The Deal

by Elle Kennedy

  I roll my eyes. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just not be hung over?”

  He snickers. “Tell that to the birthday boy. But don’t worry, I’m the DD tonight. I’ll be stone cold sober. Oh, and I wanted to talk to you about something, but one sec, let me just speak to Tolbert first. Be right back.”

  A moment after Garrett disappears into the lecture hall, Justin reappears holding a foam coffee cup. “Heading back in?” he asks me as he walks to the doorway.

  “I’ll be there soon. I’m just waiting for someone.”

  Two minutes later, Garrett pops into the corridor, and I take one look at his expression and know he’s about to deliver good news.

  “You passed?” I squeal.

  He raises his exam booklet over his head like he’s acting out a scene from the Lion King. “A-fucking-minus!”

  I gasp. “Holy shit! Really?”

  “Yup.”

  Before I can blink, Garrett tugs me into his arms and hugs the breath out of my lungs. I throw my arms around his neck, then burst out laughing when he lifts me right off my feet and spins me around so many times I get dizzy.

  Our exuberant display draws several curious stares, but I don’t care. Garrett’s joy is contagious. When he finally sets me down, I snatch the paper from his hand. After all those hours I invested in his tutoring, it kind of feels like this is my grade too, and my chest overflows with pride as I skim through his A-minus-worthy words.

  “This is amazing,” I tell him. “Does that mean your GPA is back where it should be?”

  “Damn right it is.”

  “Good.” I narrow my eyes. “Now make sure it stays that way.”

  “It will—if you promise to help me study for every quiz and outline every paper.”

  “Hey, our arrangement is over, dude. I promise nothing. But…” As always, I capitulate in the presence of Garrett Graham. “I’ll help you maintain the grade as a token of my friendship, but only when I have the time.”

  With a smile, he draws me in for another hug. “I couldn’t have done it without you, you know.” His voice has gone husky, and I feel his warm breath tickling my temple. He eases back, those magnetic gray eyes focusing on my face, and then his head dips slightly, and for one nerve-wracking second I think he might kiss me.

  I abruptly step out of the embrace. “So I guess we are celebrating tonight,” I say lightly.

  “You’re still coming, right?” There’s a chord of intensity in his voice now.

  “Did I literally not just say that?” I grumble.

  Relief flits through his expression. “Listen…I wanted to run something by you.”

  I check my phone and realize there’s only three minutes before class starts again. “Can you do it later? I should go back in.”

  “It’ll just take a minute.” His gaze locks with mine. “Do you trust me?”

  Wariness ripples through me, but when I answer, it’s with unwavering certainty that startles me. “Of course I do.”

  Gosh, I really do. Even though I’ve only known him for a short time, I trust this guy.

  “I’m glad.” His voice thickens, and he clears his throat before continuing. “I want you to have a drink tonight.”

  I stiffen. “What? Why?”

  “Because I think it will be good for you.”

  “So wait, that’s why you invited me to Dean’s thing tonight?” I say sarcastically. “To get me drunk?”

  “No.” Garrett shakes his head, visibly frazzled. “To help you see that it’s okay to let down your guard sometimes. Look, I’m the DD tonight, but I’m offering to be more than just your driver. I’ll be your bodyguard, and your bartender, and most importantly, your friend. I promise to look out for you tonight, Wellsy.”

  I am oddly touched by his speech. But it’s completely unwarranted.

  “I’m not some alcoholic who has to drink, Garrett.”

  “I don’t think that at all, dumbass. I just wanted to make sure you knew that if you decide to have a beer or two, you don’t have to worry. I’m on it.” He hesitates. “I know your friend had a bad experience with drinking in public, but I promise, I’d never let that happen to you.”

  I wince when he says “your friend,” but luckily, I don’t think he notices. A part of me wishes I never fed him that old this happened to my friend excuse, but I can’t bring myself to regret it. Only my closest friends know about what happened to me, and yeah, I might trust Garrett, but I don’t feel comfortable telling him about the rape.

