We showed up late because Logan had hockey practice, but still, it’s only ten o’clock, which seems way too early for everyone to already be this wasted.
“I’ll give you twenty bucks if you get up on one of those tables,” Logan rasps in my ear.
I punch him in the arm.
He flashes his crooked grin and pretends to rub his sore biceps. “Want a drink?” He raises his voice to be heard over the music.
“Sure,” I call back.
We wander into the kitchen, which is equally crowded and equally loud. Logan swipes a rum bottle from the counter, pours two plastic cups, then dumps some Coke in them to sweeten the deal. I sip the drink and make a face. God, his rum-and-Coke recipe needs some work. It’s pretty much just rum.
The alcohol burns down my throat and heats my belly, spiking my body temperature even more. I’m wearing a short halter dress, which means I can’t even shed any items of clothing to battle the sheen of sweat rising on my skin.
“How are you friends with this crowd?” I ask as we leave the kitchen. “My dad told me that the hockey and football players at this university have an age-old rivalry.”
“Not anymore. It ended three years ago when the savior arrived at Briar.”
“Uh-huh. And who was the savior?”
“Dean,” he answers with a snort. “I’m sure you already know this, but he chases anything in a skirt—”
I feign a gasp. “Oh my God. Are you serious?”
He chuckles. “Anyway, once he ran out of puck bunnies to screw in freshman year, he had no choice but to dip into the football groupie pool. He wound up at one of Beau’s parties, the two of them recognized the man-slut in each other, and they’ve been friends ever since.” Logan slings one arm around me as we walk down a hallway littered with people. “Dean dragged me and the guys to a few parties and we hit it off with the meatheads too. And yeah, the blood feud was put to rest.”
I have no clue where we’re going, but Logan seems to know the house like the back of his hand. He bypasses several closed doors before leading me through a doorway that opens onto a spacious den. Two massive leather sofas set in an L-shape take up the center of the room, facing an entertainment center that’s flashing ESPN highlights. There’s a pool table behind the larger couch, and a cue-wielding guy with a bushy beard studies the green felt intently, while his opponent taunts him about how he’s going to miss the shot.
I’m surprised by how empty the den is. Only a handful of guys near the pool table, a few couples by the back wall, and two people making out on the couch—Dean and a redhead with huge boobs. Beau Maxwell, who’s sprawled in an armchair, watches them with an almost bored expression.
The quarterback lifts his head at our entrance. “Logan,” he drawls. “How’ve you been, man?”
Logan settles on the couch adjacent to Dean’s and pulls me into his lap as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. As his arms come around my waist, I notice the flicker of interest in Beau’s blue eyes. He actually looks a lot like Logan, I realize, now that I’m seeing him up close and not from the stands of the football stadium. They’re both huge, with dark hair, blue eyes, and chiseled features. But there’s one major difference—Beau doesn’t make my heart pound the way Logan does.
Dean and the redhead break apart, their faces flushed as they glance over at us. “Hey,” Dean says with a wink. “When’d you guys get here?”
“Just now,” Logan answers.
Beau is still eyeing me curiously. “Who’s your friend?” he asks Logan.
“This is Grace. My date. Grace, Beau.”
The quarterback’s gaze does a thorough sweep over my bare legs. And thighs, because the way Logan positioned me in his lap caused my dress to ride up, and Beau has definitely noticed.
“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.”