He’saplayerinmorewaysthanone…
CollegejuniorJohnLogancangetanygirlhewants.Forthishockeystar,lifeisaparadeofpartiesandhook-ups,butbehindhiskillergrinsandeasygoingcharm,hehidesgrowingdespairaboutthedead-endroadhe’llbeforcedtowalkaftergraduation.AsexyencounterwithfreshmanGraceIversisjustthedistractionheneeds,butwhenathoughtlessmistakepushesheraway,Loganplanstospendhisfinalyearprovingtoherthathe’sworthasecondchance.
Nowhe’sgoingtoneedtouphisgame…
Afteralessthanstellarfreshmanyear,GraceisbackatBriarUniversity,older,wiser,andsooverthearroganthockeyplayershenearlyhandedherV-cardto.She’snotacharitycase,andshe’snotthequietbutterflyshewaswhentheyfirsthookedup.IfLoganexpectshertorolloverandbeglikeallhisotherpuckbunnies,hecanthinkagain.Hewantsherback?He’llhavetoworkforit.Thistimearound,she’llbetheoneinthedriver’sseat…andsheplansondrivinghimwild.TheMistake
AnOff-CampusNovel
ElleKennedyTableofContents
AbouttheBook
TitlePage
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
Chapter5
Chapter6
Chapter7
Chapter8
Chapter9
Chapter10
Chapter11
Chapter12
Chapter13
Chapter14
Chapter15
Chapter16
Chapter17
Chapter18
Chapter19
Chapter20
Chapter21
Chapter22
Chapter23
Chapter24
Chapter25
Chapter26
Chapter27
Chapter28
Chapter29
Chapter30
Chapter31
Chapter32
Chapter33
Chapter34
Chapter35
Epilogue
OtherTitlesbyElleKennedy
Author’sNote
AbouttheAuthor
Copyright1
Logan
April
Lustingoveryourbestfriend’sgirlfriendsucks.
Firstoff,there’stheawkwardfactor.Asin,it’sreallyfuckingawkward.Ican’tspeakforallmen,butI’mprettysurethatnoguywantstoleavehisbedroomandbumpintothegirlofhisdreamsaftershe’sjustspentthewholenightinhisbestfriend’sarms.
Thenthere’stheself-loathingelement.Thisone’sagiven,becauseit’skindofhardnottohateyourselfwhenyou’refantasizingabouttheloveofyourbestfriend’slife.
Atthemoment,theawkwardnessisdefinitelywinningout.See,Iliveinahousewithverythinwalls,whichmeansIcanheareverybreathymoanthatleavesHannah’smouth.Everygaspandsigh.EverythumpoftheheadboardsmackingthewallassomeoneelsescrewsthegirlIcan’tstopthinkingabout.
Funtimes.
I’monmybed,flatonmybackandstaringupattheceiling.I’mnotevenpretendingtoscrollthroughmyiPodlibraryanymore.IpoppedtheearbudsinwiththeintentionofdrowningoutthesoundsofGarrettandHannahintheotherroom,butIstillhaven’tpressedplay.IguessI’minthemoodtotorturemyselftonight.
Look,I’mnotanidiot.Iknowshe’sinlovewithGarrett.Iseethewayshelooksathim,andIseehowtheyaretogether.They’vebeenacoupleforsixmonthsnow,andnotevenI,theworstfriendontheplanet,candenythey’reperfectforeachother.
Andhell,Garrettdeservestobehappy.Heplaysitofflikehe’sacockysonofabitch,buttruthis,he’sagoddamnsaint.ThebestcenterI’veeverskatedwithandthebestpersonI’veeverknown,andI’mcomfortableenoughwithmyheterostatustosaythatifIdidplayfortheotherteam?Iwouldn’tjustfuckGarrettGraham,I’dmarryhim.
That’swhatmakesthisatrilliontimesharder.Ican’tevenhatethedudewho’stappingthechickIwant.Norevengefantasiestobehad,becauseIdon’thateGarrett,notintheslightest.
Adoorcreaksopenandfootstepsechointhehallway,andIpraytoGodthatGarrettorHannahdoesn’tknockonmydoor.Oropentheirmouths,forthatmatter,becausehearingeitheroftheirvoicesrightnowwillonlybummeoutevenmore.
Luckily,theloudknockthatrattlesmydoorframecomesfrommyotherroommate,Dean,whowaltzesinsidewithoutwaitingforaninvitation.“PartyatOmegaPhitonight.Youdown?”
Idiveoffmybedfasterthanyoucansaypathetic,becauseapartysoundslikeafan-fucking-tasticidearightaboutnow.GettingwastedisasurefirewaytostopmyselffromthinkingaboutHannah.Actually,no—Iwanttogetwastedandscrewsomeone’sbrainsout.Thatwayifoneofthoseactivitiesdoesn’thelpmewithmydon’t-think-about-Hannahgoal,theothercanserveasbackup.
“Hellyeah,”Ianswer,alreadyfumblingaroundforashirt.
IslipacleanT-shirtovermyheadandignorethetwingeofpaininmyleftarm,whichisstillsoreasshitfromthebone-jarringbodycheckItookatthechampionshipgamelastweek.Butthehitwastotallyworthit—forthethirdconsecutiveyear,Briar’shockeyteamsecuredanotherFrozenFourvictory.Iguessyoucancallittheultimatehattrick,andalltheplayers,myselfincluded,arestillreapingtherewardsofbeingthree-timenationalchampions.
Dean,oneofmyfellowdefensemen,callsittheThreeP’sofVictory:parties,praiseandpussy.
It’saprettyfairassessmentofthesituation,becauseI’vebeenonthereceivingendofallthreesinceourbigwin.
“YougonnabetheDD?”IaskasIthrowablackhoodieovermyT-shirtandzipitup.
Mybuddysnorts.“Didyoureallyjustaskmethat?”
Irollmyeyes.“Right.WhateverwasIthinking?”
ThelasttimeDeanHeyward-DiLaurentiswassoberatapartywasnever.Dudedrinkslikeafishorgetshigherthanakiteeverytimeheleavesthehouse,andifyouthinkthataffectshisperformanceontheiceinanyway,thenthinkagain.He’soneofthoserarecreatureswhocanpartylikepast-dayRobertDowneyJr.andsomehowbeassuccessfulandreveredaspresent-dayRobertDowneyJr.
“Don’tworry,Tuck’stheDD,”Deantellsme,referringtoourotherroommate,Tucker.“Thepussy’sstillhung-overfromlastnight.Saidheneedsabreak.”
Yeah,Idon’texactlyblamehim.Off-seasontrainingdoesn’tstartforanothercoupleweeks,andwe’veallbeenenjoyingthetimeoffalittletoomuch.Butthat’swhathappenswhenyou’reridingaFrozenFourhigh.Lastyearafterwewon,Iwasdrunkfortwoweeksstraight.
I’mnotlookingforwardtotheoff-season.Strengthandconditioningandallthehardworkittakestostayinshapeareexhausting,butit’sevenmoreexhaustingwhenyou’reworkingten-hourshiftsatthesametime.It’snotlikeIhaveachoice,though.Theworkoutsarenecessaryprepfortheupcomingseason,andthework,well,Imadeapromisetomybrother,andnomatterhowsicktomystomachitmakesme,Ican’trenegeonit.JeffwillskinmealiveifIdon’tfulfillmyendofthedeal
OurdesignateddriverwaitsatthefrontdoorwhenDeanandIcomedownstairs.Areddish-brownbearddevoursTucker’sentireface,givinghimawerewolfvibe,buthe’sbeendeterminedtotryoutthisnewlookeversinceachickhemetatapartylastweektoldhimhehadababyface.