  “So if you want to drink tonight, I promise nothing bad will happen to you.” He sounds so genuine that my heart squeezes with emotion. “Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say. Just…think about it, okay?”

  My throat is so tight I can barely get a word out. “Okay.” I exhale a wobbly breath. “I’ll think about it.”

  *

  Garrett

  Hockey players take up every inch of available space at Malone’s, a bar that doesn’t have much space to begin with. The place is so tiny that most of the time it’s standing room only.

  Tonight there’s barely enough room to breathe, let alone stand.

  The whole team has shown up for Dean’s birthday bash, and Mondays happen to be karaoke night at the bar, so the cramped room is loud as fuck and jammed with bodies. On the plus side, none of us had to flash our fake IDs at the door.

  I suddenly realize that in a few months, my fake ID will be useless. And once I turn twenty-one in January, I’ll be rewarded with more than just legal adult status—I’ll finally have access to the trust my grandparents left me, which means I’ll be one step closer to ridding myself of my old man.

  Hannah walks in about twenty minutes after the guys and me. I didn’t pick her up because her rehearsal ran late and she insisted she was fine taking a cab. She’d also insisted on going back to her dorm first to shower and change, and when I lay eyes on her, I whole-heartedly support that decision. She looks fucking gorgeous in her leggings, high-heeled boots and ribbed T-shirt. All black, of course, but as she gets closer, I’m on the lookout for her trademark flash of color—and I find it when she turns her head to greet Dean. A huge yellow hairclip with little blue stars holds her dark hair back. Half of it is still loose and frames her flushed face.

  “Hey,” she says. “It’s sweltering in here. I’m glad I didn’t bother with a coat.”

  “Hey.” I lean in and smack a kiss on her cheek. I would have loved to target those luscious lips, but even though I consider this a date, I’m pretty sure Hannah doesn’t. “How was rehearsal?”

  “The usual.” She offers a glum look. “The usual being shitty.”

  “What did Cass the Ass do this time?”

  “Nothing major. Just acting like his jackass self.” Hannah sighs. “I won the argument about where to put the bridge in the arrangement, but he won about the second chorus. You know, for when the choir comes in.”

  I groan loudly. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Wellsy. You caved on that?”

  “It was two against one,” she says darkly. “MJ decided her song absolutely required a choir for maximum effect. We start rehearsing with them on Wednesday.”

  She’s very obviously pissed, so I squeeze her arm and say, “Do you want a drink?”

  I see her slender throat bob as she gulps. She doesn’t answer for a moment. She just looks into my eyes, as if she’s trying to mentally bore her way into my brain. I end up holding my breath, because I know something important is about to happen. Hannah is either going to place her trust in my hands, or she’s going to lock it up tight, which would be the equivalent of a bone-jarring hip-check, because damn it, I want her to trust me.

  When she finally answers, her voice is so soft I can’t hear her over the music.

  “What?”

  A breath escapes her lips, and then she raises her voice. “I said, sure.”

  With that one teeny word, my heart inflates like a goddamn helium balloon. Hannah’s trust, meet Garrett’s hands.

  I fight to kee
p my happiness in check, settling for a nonchalant nod as I lead her toward the bar counter. “What’ll it be? Beer? Whiskey?”

  “No, I want something tasty.”

  “I swear to God, Wellsy, if you order peach schnapps or something girly like that, I will officially unfriend you.”

  “But I am a girl,” she protests. “Why can’t I have a girly drink? Ooh, maybe a piña colada?”

  I heave out a sigh. “Fine. That’s better than schnapps, at least.”

  At the counter, I order Hannah’s drink and then proceed to scrutinize every move the bartender makes. Hannah also watches him with eagle eyes.

  With two of the most vigilant patrons on the planet monitoring the piña-colada-making process from start to finish, there’s absolutely no doubt about the drug-free status of the glass I place in Hannah’s hand a few minutes later.

  She takes a tiny sip, then smiles up at me. “Mmmm. Yummy.”

  The joy in my heart damn near overflows. “C’mon, let me introduce you to some of the guys.”

