The Deal

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.”