“YouknowthatYeti-bearddoesn’tmakeyoulookmoremanly,right?”Deansayscheerfullyaswewalkoutthedoor.
Tuckshrugs.“Iwasgoingforrugged,actually.”
Isnicker.“Well,it’snotthat,either,Babyface.Youlooklikeamadscientist.”
Heflipsuphismiddlefingerasheheadsforthedriver’ssideofmytruck.IsettleinthepassengerseatwhileDeanclimbsintothepickupbed,sayinghewantssomefreshair.Ithinkhejustwantsthewindtomessuphishairinthattousled,sexed-upwaygirlsdroptheirpantiesfor.FYI—Deanisnauseatinglyvain.Buthealsolookslikeamalemodel,somaybehe’sallowedtobevain.
Tuckerstartstheengine,andIdrummyfingersagainstmythighs,itchingtogetgoing.AlotofstudentsintheGreeksystempissmeoffwiththeirelitistattitudes,butI’mwillingtooverlookthatbecause…well,hell,becauseifparty-throwingwasanOlympicsport?EveryfratandsororityhouseatBriarwouldbeagoldmedalist.
AsTuckreversesoutofthedriveway,mygazerestsonGarrett’sblackJeep,allshinyinitsparkingspacewhileitsownerspendsthenightwiththecoolestgirlontheplanetand—
Andenough.ThisobsessionwithHannahWellsisreallystartingtomesswithmyhead.
Ineedtogetlaid.ASAP.
TuckerisnoticeablyquietduringthedrivetoOmegaPhi.Hemightalsobefrowning,butit’shardtotellconsideringsomeoneshavedoffallofHughJackman’sbodyhairandpasteditonTuck’sface.
“What’swiththesilenttreatment?”Iasklightly.
Hisgazeshiftstowardmetoofferasourlook,thenshiftsrightbacktotheroad.
“Oh,comeon.Isthisaboutalltheshitwe’regivingyouaboutthebeard?”Exasperationshootsthroughme.“Becausethat’slikethefirstchapterofBeardsforDummies,bro—ifyougrowamountainmanbeard,yourfriendswillmakefunofyou.Endofchapter.”
“It’snotaboutthebeard,”hemutters.
Iwrinklemyforehead.“Okay.Butyouarepissedaboutsomething.”Whenhedoesn’trespond,Ipushalittleharder.“What’sgoingonwithyou?”
Hisannoyedeyesmeetmine.“Withme?Nothing.Withyou?SomuchIdon’tevenknowwheretostart.”Hecursessoftly.“Youneedtostopthisshit,man.”
NowI’mgenuinelyconfused,becauseasfarasIcantell,allI’vedoneinthepasttenminutesislookforwardtoaparty.
Tuckernoticestheconfusiononmyfaceandclarifiesinagrimtone.“ThisthingwithHannah.”
Althoughmyshouldersstiffen,Itrytokeepmyexpressionvague.“Ihavenoideawhatyou’retalkingabout.”
Yup,I’vechosentolie.Whichisnothingnewforme,actually.ItseemslikeallI’vedonesinceIcametoBriarislie.
I’mtotallydestinedfortheNHL.Goingproalltheway!
Ilovespendingmysummerasagreasemonkeyinmydad’sshop.It’sgreatpocketmoney!
I’mnotlustingoverHannah.She’sdatingmybestfriend!
Lies,liesandmorelies,becauseineveryoneofthoseinstances,thetruthisatotalbummer,andthelastthingIwantisformyfriendsandteammatestofeelsorryforme.
“SavethatbullshitforG,”Tuckerretorts.“Andbytheway?You’reluckyhe’sdistractedwithallthislovey-doveystuff,becauseifhewasn’t?He’ddefinitelynoticethewayyou’reacting.”
“Yeah,andwhatwayisthat?”Ican’tstoptheedgeinmyvoiceorthedefensivesetofmyjaw.IhatethatTuckknowsIhavefeelingsforHannah.Ihateevenmorethathefinallydecidedtobringupthesubjectafterallthesemonths.Whycan’theleaveitalone?Thesituationisalreadyshittyenoughwithouthavingsomeonecallmeonit.
“Seriously?Doyouwantmetolistitoffforyou?Fine.”AdarkcloudfloatsthroughhiseyesashebeginstoreciteeveryfuckingthingI’vefeltsoguiltyabout.“Youleavetheroomwheneverthetwoofthementerit.Youhideinyourbedroomwhenshestaysover.Ifyouguysareinthesameroom,youstareatherwhenyouthinknobodyislooking.You—”
“Okay,”Iinterrupt.“Igetit.”
“Anddon’tgetmestartedonyourmanwhoring,”Tuckergrumbles.“You’vealwaysbeenaplayer,butdude,you’vehookedupwithfivechicksthisweek.”
“So?”
“Soit’sThursday.Fivegirlsinfourdays.Dothefuckingmath,John.”
Ohshit.Hefirst-namedme.TuckeronlycallsmeJohnwhenI’vereallypissedhimoff.
Exceptnowhe’spissedmeoff,soIfirst-namehimrightback.“What’swrongwiththat,John?”
Yup,we’rebothJohn.Iguessweshouldtakeabloodoathandformacluborsomething.
“I’mtwenty-oneyearsold,”Icontinueirritably.“I’mallowedtohookup.No,Ishouldbehookingup,becausethat’swhatcollegeisallabout.Havingfunandgettinglaidandenjoyingthefuckoutofyourselfbeforeyougooutintherealworldandyourlifeturnstoshit.”
“Youreallywanttopretendallthesehook-upsarejustsomeriteofpassageinthecollegeexperience?”Tuckershakeshishead,thenletsoutabreathandsoftenshistone.“Youcan’tscrewheroutofyoursystem,man.Youcouldsleepwithahundredwomentonightanditstillwouldn’tmakeadifference.Youneedtoacceptthatit’snotgoingtohappenwithHannah,andmoveon.”
He’sabsolutelyright.I’mwellawarethatI’vebeenwallowinginmyownbullshitandbaggingchicksleftandrightasadistraction.
AndI’mequallyawarethatIneedtostoppartyingmyselfintooblivion.ThatIneedtoletgoofthetinylittlesliverofhopethatsomethingmighthappen,andsimplyacceptthatitwon’t
MaybeI’llgetstartedonthattomorrow,though.
Tonight?I’mstickingtomyoriginalplan.Getwasted.Getlaid.Andtohellwitheverythingelse.
*
Grace
Istartedmyfreshmanyearofcollegeasavirgin.
I’mbeginningtothinkI’llbeendingitasone,too.
Notthatthere’sanythingwrongwithbeingacard-carryingmemberoftheV-Club.SowhatifI’mabouttoturnnineteen?I’mhardlyanoldmaid,andI’mcertainlynotgoingtobetarredandfeatheredonthestreetforstillhavinganintacthymen.
Besides,it’snotlikeIhaven’thadopportunitiestolosemyvirginitythisyear.SinceIcametoBriarUniversity,mybestfriendhasdraggedmetomorepartiesthanIcancount.Guyshaveflirtedwithme,sure.Afewofthemstraightuptriedtoseduceme.Oneevensentmeapictureofhispeniswiththecaption“It’sallyours,baby.”Whichwas…fine,itwassupergross,butI’msureifI’dtrulylikedhim,Imighthavebeen,um,flatteredbythegesture?Maybe?
ButIwasn’tattractedtoanyofthoseguys.Andunfortunately,alltheoneswhodocatchmyeyeneverevenlookmyway.
Untiltonight.