  I take her arm again and we wander toward the rowdy group at the pool table, where I introduce her to Birdie and Simms. Logan and Tucker spot us and walk over, and both of them greet Hannah with a hug. Logan’s hug lasts a little too long, but when I meet his eyes, his expression is one of innocence. Maybe I’m just being paranoid.

  But hell, I’m already competing with Kohl for Hannah’s affections, and the last thing I want is my best friend throwing his hat in the ring.

  Except…am I competing? I’m still not sure what I even want from her. I mean, fine, I want sex. I want it very, very badly. But if by some miracle she decides to give it to me, what then? What happens after? Do I stick a flag in the ground and claim her as my girlfriend?

  Girlfriends are a distraction, and I can’t afford any distractions right now, especially when two weeks ago I was in danger of losing my place on the team.

  There aren’t many things my father and I agree on, but when it comes to focus and ambition, we happen to be on the same page. I will go pro after I graduate. Until then, I need to concentrate on keeping my grades up and leading my team to another Frozen Four victory. Failure is not an option.

  But watching Hannah hook up with some other guy?

  Not an option, either.

  Rock, meet hard place.

  “Oh my God, this is so good,” she announces as she takes another deep swig. “I totally want another one.”

  I chuckle. “How about you finish this one first, and then we can talk about a refill?”

  “Fine,” she huffs. Then she drains the rest of her drink in one of the most impressive feats of speed I’ve ever witnessed, licks her lips, and beams at me. “Okay. How about that refill?”

  I can’t fight the grin that stretches across my face. Man oh man. I have a feeling Hannah is going to be a very… interesting drunk.

  I am absolutely right.

  Three piña coladas later, Hannah is up on stage doing karaoke.

  Yup. Drunk girl karaoke.

  The only saving grace is that she’s a phenomenal singer. I can’t imagine how cringe-worthy it would be if she was drunk and tone-deaf.

  The entire bar is going batshit crazy for Hannah’s performance. She’s belting out “Bad Romance” and almost everyone is singing along, including more than a few of my wasted teammates. I find myself grinning like an idiot as I gaze at the stage. There’s nothing lewd about what she’s doing. No coy almost-stripping, no suggestive dance moves. Hannah throws her head back happily, her cheeks flushed and eyes shining as she sings, and she’s so beautiful it makes my chest hurt.

  Fuck, I want to kiss her again. I want to feel her lips on mine. I want to hear that throaty noise she made the first time I sucked on her tongue.

  Wonderful. And now I’m hard as a rock, splat in the middle of a bar teeming with my friends.

  “She’s amazing!” Logan shouts, sidling up to me. He’s grinning too as he watches Hannah, but there’s an odd gleam in his eyes. Looks a bit like…longing.

  “She’s a music major,” is the dumbass response I come up with, because I’m too distracted by his expression.

  Thunderous applause bursts out when Hannah’s song ends. A second later, Dean climbs on the stage and whispers something in her ear. From what I can glean, he’s trying to persuade her to sing a duet, but he keeps touching her bare upper arm as he works the charm, and there’s no mistaking the flicker of unease in Hannah’s eyes.

  “That’s my cue to rescue her,” I say before threading my way through the crowd. When I reach the bottom of the low-rise stage, I cup my hands around my mouth and call out to Hannah. “Wellsy, get your sexy butt over here!”

  Her expression lights up when she spots me. Without skipping a beat, she dives off the stage and into my waiting arms, laughing in delight as I spin her around. “Oh my God, this is so much fun!” she exclaims. “We need to come here all the time!”

  As laughter tickles my throat, I study her face to gauge where she lands on my incredibly accurate drunk scale. One being sober and ten being I’m going to wake up naked in Portland with no memory of how I got here. Since her eyes are sharp and she’s not slurring or stumbling, I decide she’s probably at about a five—tipsy but aware.

  And maybe it makes me an arrogant bastard, but I love being the one who got her to this point. Who she trusted enough to take care of her so that she could allow herself to let go and have a good time.

  With another brilliant smile, she takes my hand and starts dragging me away from the tiny dance floor.

  “Where are we going?” I ask with a laugh.

