the sex part. If you must know, we were still in the foreplay stage. Second and third base, to be exact.”

  “Gross. TMI.”

  “You asked.”

  “I did not.” She settles cross-legged on the bed and pulls the class binder out of her bag. “Okay, enough chit chat. Let’s read over your revised essay and then we’ll outline a few practice ones.”

  I hand over the paper I’d fixed up, then lean back on the pillows as Hannah reads it. Once she’s done, she looks over at me, and I can tell she’s impressed. “This is pretty good,” she admits.

  Damned if I don’t experience a burst of pride. I slaved over this Nazi paper, and Hannah’s praise not only pleases me, but it also confirms that I’m getting better at putting myself in someone else’s headspace.

  “Actually, it’s really good,” she amends as she skims the conclusion again.

  I mock gasp. “Holy shit. Was that a compliment?”

  “Nope. I take it back. It sucks ass.”

  “Too late.” I wag my finger at her. “You think I’m smart.”

  She lets out a heavy sigh. “You’re smart when you apply yourself.” She pauses. “Okay, so this might be a total dick thing to say, but I always assumed the school was easier on athletes. Academically, I mean. You know, handing out free A’s because you guys are so important.”

  “I wish. I know a few guys on the Eastwood team whose professors don’t even read their papers—they just slap an A on them and hand them back. But the Briar profs make us work for it. Assholes.”

  “How are you doing in your other courses?”

  “A’s across the board, and a pesky C in Spanish history, but that’ll change once I turn in my final paper.” I smirk. “Guess I’m not the dumb jock you thought I was, huh?”

  “I never thought you were dumb.” She sticks out her tongue. “I thought you were a jackass.”

  “Thought?” I pounce on her use of the past tense. “Does that mean you’ve seen the error of your ways?”

  “Naah, you’re still a jackass.” She grins. “But at least you’re a smart one.”

  “Smart enough to ace this midterm?” My spirits sink as I voice the question. The makeup is tomorrow, and I’m starting to stress about it again. I’m not sure I’m ready, but Hannah’s confidence eases some of my uncertainty.

  “Definitely,” she assures me. “As long as you keep your own bias out of it and stick to what the philosophers would do, I think you’ll be fine.”

  “I better be. I really need this grade, Wellsy.”

  Her voice softens. “The team’s
that important to you?”

  “It’s my whole life,” I say simply.

  “Your life? Whoa. You’re putting a lot of pressure on yourself, Garrett.”

  “You want to talk about pressure?” Bitterness colors my tone. “Pressure is being seven years old and forced to go on a high-protein diet to promote growth. Pressure is being woken up at the crack of dawn six days a week to skate and run drills while your father blows a whistle in your face for two hours. Pressure is being told that if you fail, you’ll never be a real man.”

  Her face goes stricken. “Shit.”

  “Yeah, that about sums it up.” I try to push the memories away, but they keep flashing through my mind, tightening my throat. “Trust me, the pressure I put on myself is nothing compared to what I had to deal with growing up.”

  She narrows her eyes. “You told me you love hockey.”

  “I do love it.” My voice goes hoarse. “When I’m on the ice, it’s the only time I feel…alive, I guess. And believe me, I’m going to work my ass off to get to where I want to be. I…fuck, I can’t fail.”

  “What happens if you do?” she counters. “What’s your backup plan?”

  I frown. “I don’t have one.”

  “Everyone needs a Plan B,” Hannah insists. “What if you get injured and can’t play anymore?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I’d be a coach. Or maybe a sportscaster.”

  “See, you do have a plan, then.”

  “I guess so.” I eye her curiously. “What’s your Plan B? If you don’t make it as a singer?”