WhenRamonaannouncedweweregoingtoafratparty,Ididn’thavehighhopesformeetinganyone.ItseemslikeeverytimewegotoGreekRow,thefratboysjusttrytosweet-talkmeandRamonaintomakingout.ButtonightI’veactuallymetaguyIkindasortalike.
HisnameisMatt,he’scute,andhe’snotgivingoffanydouchebagvibes.Notonlyishesomewhatsober,buthealsospeaksinfullsentencesandhasn’tsaidtheword“broski”evenoncesincewestartedtalking.Orrather,sincehestartedtalking.Ihaven’tsaidmuch,butI’mperfectlycontenttostandthereandlisten,becauseitgivesmetimetoadmirehischiseledjawlineandtheadorablewayhisblondhaircurlsunderhisears.
Tobehonest,it’sprobablybetterifIdon’ttalk.Cuteguysmakemenervous.Liketongued-tiedtotal-brain-malfunctionnervous.AllmyfiltersshutoffandsuddenlyI’mtellingthemaboutthetimeIpeedmypantsinthethirdgradeduringafieldtriptothemaplesyrupfactory,orhowI’mscaredofpuppetsandhavemildOCDthatcouldpossiblydrivemetotidyupyourroomthemomentyouturnyourhead.
Soyeah,it’sbetterifIsimplysmileandnodandtossouttheoccasional“ohreally?”sotheyknowI’mnotamute.Exceptsometimesthat’snotpossible,especiallywhenthecuteguyinquestionsayssomethingthatrequiresanactualanswer.
“Wannagooutsideandsmokethis?”Mattpullsajointfromthepocketofhisbutton-downandholdsitinfrontofme.“I’dlightitupherebutMr.PresidentwillkickmeoutofthefratifIdo.”
Ishiftawkwardly.“Ah…no,thanks.”
“Youdon’tsmokeweed?”
“No.Imean,Ihave,butIdon’tdoitoften.Itmakesmefeelall…loopy.”
Hesmiles,andtwogorgeousdimplesappear.“That’skindathepointofweed.”
“Yeah,Iguess.Butitmakesmereallytired,too.Oh,andeverytimeIsmokeitIendupthinkingaboutthisPowerPointpresentationmydadforcedmetowatchwhenIwasthirteen.Ithadallthesestatisticsabouttheeffectsofweedonyourbraincells,andhow,contrarytopopularbelief,marijuanaactuallyishighlyaddictive.Andaftereveryslidehe’dglareatmeandsay,doyouwanttoloseyourbrainscells,Grace?Doyou?”
Mattstaresatme,andinmyheadthere’savoiceshoutingAbort!Butit’stoolate.Myinternalfilterhasfailedmeonceagainandwordskeeppoppingoutofmymouth.
“ButIguessthat’snotasbadaswhatmymomdid.Shetriestobethecoolparent,sowhenIwasfifteen,shedrovemetothisdarkparkinglotandpulledoutajointandannouncedthatweweregoingtosmokeittogether.ItwaslikeasceneoutofTheWire—wait,I’veneveractuallyseenTheWire.It’saboutdrugs,right?Anyway,IsattherepanickingthewholetimebecauseIwasconvincedweweregoingtogetarrested,andmeanwhilemymomkeptaskingmehowIwasfeelingandwhetherornotIwas‘enjoyingthepot’.”
Miraculously,mylipsfinallystopmoving.
ButMatt’seyeshavealreadyglazedover.
“Uh,yeah,well.”Heclumsilywavesthejointaround.“I’mgonnagosmokethis.I’llseeyoulater.”
Imanagetoholdinmysighuntilhe’sgone,thenreleasetheheavybreathandgivemyselfamentalslaponthewrist.Damnit.Idon’tknowwhyIbothertryingtotalktoguys.IgointoeveryconversationnervousI’mgoingtoembarrassmyself,andthenIendupembarrassingmyselfbecauseI’mnervous.Doomedfromthestart.
Withanothersigh,IheaddownstairsandsearchthemainfloorforRamona.Thekitchenisfullofkegsandfratboys.Dittoforthediningroom.Thelivingroomispackedwithveryloud,verydrunkguys,andaseaofscantilycladgirls.Iapplaudthemfortheirbravery,becausetheweatheroutsideisfrigidandthefrontdoorhasbeenopeningandclosingallnight,causingcoldairtocirculatethroughthehouse.Me,I’mniceandtoastyinmyskinnyjeansandtightsweater.
Idon’tseemyfriendanywhere.Aship-hopmusicblastsoutofthespeakersatadeafeningvolume,Ifishmyphoneoutofmypursetocheckthetimeanddiscoverthatit’sclosetomidnight.EvenaftereightmonthsatBriar,IstillexperienceateenysenseofgleeeverytimeIstayoutpasteleven,whichwasmycurfewwhenIlivedathome.Mydadwasarealsticklerforcurfews.Actually,he’sarealsticklerforeverything.Idoubthe’severbrokenaruleinhislife,whichmakesmewonderhowheandMommanagedtostaymarriedaslongastheydid.Myfree-spiritmotheristhepolaroppositeofmystuffy,strictfather,butIguessthatjustprovesthatthewholeopposites-attracttheoryhassomemerit.
“Gracie!”afemalevoiceshrieksoverthemusic,andthenextthingIknow,Ramonaappearsandthrowsherarmsaroundmeinatighthug.
Whenshepullsback,Itakeonelookathershiningeyesandflushedcheeksandknowshe’sdrunk.She’salsoasscantilycladasmostoftheothergirlsintheroom,hershortskirtbarelycoveringherupperthighs,herredhalter-toprevealingaseriousamountofcleavage.AndtheheelsofherleatherbootsaresohighIhavenocluehowshecanwalkinthem.Shelooksgorgeous,though,andshe’sdrawingatonofappreciativestaresasshelinksherarmthroughmine.
I’mprettysurethatwhenpeopleseeusstandingsidebyside,they’rescratchingtheirheadsandwonderinghowonearthwecouldpossiblybefriends.SometimesIwonderthesamething.
Inhighschool,Ramonawasthefun-lovingbadasswhosmokedcigarettesbehindthebuilding,andIwasthegoodgirlwhoeditedtheschoolnewspaperandorganizedallthecharityevents.Ifwehadn’tbeennext-doorneighbors,RamonaandIprobablywouldn’thaveknowntheotherexisted,butwalkingtoschooltogethereverydayhadledtoafriendshipofconvenience,whichhadthenturnedintoarealbond.Sorealthatwhenwewerelookingatcolleges,wemadesuretoapplytoallthesameschools,andwhenwebothgotintoBriar,weaskedmyfathertospeaktotheresidenceofficeandarrangeforustoberoommates.
Buteventhoughourfriendshipstartedoffstrongthisyear,Ican’tdenythatwe’vedriftedapartalittle.Ramonahasbeensoobsessedwithhookingupandbeingpopular.It’sallsheevertalksabout,andlatelyI’mfindingthatshekindof…annoysme.
Crap.Eventhinkingitmakesmefeellikeashittyfriend.
“IsawyougoupstairswithMatt!”shehissesinmyear.“Didyouguyshookup?”
“No,”Isayglumly.“IthinkIscaredhimoff.”
“Ohno.Youtoldhimaboutyourpuppetphobia,didn’tyou?”shedemands,beforeheavinganexaggeratedsigh.“Babe,you’vegottastoprevealingallyourcrazyupfront.Seriously.Saveallthatstuffforlater,whenyou’reinarelationshipwiththeguyandit’sharderforhimtorunaway.”
Ican’thelpbutlaugh.“Thanksfortheadvice.”
“Soareyoureadytogoorshouldwestayawhilelonger?”