  “I have to pee! And you promised to be my bodyguard, so that means you have to wait outside the door and stand guard.” Those mesmerizing green eyes peer up at me, flickering with uncertainty. “You won’t let anything bad happen to me, will you, Garrett?”

  A lump the size of Massachusetts lodges in my throat. I swallow hard and try to speak past it. “Never.”

  20

  Hannah

  I can’t believe I was ever nervous about coming to the bar tonight, because holy moly, I’m having a blast. At the moment, I’m crammed in a booth next to Garrett, and we’re involved in a heated debate with Tucker and Simms, arguing about technology, of all things. Tucker won’t budge on his position that young kids shouldn’t be allowed to watch more than an hour of TV a day. I’m totally with him on that, but Garrett and Simms disagree, and the four of us have been bickering about it for more than twenty minutes now. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I honestly didn’t expect all these hockey players to have articulate opinions about non-hockey-related matters, but they’re a lot more insightful than I gave them credit for.

  “Children need to be outside riding their bikes and catching frogs and climbing trees,” Tucker insists, waving his pint glass in the air as if to punctuate his point. “It’s not healthy for them to be cooped up indoors staring at a screen all day.”

  “I agree about everything except for the frogs part,” I pipe up. “Because frogs are slimy and gross.”

  The guys burst out laughing.

  “Sissy,” Simms teases.

  “Aw, come on, Wellsy, give the frogs a chance,” Tucker protests. “Did you know that if you lick the right one you might get high?”

  I stare at him in horror. “I have zero interest in licking a frog.”

  Simms hoots. “Not even to get the prince?”

  Good-natured groaning rings out.

  “Nope, not even then,” I say firmly.

  Tucker takes a deep swig of beer before winking at me. “How about licking something other than a frog? Or are you anti-licking altogether?”

  My cheeks scorch at the innuendo, but the impish glimmer in his eyes tells me he’s not trying to be crude, so I respond with my own dose of innuendo. “Naah, I’m pro-licking. As long as I’m licking something tasty.”

  Another round of hoots breaks out, but Garrett doesn’t join in. When I glance over at him, I notice that his eyes
have flared with heat.

  I wonder if he’s imagining my mouth on his…nope, not going there.

  “Shit, someone needs to hog-tie that old dude so he stops monopolizing the jukebox,” Tucker declares when yet another Black Sabbath song blasts through the bar.

  We all turn toward the culprit—a local with a bushy red beard and the meanest scowl I’ve ever seen. The moment the karaoke machine shut down for the night, Red Beard had raced to the jukebox and shoved ten bucks worth of quarters inside it, keying in a rock playlist that has so far consisted of Black Sabbath, Black Sabbath, and more Black Sabbath. Oh, and one CCR song that Simms claimed he’d lost his virginity to.

  Eventually our debate turns to hockey talk, as Simms tries to convince me that the goalie is the most important player on a hockey team, while Tucker boos him the entire time. The Black Sabbath song blessedly comes to an end, replaced by Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Tuesday’s Gone,” and as the opening strains echo through the bar, I feel Garrett stiffen beside me.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “Nothing.” He clears his throat, then slides out of the booth and tugs me up with him. “Dance with me.”

  “To this?” I’m baffled for a moment, until I remember what a huge hard-on he has for Lynyrd Skynyrd. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure this song was on that playlist he emailed me last week.

  Tucker snickers from his side of the booth. “Since when do you dance, G?”

  “Since right now,” Garrett mutters.

  He leads me to the small area in front of the stage, which is completely empty because nobody else is dancing. Discomfort shifts inside me, but when Garrett holds out his hand, I hesitate for only a second before taking it. Hey, if he wants to dance, then we’ll dance. It’s the least I can do considering how amazing he’s been tonight.

  You can say a lot of things about Garrett Graham, but he’s definitely a man of his word. He’s been glued to my side all night, guarding my drinks, waiting outside the bathroom for me, making sure I don’t get harassed by his friends or the locals we’ve met. He’s totally had my back, and because of him, I was able to lower my guard for the first time in a very long time.