  “Honestly, sometimes I don’t know if I even want to be a singer. I mean, I love it, I really do, but doing it professionally is a whole other story. I’m not crazy about the idea of living out of a suitcase or spending all my time on a tour bus. And yeah, I like singing in front of an audience, but I’m not sure I want to be on stage in front of thousands of people on a nightly basis.” She shrugs, looking thoughtful. “Sometimes I think I’d rather be a songwriter. I enjoy composing music, so I wouldn’t mind working behind the scenes and letting someone else do the whole star thing. If that doesn’t work out, I could go into teaching.” She gives a self-deprecating smile. “And if that fails, I could always try my hand at stripping.”

  I sweep my gaze up and down her body, making a big show out of licking my lips. “Well, you’ve definitely got the tits for it.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Pervert.”

  “Hey, I’m just stating a fact. Your tits are great. I don’t know why you don’t flaunt ’em more. You know, throw a few low-cut tops into your wardrobe rotation.”

  A pink blush blooms in her cheeks. I love how quickly she goes from serious and sassy to shy and innocent.

  “By the way, you can’t do that on Saturday,” I inform her.

  “What, strip?” she says mockingly.

  “No, blush like a tomato every time I make a lewd comment.”

  Hannah arches one brow. “How many lewd comments do you plan on making?”

  I grin. “Depends on how much I have to drink.”

  She lets out an exasperated breath, and a strand of dark hair comes loose from her ponytail and falls onto her forehead. Without thinking, I reach out and tuck the errant strand behind her ear.

  The instantaneous tensing of her shoulders brings a frown to my lips. “You can’t do that either. Freeze up when I touch you.”

  Alarm flits through her eyes. “Why would you touch me?”

  “Because I’m supposed to be your date. Have you met me? I’m a handsy guy.”

  “Well, you can keep your hands to yourself on Saturday,” she says primly.

  “Good plan. And then Loverboy will think we’re just friends. Or enemies, depending on how jumpy you get.”

  She bites her lip, and her visible agitation only makes me tease her harder. “Oh, and I might kiss you, too.”

  Now she glares at me. “No way.”

  “Do you or do you not want Kohl to think you’re into me? Because if you do, you’ll need to at least try to act like it.”

  “That’s going to be tough,” she says with a smirk.

  “Bullshit. You like me lots.”

  She snorts.

  “I’m totally digging that snorting thing you do,” I tell her frankly. “It’s kind of a turn on.”

  “Would you quit it?” she grumbles. “He’s not in the room right now. You can save the flirting for Saturday.”

  “I’m trying to get you used to it.” I pause as if I’m mulling something over, but really, I’m getting a huge kick out of making Hannah squirm. “Actually, the more I think about it, the more I’m wondering if we should warm up.”

  “Warm up? What the hell does that mean?”

  I slant my head. “What do you think I do before a game, Wellsy? Just show up at the rink and throw my skates on? Of course not. I practice six days a week to get ready. Ice time, weight room, watching game tapes, strategy meetings. Think of all the advance prep that goes into it.”

  “This isn’t a game,” she says irritably. “It’s a fake date.”

  “But it needs to look real for Loverboy.”

  “Would you stop calling him that?”

  Nope, I have no plans to stop. I like how angry it makes her. In fact, I like pissing her off, period. Every time Hannah gets mad, her green eyes blaze and her cheeks turn the cutest shade of pink.

  “So yeah,” I say with a nod. “If I’m going to be touching and kissing you on Saturday, I think it’s imperative that we rehearse.” I lick my lips again. “Thoroughly.”

  “I honestly can’t decide if you’re messing with me right now.” She blows out an annoyed breath. “Either way, I’m not letting you touch or kiss me, so wipe all those dirty ideas out of your head. If you want some action, call Tiffany.”

  “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”

  There’s a bite to Hannah’s tone. “Why not? You seemed pretty into her last night.”

  “It was a one-time hook up. And stop trying to change the subject.” I grin at her. “Why don’t you want to kiss me?” I narrow my eyes. “Oh shit. There’s only one explanation I can think of.” I pause. “You’re a bad kisser.”

  Her jaw drops in outrage. “I most certainly am not.”