Iglancearoundtheroomagain.Mygazelandsinthecorner,wheretwogirlsinjeansandbrasaremakingoutwhileoneoftheOmegaPhiguysfilmsthepassionatedisplaywithhisiPhone.
Thesightmakesmestifleagroan.Tenbuckssaysthatvideowillwindupononeofthosefreepornsites.Andthepoorgirlsprobablywon’tfindoutaboutituntilyearsfromnow,whenoneofthemisabouttomarryasenatorandthepressdigsupallherembarrassingdirt.
“Iwouldn’tmindgoingnow,”Iadmit.
“Yeah,IguessI’mcoolwithittoo.”
Iraisemyeyebrows.“Sincewhenareyoucoolwithleavingapartybeforemidnight?”
Afrownpuckersherlips.“Notmuchpointinstaying.Someonealreadybeatmetohim.”
Idon’tbotheraskingwhoshe’stalkingabout—it’sthesameguyshe’sbeentalkingaboutsincethefirstdayofthesemester.
DeanHeyward-DiLaurentis.
Ramonahasbeenobsessedwiththegorgeousjunioreversinceshebumpedintohimatoneofthecampuscoffeehouses.Likeseriouslyobsessed.She’sdraggedmetoalmostalltheBriarhomegamesjusttowatchDeaninaction.Ihavetoadmit,theguyishot.He’salsoamajorplayer,accordingtothegossipmill,butunfortunatelyforRamona,Deandoesn’tdatefreshmen.Orsleepwiththem,whichisallshereallywantsfromhimanyway.Ramonahasnevergoneoutwithanybodyformorethanaweek.
TheonlyreasonsheevenwantedtocometothispartytonightwasbecausesheheardthatDeanwouldbehere.Butclearlytheguyisn’tfuckingaroundwiththatno-freshmenrule.NomatterhowmanytimesRamonathrowsherselfathim,healwaysleaveswithsomebodyelse.
“Letmejustusethewashroomfirst,”Itellher.“Meetyououtside?”
“’Kay,butbequick.ItoldJasperwe’releavingandhe’swaitinginthecar.”
Shedartsofftowardthefrontdoor,leavingmewithaprickleofresentment.NicethatsheaskedmeifIwantedtoleavewhenshe’dalreadymadethedecisionforus.
ButIswallowtheirritation,remindingmyselfthatRamonahasalwaysdonethat,andthatitneverbotheredmeinthepast.Honestly,ifitwasn’tforhermakingdecisionsandforcingmetostepoutofmycomfortzone,Iprobablywould’vespentmyentirehighschoolcareerinthenewspaperoffice,writingtheadvicecolumnandofferinglifetipstostudentswithouthavingeverexperiencedlifemyself.
Still…sometimesIwishRamonawouldatleastaskmewhatIthoughtaboutsomethingbeforedecidingthatweshoulddoit.
Thedownstairsbathroomhasalongline,soIweavethroughthecrowdandheadupstairstowhereMattandIhadbeentalkingbefore.I’mjustapproachingthebathroomwhenthedoorswingsopenandaprettyblondesauntersout.
Shejerkswhenshespotsme,thenoffersasmuglittlesmileandadjuststhebottomofadressthatcanonlybedescribedasindecent.Icanactuallyseethecrotchofherpinkpanties.
Asmycheeksheatup,Iavertmygazeinembarrassment,waitinguntilshe’satthestairsbeforeIreachforthedoorknob.Ibarelygetmyhandonitwhenthedooropensagainandsomeoneelsewalksout.
MygazecollideswiththemostvividblueeyesIhaveeverseen.Itonlytakesasecondforrecognitiontodawnonme,andwhenitdoes,myfaceburnshotter.
It’sJohnLogan.
Yep,JohnLogan.AKAthestardefensemanofthehockeyteam.IknowthisnotjustbecauseRamonahasbeenstalkinghisfriendDeanformonths,butbecausehissexy,chiseledfacewasonthecoveroftheschoolnewspaperlastweek.Sincetheteam’schampionshipwin,thepaperhasrunfeatureinterviewswithalltheplayers,andI’mnotgoingtolie—Logan’sinterviewwastheonlyoneIpaidanyattentionto.
Becausetheguyissmokinghot.
Liketheblonde,helooksstartledtofindmeinthehallway,andliketheblonde,herecoversquicklyfromhissurpriseandflashesmeagrin.
Thenhezipsuphispants.
OhmyGod.
Icannotbelievehejustdidthat.Mygazeinvoluntarilydropstohisgroin,buthedoesn’tseembotheredbythateither.Hecocksabrow,shrugs,andthenwalksaway.
Wow.Okay.
Thatshouldhaveickedmeout.Forgettheveryobviousbathroomhook-up.Thezippermovealoneshouldhaveplacedhimdirectlyindouchebagterritory.
Instead,knowinghe’djustfooledaroundwiththatgirlinthebathroomevokesarushofjealousyIdon’texpect
I’mnotsayingIwanttohavearandomhook-upinabathroom,but—
Fine,I’mlying.Itotallywantthat.AtleastwithJohnLogan,Ido.Thethoughtofhishandsandlipsallovermeunleashesaflurryofhotshiversthatshimmyupmyspine.
Whycan’tIfoolaroundwithguysinbathrooms?I’mincollege,damnit.I’msupposedtobehavingfunandmakingmistakesand“findingmyself”,butIhaven’tdonejackshitthisyear.I’vebeenlivingvicariouslythroughRamona,watchingmybadgirlbestfriendtakerisksandtrynewthings,whileI,thegoodgirl,standthereclingingtothecautiousapproachtolifethatmyfatherdrilledintomewhenIwasstillindiapers.
Well,I’mtiredofbeingcautious.AndI’mtiredofbeingthegoodgirl.Thesemesterisalmostover.IhavetwoexamstostudyforandaPsychpapertowrite,butwhosaysIcan’tdoallthatandstillsqueezesomeactualfuninthere?
Thereareonlyafewweeksleftinmyfreshmanyear.Andyouknowwhat?Iplanonmakinggooduseofthem.2
Logan
I’vedecidedtoeasebackonthepartying.Andthat’snotjustbecauseIgotsotrashedlastnightthatTuckerhadtohaulmeoverhisshoulderandcartmeupstairstomybedroombecauseIwastoodizzytowalk
Thoughthatwasamajorfactorinthedecision-makingprocess.
Sonowit’sFridaynight,andnotonlydidIturndownapartyinvitefromoneoftheguysontheteam,butI’mstillnursingthesameglassofwhiskeyIpouredmorethananhourago.Ialsohaven’ttakenasinglehitoffthejointDeankeepsshovinginmydirection.
We’rehangingoutatourplacetonight,bravingtheearly-Aprilchillaswehuddletogetherinthesmallbackyard.ItakeadragofmycigarettewhileDean,Tuckerandourteammate,MikeHollis,passaroundthejoint,andI’monlyhalf-listeningtoDean’sincrediblyraunchyrecapofthesexhehadlastnight.Mymindkeepswanderingbacktomyownhook-up—thesexy-as-sinsororitysisterwho’dluredmeintooneoftheupstairsbathroomsandhadherwaywithme.
Imighthavebeendrunkandmymemorymightbeabithazy,butIdefinitelyrememberfingeringheruntilshecameallovermyhand.AndIabsolutelyrememberbeingonthereceivingendofaprettyspectacularBJ.Idon’tplanontellingTuckaboutit,though.Youknow,sinceapparentlyhe’skeepingatallyofmyhook-ups.Nosybastard.
“Wait,backup.Youdidwhat?”
Hollis’sexclamationjarsmebacktothepresent.
“Isentheradickpic.”Deansaysthisasifit’ssomethinghedoeseveryday.
Hollisgawksathim.“Really?Yousentherapictureofyourjunk?What,likesomekindoffucked-upsexsouvenir?”
“Naah.Morelikeaninvitationforanotherround,”Deananswerswithagrin.
“Howthehellwillthatmakeherwanttosleepwithyouagain?”Hollissoundsdoubtfulnow.“Sheprobablythinksyou’readouche.”
“Noway,dude.Chicksappreciateanicecockshot.Trustme.”
Hollispresseshislipstogetherlikehe’stryingnottolaugh.“Uh-huh.Sure.”
Iflickmyashonthegrassandtakeanotherdrag.“Justoutofcuriosity,whatconstitutesa‘nicecockshot’?Imean,isitthelighting?Thepose?”
I’mbeingsarcastic,butDeanrespondsinasolemnvoice.“Well,thetrickis,you’vegottakeeptheballsoutofit.”
ThatgetsaloudhootoutofTucker,whochokesmid-siponhisbeer.
“Seriously,”Deaninsists.“Ballsaren’tphotogenic.Womendon’twanttoseethem.”
Hollis’slaughterspillsover,hisbreathscomingoutinwhitepuffsthatfloatawayinthenightair.“You’veputalotofthoughtintothis,man.It’skindasad.”
Ilaughtoo.“Wait,isthatwhatyoudowhenyou’reinyourroomwiththedoorlocked?Takephotosofyourcock?”
“Oh,comeon,likeI’mtheonlyonewho’severtakenadickpic.”
“You’retheonlyone,”HollisandIsayinunison.
“Bullshit.Youguysareliars.”DeansuddenlyrealizesthatTuckerhadn’tvoicedadenial,andwastesnotimepouncingonourteammate’ssilence.“Ha.Iknewit!”
IarchabrowandglanceatTuck,whomayormaynotbeblushingunderthefiveinchesofbeardgrowthonhisface.“Really,man?Really?”
Heoffersasheepishgrin.“RememberthatgirlIwasdatinglastyear?Sheena?Well,shetextedmeapictureofhertits.SaidIhadtoreturnthefavor.”
Dean’sjawfallsopen.“Dickfortits?Dude,yougotplayed.Nowayarethoseevenremotelycomparable.”
“What’stheequivalentoftitsthen?”Hollisaskscuriously.
“Balls,”Deandeclares,beforetakingadeeppullofthejoint.Heblowsoutaringofsmokeaseveryonelaughsathisremark.
“Youjustsaidwomendon’twanttoseeballs,”Hollispointsout.
“Theydon’t.Butanyidiotknowsthatadickpicrequiresafullfrontalshotinreturn.”Herollshiseyes.“It’scommonsense.”
Someoneclearstheirthroatfromtheslidingdoorbehindme.Loudly.
IturnaroundtofindHannahstandingthere,andmychestsqueezessotightmyribsache.She’swearingleggingsandoneofGarrett’spracticejerseys.Herdarkhairislooseandfallingoveroneshoulder.Shelooksgorgeous.
Andyup,I’matotalassholefriend,becausesuddenlyI’mpicturingherinmyjersey.Withmynumberscrawledacrossit.
Somuchforacceptingandmovingon.
“Um…okay,”shesaysslowly.“JustmakingsureI’mnotmisunderstanding,but…youguysaretalkingaboutsendingpicturesofyourpenisestogirls?”Amusementdancesinhereyesassheglancesaroundthegroup.
Deansnorts.“Wesureare.Anddon’trollyoureyeslikethat,Wellsy.AreyoureallygonnastandthereandtellusthatGhasn’tsentyoupicturesofhiscock?”
“I’mnotgoingtodignifythatwithananswer.”Shesighsandrestsherforearmontheedgeofthedoor.“GarrettandIareorderingpizza.Doyouguyswanttopitch?Oh,andwe’reputtingonamovieinthelivingroom.It’shisturntopicksoit’llprobablybesomeGod-awfulactionmovie,ifyouguyswanttowatchwithus.”
TuckandDeaninstantlypipeupwithyeses,butHollisshakeshisheadregretfully.“Maybenexttime.MylastfinalisonMondaysoI’mspendingtherestoftheweekendcramming.”
“Eek.Well,goodluck.”Shesmilesathimbeforereleasingthedoorframeandtakingastepback.“Ifyouguyswantasayinthepizzatoppings,youbettercomeinsidenow,otherwiseI’mgoingtoloaditwithveggies.Oh,andwhatthehell,Logan?”Thosegreeneyesnarrowatme.“Ithoughtyousaidyouonlysmokeatparties.AmIgoingtohavetobeatyouupnow?”
“I’dliketoseeyoutry,Wellsy.”Mytoneisfilledwithhumor,butthesecondsheducksbackinside,thehumorfades.
Beingaroundherislikeapunchtothegut.AndthethoughtofsittinginthelivingroomwithherandGarrett,eatingpizzaandwatchingamovieandseeingthemallcuddlyandinlove…ahundredtimesworsethanagutpunch.It’sanentirehockeyteamslammingyouintotheboards.
“Youknowwhat?IthinkImightgotoDanny’sthingafterall.CanIcatcharidewithyoutothedorms?”IaskHollis.“I’ddriveovermyselfbutIdon’tknowifI’llendupdrinking.”
Deanstabsoutthejointintheashtrayontopoftheclosedbarbecuelid.“Youwon’tendupdrinking,dude.Danny’sRAisatotalNazi.Hepatrolsthehallsanddoesrandomroomchecks.Nojoke.”
Idon’tcare.AllIknowisthatIcan’tstayhere.Ican’thangoutwithHannahandGarrett,notuntilImanagetogetahandleonmystupidinfatuationwithher.
“ThenIwon’tdrink.Ijustneedachangeofscenery.I’vebeenhomeallday.”
“Achangeofscenery,huh?”Tucker’scloudyexpressiontellsmeheseesrightthroughme.
“Yes,”Isaycoolly.“Gotaproblemwiththat?”
Tuckdoesn’tanswer.
Grittingmyteeth,ImuttermygoodbyesandfollowHollisouttohiscar.
Fifteenminuteslater,I’minthesecond-floorcorridorofFairviewHouse,andit’ssoeerilyquietthatmyspiritsplummetevenlower.Shit.Iguesstheresidentadvisorreallyisahard-ass.Idon’thearapeepfromanyoftherooms,andIcan’tevencallDannytofindoutifthepartywascanceled,becauseinmyhastetoescapemyhouse,Iforgottograbmyphone.
I’veneverbeentoDanny’sdormbefore,soIstandinthehallwayforamoment,tryingtoremembertheroomnumberhe’dtextedmeearlier.Two-twenty?Orwasittwo-thirty?Iwanderpasteachdoorcheckingthenumbers,andmydilemmasolvesitselfwhenIrealizethereisn’tevenaroomtwo-thirty.
Two-twenty,itis.
Irapmyknucklesagainstthedoor.Almostimmediately,footstepssoundfrombehindit.Someone’sthere,atleast.That’sagoodsign.
Thenthedoorswingsopen,andIfindmyselflookingatatotalstranger.Granted,she’saveryprettystranger,butastrangernonetheless.
Thegirlblinksinsurprisewhensheseesmestandingthere.Herlightbrowneyesarethesameshadeasherhair,whichhangsinalongbraidoverhershoulder.She’swearinglooseplaidpantsandablacksweatshirtwiththeuniversitylogoonthefront,andfromtheuttersilenceintheroombehindher,it’sobviousIknockedonthewrongdoor
“Hi,”Isayawkwardly.“So…yeah…Iguessthisisn’tDanny’sroom?”
“Um,no.”