  “Yeah?” I lower my voice to a seductive pitch. “Prove it.”

  16

  Hannah

  Somehow I’ve traveled back in time to my third-grade playground days. Unless there’s another explanation for why Garrett is goading me into kissing him.

  “I don’t have to prove a damn thing,” I inform him. “I happen to be a fantastic kisser. Sadly, you will never get to find out.”

  “Never say never,” he answers in a singsong voice.

  “Thanks for that, Justin Bieber. But yeah, not going to happen, dude.”

  He sighs. “I get it. You’re intimidated by my potent masculinity. Chin up, it happens all the time.”

  Oh brother. I can still remember the days—all of a week ago—when Garrett Graham wasn’t a fixture in my life. When I didn’t have to listen to his cocky remarks or see his rogue grins or get drawn into a flirt battle I have no interest in.

  Except Garrett happens to be very, very good at one particular thing: throwing down the gauntlet.

  “Fear is a fact of life,” he says solemnly. “Don’t let it get you down, Wellsy. Everyone experiences it.” He leans back on his elbows like a bigshot. “Tell you what, I’ll give you a free pass. If you’re too scared to kiss me, I won’t make you.”

  “Scared?” I rumble. “I’m not scared, dumbass. I just don’t want to.”

  Another sigh rolls out of his chest. “Then I guess we’re back to self-confidence issues. Don’t worry, there are a lot of bad kissers in this world, sweetheart. I’m sure with practice and perseverance, you’ll one day be able to—”

  “Fine,” I interrupt. “Let’s do it.”

  His mouth slams shut, eyes widening in surprise. Ha. So he didn’t expect me to call his bluff.
<
br />   Our gazes lock in a stare-down for the ages. He’s waiting for me to back down, but I’m confident I can wait him out. Maybe it’s childish of me, but Garrett has already gotten his way about this tutoring thing. This time I want to win.

  But I’ve underestimated him yet again. His gray eyes darken to smoky metallic silver, and suddenly there’s heat in his gaze. Heat, and a gleam of self-assurance, as if he’s certain I won’t go through with it.

  I hear that certainty in the dismissive tone he uses when he finally speaks. “All right, show me what you’ve got then.”

  I falter.

  Fucking hell. He can’t be serious.

  And I can’t actually be considering meeting this inane challenge. I’m not attracted to Garrett, and I don’t want to kiss him. End of story.

  Except…well, it doesn’t feel like the end of anything. My body is engulfed with flames, and my hands are trembling not from nerves, but anticipation. When I picture his mouth pressed against mine, my heart races faster than a drum-and-bass track.

  What the hell is the matter with me?

  Garrett inches closer. Our thighs are touching now, and either I’m hallucinating it, or I can actually see his pulse throbbing in the center of his throat.

  He can’t possibly want this…can he?

  My palms grow damp, but I resist wiping them on the front of my leggings because I don’t want him to know how unnerved I am. I’m wholly aware of the heat radiating from his jean-clad thigh, the faint scent of his woodsy aftershave, the slight curve of his mouth as he awaits my next move…

  “Come on,” he mocks. “We don’t have all night, baby.”

  Now I’m bristling. Screw it. It’s just a kiss, right? I don’t even have to like it. Shutting that smart mouth of his will be reward enough.

  Arching a brow, I reach up and touch his cheek.

  His breath hitches.

  I sweep my thumb over his jaw, stalling, waiting to see if he’ll stop me, and when he doesn’t, I slowly bring my mouth to his.

  The second our lips meet, the strangest thing happens. Pulsing waves of heat unfurl inside me, starting at my mouth and then rippling down my body, tingling in the tips of my breasts before traveling even lower. He tastes like the peppermint gum he’s been chewing all night and the minty flavor suffuses my taste buds. My lips part of their own volition, and Garrett takes full advantage by sliding his tongue inside. When my tongue tangles with his, he makes a low, growling noise in the back of his throat, and the erotic sound vibrates through my body.