“Shit.”Ipursemylips.“Hesaiditwasroomtwo-twenty.”
“Oneofyoumust’vegottenthenumberwrongthen.”Shepauses.“Forwhatit’sworth,there’snoonenamedDannyonthisfloor.Isheafreshman?”
“Junior.”
“Oh.Well,thenhedefinitelydoesn’tlivehere.Thisisafreshmandorm.”Asshespeaks,sheplayswiththebottomofherbraidandnotoncedoesshelookmeintheeye.
“Shit,”Imumbleagain.
“AreyousureyourfriendsaiditwasFairviewHouse?”
Ifalter.Iwassure,butnow…notsomuch.DannyandIdon’thangouttoooften,atleastnotonourown.UsuallyIseehimatpost-gameparties,orhecomesovertomyplacewithourotherteammates.
“Ihavenoideaanymore,”Ianswerwithasigh.
“Whydon’tyoucallhim?”She’sstillnotmeetingmygaze.Nowshe’sstaringdownatherstripedwoolsocksasifthey’rethemostfascinatingthingsshe’severseen.
“Ileftmyphoneathome.”Fuck.AsImullovermyoptions,Irunahandthroughmyhair.It’sgrowingoutandIdesperatelyneedtogetitbuzzed,butIkeepforgettingtodoit.“IsitcoolifIuseyours?”
“Um…sure.”
Eventhoughshelookshesitant,sheopensthedoorwiderandgesturesformetocomein.Herroomisatypicaldoublewithtwoofeverything,butwhileonesideisneatasapin,theotherisslobcentral.Clearlythisgirlandherroommatehaveverydifferentphilosophiesabouttidiness.
Forsomereason,I’mnotsurprisedwhenshewalksovertothetidyside.Shedefinitelyseemslikeshe’dbetheneatone.Shegoestothedeskandunplugsacellphonefromitscharger,thenholdsitouttome.“Here.”
Thesecondthephoneexchangeshands,shecreepsbacktowardthedoor.
“Youdon’thavetostandallthewayoverthere,”Isaydryly.“Unlessyou’redebatingmakingarunforit?”
Hercheeksturnpink.
Grinning,Iswipethephonescreenandpullupthekeypad.“Don’tworry,gorgeous.I’mjustusingyourphone.I’mnotgoingtomurderyou.”
“Oh,Iknowthat.OratleastIthinkIknowthat,”shestammers.“Imean,youseemlikeadecentguy,butthenagain,lotsofserialkillersprobablyseemdecenttoowhenyoufirstmeetthem.DidyouknowthatTedBundywasactuallyreallycharming?”Hereyeswiden.“Howmessedupisthat?Imagineyou’rewalkingalongonedayandyoumeetthisreallycute,charmingguy,andyou’relike,ohmyGod,he’sperfect,andthenyou’reoverathisplaceandyoufindatrophydungeoninthebasementwithskinsuitsandBarbiedollswiththeeyesrippedoutand—”
“Jesus,”Icutin.“Didanyoneevertellyouthatyoutalkalot?”
Hercheeksareevenreddernow.“Sorry.SometimesIbabblewhenI’mnervous.”
Ishootheranothergrin.“Imakeyounervous?”
“No.Well,maybealittle.Imean,Idon’tknowyou,and…yeah.Strangerdangerandallthat,thoughI’msureyou’renotdangerous,”sheaddshastily.“But…youknow…”
“Right.TedBundy,”Isupply,fightinghardnottolaugh.
Shefidgetswithherbraidagain,andheravertedgazegivesmetheopportunitytostudyhermoreclosely.Man,shereallyispretty.Notdrop-deadgorgeousoranything,butshehasafresh-faced,girl-next-doorlookthat’sseriouslyappealing.Frecklesonhernose,delicatefeatures,andsmooth,creamyskinrightoutofamakeupcommercial.
“Areyougoingtocall?”
Iblink,suddenlyrememberingwhyIcameinsideinthefirstplace.Ilookdownatthephoneinmyhand,andnowI’mexaminingthenumberpadasintentlyasIwasexamininghermomentsbefore
“Here’satip—youuseyourfingerstodial,andthenyoupresssend.”
Iliftmyhead,andherbarelyrestrainedgrinsummonsalaughfrommythroat.“Greattip,”Iagree.“But…”Iletoutaglumbreath.“IjustrealizedIdon’tknowhisnumber.It’ssavedinmyphone.”
Shit.IsthismypunishmentforinappropriatelyfantasizingaboutGarrett’sgirlfriend?GettingstrandedonaFridaynightwithnophoneorridehome?IguessIdeserveit.
“Fuckit.I’llcallacab,”Ifinallydecide.Luckily,Iknowthenumberforthecampustaxiservice,soIdialthatinstead,onlytobeplacedonholdimmediately.Aselevatormusicchirpsinmyear,Ismotheragroan.
“You’reonhold,huh?”
“Yup.”Iglanceoveratheragain.“I’mLogan,bytheway.Thanksforlettingmeuseyourphone.”
“Noproblem.”Shepauses.“I’mGrace.”
Aclicksoundsinmyear,butinsteadofthedispatcher’svoicecomingontheline,there’sanotherclickfollowedbyanotherswellofmusic.I’mnotsurprised,though.It’sFridaynight,thebusiestnightforthecampustaxis.WhoknowshowlongI’llhavetowait.
Isinkdownontheedgeofoneofthebeds—theonethat’sperfectlymade—andtrytorememberthenumberforthecabserviceinHastings,thetownwheremostoftheoff-campushousingis,includingmytownhouse.ButI’mdrawingablank,soIsighandenduresomemoreelevatormusic.Mygazedriftstotheopenlaptopontheothersideofthebed,andwhenInoticewhat’sonthescreen,IlookatGraceinsurprise.
“AreyouwatchingDieHard?”
“DieHardTwo,actually.”Shelooksembarrassed.“I’mhavingaDieHardnight.Ijustfinishedthefirstone.”
“DoyouhaveathingforBruceWillisorsomething?”
Thatmakesherlaugh.“Nope.Ijustlikeoldactionmovies.LastweekendIwatchedtheLethalWeaponfranchise.”
Themusicinmyearstopsagain,thenstartsover,bringingacursetomylips.IhangupandturntoGrace.“DoyoumindifIuseyourcomputertogetthenumberforthetaxiserviceinHastings?MaybeI’llhavebetterluckthere.”
“Sure.”Afterabeatofhesitation,shesitsnexttomeandreachesforthelaptop.“Letmepullupabrowserforyou.”
Whenshegoestominimizethevideo,themovieunpauses,andsoundblastsoutofthespeakers.Astheopeningfightsceneintheairportfillsthecomputerscreen,Iimmediatelyleanclosertowatchit.“Ohshit,thisissuchagreatfightsequence.”
“Iknow,right?”Graceexclaims.“Iloveit.Actually,Ilovethiswholemovie.Idon’tcarewhatanyonesays—it’sawesome.Obviouslynotasgoodasthefirstone,butit’sreallynotasbadaspeoplethink.”
She’sabouttopausethemovie,butIinterceptherhand.“Canwefinishwatchingthisscenefirst?”
Herexpressionfillswithsurprise.“Um…yeah,okay.”Shevisiblyswallows,adding,“Ifyouwant,youcanstayandwatchthewholemovie.”Hercheeksflushthemomentshevoicestheinvitation.“Unlessyouhavesomewhereyouneedtobe.”
Ithinkitoverforasecondbeforeshakingmyhead.“Naah,Ihavenowhereelsetobe.Icanhangoutforawhile.”
Really,what’sthealternative?GohometowatchHannahandGarretthand-feedpizzatoeachotherandsneakkissesduringthemovie?
“Oh.Okay,”Gracesayswarily.“Uh…cool.”
Ichuckle.“Wereyouexpectingmetosayno?”
“Kindof,”sheadmits.
“WhywouldI?Seriously,whatguyturnsdownDieHard?Theonlythingthatcouldsweetenthisdealisifyouofferedmesomebooze.”
“Idon’thaveany.”Shestopstothink.“ButI’vegotawholebagofgummybearshiddeninmydeskdrawer.”
“Marryme,”Isayinstantly.
Laughing,shewandersovertothedesk,opensthebottomdrawer,and,sureenough,pullsoutahugebagofcandy.AsIslideupthebedandleanbackonthestackofpillowsattheheadofit,Gracekneelsinfrontofthemini-fridgenexttothedeskandasks,“WaterorPepsi?”
“Pepsi,please.”
Shehandsmethemassivebagofgummybearsandacanofsoda,thensettlesonthebedbesidemeandpositionsthelaptoponthemattressbetweenus.
Ishoveagummybearinmymouthandfocusmygazeonthescreen.Okay,then.Thisdefinitelywasn’tthewayIexpectedthiseveningtogo,buthell,mightaswellrollwithit.3
Grace
JohnLoganisinmydormroom.
No,JohnLoganisonmybed
Iamsonotpreparedforthis.Infact,I’mtemptedtosecretlytextRamonawithanSOSandbegforadvice,becauseIhavenoideawhattodoorsay.Ontheplusside,we’rewatchingamovie,whichmeansIdon’thavetodoorsayanythingexceptstareatthelaptop,laughattheappropriateone-liners,andpretendthatthehottestguyatBriarisn’tsittingonmybed
Andhe’snotjustphysicallyhot.He’salsotemperaturehot.Seriously,hisbodyheatislikeablastfromafurnace,andsinceI’malreadyhotandtinglyfromhismerepresence,thewarmthhe’sradiatingisstartingtomakemesweat.
Tryingtobeinconspicuous,Iwiggleoutofmysweatshirtandtuckitbesideme,butthemovementcausesLogantoturnhisheadtowardme.Thosedeepblueeyesfocusonmytighttanktop,restingbrieflyonmychest.
OhGod.He’scheckingoutmyboobs.AndeventhoughI’monlyrockingaB-cup,thewayhisexpressionsmolders,you’dthinkIhadapornstarrack.
WhenherealizesI’vecaughthimstaring,hejustwinksandturnsbacktothescreen.
It’sofficial:I’veactuallymetaguywhocanpulloffawink
Payingattentiontothemovieisimpossible.Myeyesareonthescreen,butmymindissomewhereelse.Focusedwhollyontheguybesideme.He’salotbiggerthanIthought.Impossiblybroadshoulders,muscularchest,longlegsstretchingoutinfrontofhim.I’veseenhimplayhockeysoIknowhe’saggressivelyphysicalontheice,andhavingthatpowerfulbodyinchesfrommineshootsathrillupmyspine.HelookssomucholderandmoremasculinethanthefreshmenguysI’vehungoutwithallyear.
Well,duh.He’sajunior.
Right.But…heseemsolderthanthattoo.He’sgotthiswholemanlythinggoingonthatmakesmewanttoriphisclothesoffandlickhimlikeanicecreamcone.
Ipopagummybearinmymouth,hopingtheactofchewingwillbringsomemuch-neededmoisturetomydrythroat.Onthescreen,McClane’swifeisontheplanearguingwiththepeskynewsreporterwhocausedtroublefortheMcClanesinthefirstmovie,andsuddenlyLoganglancesoveratme,curiosityflickeringinhisexpression.
“Hey,doyouthinkyoucouldlandaplaneifyouhadnootherchoice?”
Ilaugh.“Ithoughtyousaidyou’veseenthismovie.Youknowshedoesn’thavetolandtheplane,right?”
“No,Iknowthat.ButitmademewonderwhatI’ddoifIwasonaplaneandIwastheonlyonewhocouldlandit.”Hesighs.“Idon’tthinkI’dbeabletodoit.”
I’msurprisedhe’ssoquicktoadmitthat.Otherguysmighttrytoactallmachoandscoffabouthowtheycouldlandthatthingintheirsleeporsomething.
“Meneither,”Iconfess.“Ifanything,Iseemyselfmakingitworse.I’dprobablyaccidentlydepressurizethecabinbytouchingthewrongcontrol.Actually,no.I’mscaredofheights,soI’mprettysureI’dpassoutthesecondIsteppedintothecockpitandlookedoutthewindshield.”
Hechuckles,andthehuskysoundsetsoffanotherroundoftingles.“Imightbeabletoflyahelicopter,”hemuses.“That’sprobablyeasierthanajet,right?”
“Maybe?Honestly,Iknownothingaboutaviation.”It’smyturntosigh.“Don’ttellanyone,butsometimesI’mnotsureIunderstandhowplanesevenstayintheair.”
Helaughs,andthenwebothfocusonthemovieagain,andIgivemyselfamentalpatontheback.Ijusthadanentireconversationwithacuteguywithoutbabblingincoherently.Ideserveafrickin’goldstarforthat.
Don’tgetmewrong,I’mstillnervousasallgetout.ButsomethingaboutLoganputsmeatease.He’ssolaidback,andbesides,it’shardtofeelintimidatedbyaguywhenhe’schompingawayongummybears
Aswewatchthemovie,mygazedartstowardhimeveryfewsecondstoadmirehischiseledprofile.Hisnoseisslightlycrooked,asifit’sbeenbrokenonceortwicebefore.Andthesexycurveofhislipsis…puretemptation.IwanttokisshimsobadlyIcan’tthinkstraight.
God,andI’msuchaloser,becausekissingmeisprobablythelastthingonhismind.HestuckaroundtowatchDieHard,nottofoolaroundwithafreshmanwhocomparedhimtoTedfrickin’Bundyanhourago.
Iforcemyselftoconcentrateonthefilm,butI’malreadydreadingthemomentitends,becausethenLoganwillhavetoleave.
Butwhenthecreditsscrolluponthescreen,hedoesn’tmakeasinglemovetogetup.Instead,helooksoverandasks,“Sowhat’syourdeal?”
Ifurrowmybrow.“Whatdoyoumean?”
“It’sFridaynight—howcomeyou’resittingaroundwatchingactionmovies?”
Thequestionmakesmebristle.“What’swrongwiththat?”
“Nothing.”Heshrugs.“I’mjustwonderingwhyyou’renotoutpartyingorsomething.”
“Iwasatapartylastnight.”Don’tremindhimyousawhim,don’tremindhimyousawhim—“Isawyouthere,bytheway.”
Heseemsstartled.“Youdid?”
“Yeah.AttheOmegaPhihouse.”
“Huh.Idon’trememberseeingyou.”Hegivesmeasheepishlook.“Idon’tremembermuch,actually.Igotprettyshitfaced.”
Itstingsalittlethathedoesn’trememberourencounteroutsidethebathroom,butIquicklychastisemyselfforfeelinginsulted.Hewasdrunk,andhe’djusthookedupwithsomeoneelse.OfcourseIhadn’tmadeanimpressiononhim.
“Didyouhavefunattheparty?”Forthefirsttimesincehewalkedintomydormroom,histonecontainsanawkwardnote,asifhe’stryingtomakesmalltalkandisn’tcomfortablewithit
“Sure,Iguess.”Ipause.“Actually,Itakethatback.ItwasfununtilItotallyhumiliatedmyselfinfrontofthisguy.”
Thediscomfortonhisfacedissolvesashechuckles.“Yeah?What’dyoudo?”
“Ibabbled.Alot.”Iofferalittleshrug.“Ihaveareallybadhabitofdoingthataroundguys.”
“You’renotbabblingrightnow,”hepointsout.
“Yeah,now.DoyounotremembertheserialkillerrantIgaveyoutwohoursago?”
“Trustme,Iremember.”Hisansweringgrinspeedsupmypulse.God,he’sgotasexysmile.Slightlycrooked,andeverytimeheflashesit,hiseyestwinkleplayfully.“Idon’tmakeyounervousanymore,doI?”
“No.”I’mlying.Heabsolutelymakesmenervous.He’sJohnfuckingLogan,oneofthemostpopularguysatBriar.AndI’mGracefuckingIvers,oneofthousandsofgirlswhoarecrushingonhim.
Hisgazetravelsovermeagain,ahot,lingeringperusalthatcracklesalongmyskinlikeanelectriccurrent.Thistimethere’snomistakingtheinterestinhiseyes.
ShouldImakeamove?
Ishouldmakeamove,right?
Leancloserorsomething.Kisshim.Ormaybeaskhimtokissme?Mybrainracesbacktomyhighschooldays,tryingtopinpointhowallthosekisseshappened,iftheguysIlockedlipswithmadethefirstmove,orifitwasamutualyeah-we’re-going-to-kiss-nowsortathing.Exceptnoneofthosekisseswerewithguysevenhalfasgorgeousasthisone.
“Doyouwantmetogonow?”
Hisgruffvoicestartlesme,andIrealizeI’vebeenstaringathimforalmostafullminutewithoutsayingasingleword.
MymouthissodryIhavetoswallowafewtimesbeforeanswering.“No.Imean,youcanstayifyouwant.Wecanwatchsomethingelse,or—”
Idon’tgettofinishthatsentence,becauseheslidescloserandtouchesmycheek,andmyvocalcordsfreezeasmyheartrateskyrockets.
JohnLoganistouchingmycheek
Thepadsofhisfingersarecalloused,aroughscrapeagainstmyskin,andhesmellssogoodIfeellight-headedwhenIinhalethefaintscentofhisaftershave.
HelightlystrokesmycheekboneandIhavetostopmyselffrompurringlikeanaffection-starvedcat.“Whatareyoudoing?”Iwhisper.
“Well,youwerelookingatmelikeyouwantedmetokissyou.”Hisblueeyesbecomeheavy-lidded.“SoIwasthinkingImightdothat.”4
Grace
Myheartbeatisoutofcontrol.Afastdrumbeatinmyears,afrantichammeringagainstmyribs.
OhmyGod.
Hewantstokissme?
“UnlessImisreadthemoment?”heprompts.
Igulp,desperatelytryingtocontrolmycareeningpulse.Talkingisnotanoption.Mythroathasclampedshut.Despitethefactthatmymotorskillsaren’toperatingatfullcapacity,Imanagetoshakemyhead.
Hislaughterheatstheairbetweenus.“Isthatanotomisreadingthemoment,oranotomekissingyou?”
I’mmiraculouslyabletoproduceanentiresentenceinresponse.“Iwantyoutokissme.”
He’sstillchucklingashemovescloser,stretchingonhissidebesidemeandgentlynudgingmeontomyback.Everymuscleinmybodytenseswithanticipationashehoversoverme,andwhenherestsonehandonmyhip,Itremblehardenoughforhimtonotice.
Asmilecurveshislips.Lipsthataregettingcloserandclosertomylips.Inchesaway.Millimetersaway.
Andthenhismouthbrushesmine,andholyshit,I’mkissingJohnLogan.
Almostimmediately,mymindisfloodedwithsomanythoughtsit’shardtofocusonjustone.Ihearmyfather’sendlesslecturesaboutrespectingmyselfandbehavingproperlyandnotgoingwildincollege.Andthenthere’smymother’scheeryvoice,orderingmetohavefunandlivelifetothefullest.Andsomewhereinbetweenanexcitedvoiceisshouting,You’rekissingJohnLogan!You’rekissingJohnLogan!
Hismouthiswarm,hislipsfirmashekissesme.Gentlyatfirst.Asoft,sensualteasethatmakesmewhimper.Helicksmybottomlip,nipslightlyatitbeforethetipofhistonguetouchestheseamofmylips.Hetasteslikecandy,andforsomereasonthatmakesmewhimperagain.Whenhistonguefinallyslidesinsidemymouth,heletsoutaraspygroanthatvibratesthroughmeandsettlesinmycore.
KissingLoganisthesinglemostincrediblethingI’veeverexperienced.ForgetthatfamilyvacationtoEgyptwhenIwasnine.Thegloryofthepyramidsandtemplesandthefrickin’Sphinxisnothingcomparedtothefeelofthisguy’slipsonmine.
Ourtonguesmeet,andhemakesanotherlow,huskysound,glidingonehandupmybodytocupmyleftbreast.Ohshit.Boobgropingalert.Ithoughtwewerejustgoingtomakeout,butnowwe’refoolingaround
I’mnotwearingabraundermytanktop,sowhenhisthumbbrushestheverythinfabricandpressesdownonmynipple,itsendsaboltofheatfromthetipsofmybreastsrightdowntomyclit.Myentirebodyishotandachy,tightwithexcitement.Logan’stongueexploresmymouthasherubsmydistendednipple,hishipsmovingslightlyagainstmyhip.Hiserectionislikeahotbrandonthesideofmythigh,andI’munbelievablyturnedonbytheknowledgethatI’mturninghimon.
Breathingheavily,hewrenchesourmouthsapart.“ShouldIbeworriedthatyourroommateisgoingtowalkinonus?”
“No,she’snotcominghometonight.Shewenttosomebarintown,andthenshe’splanningoncrashingwiththisgirlCaitlinfromKappaBeta.WhichIthinkisareallybadideabecausethelasttimeshewentoutwithCaitlin,theyalmostgotarrestedforpublicdrunkenness,butthenRamonaflirtedwiththecopand—”
Loganshutsmeupwithanotherkiss.“Nowouldhavesufficed,”hemurmursagainstmylips.Thenhereachesformyhandandplacesitdirectlyonthehardbulgeinhispants.Inthesamebreath,hecupsmysexovermyPJs.
Ohcrap.Downstairsactionalert.
I’mnotworriedaboutmyresponsetohishand—oneslowglideofhispalmisallittakesforaburstofpleasuretoeruptinsideme.Nope,it’smyhandthattriggerstherushofnervousness.Thehandthat’scurrentlystrokingtheerectionstrainingbehindLogan’szipper.
I’vegivenhandjobsbefore,plusafewblowjobsthatIknowwereahugesuccessbecause…well,semenandallthat.ButIdon’thaveenoughexperiencetoconsidermyselfanexpertpenis-wrangleroranything.Andallthosepastpenisencountersinvolvedoneguy,myhighschoolboyfriendBrandon,whowasequallyinexperienced.
IftherumorsI’veheardaboutLoganaretrue,thenthisguyhassleptwithhalfthegirlsatBriar.Soundslikeaninsanelyhighstatistic,soI’msureit’snotaccurate,buthe’sdefinitelyhookedupwithmorepeoplethanIhave.
“Isthisokay?”heasksashestrokesbetweenmylegs.
Inodandstrokehimagain,andatorturedmoanslipsoutofhismouth.
“Fuck,holdon.”Heshiftsonthemattress,andmyheartstopswhenheunzipshispants.Heeasesthemdownjustlowenoughtofreehiserectionfromhisboxers,thentugsonthewaistbandsofmyPJsandunderwear.
Asecondlater,hishandgrazesmybaresex,andmyhipsliftinvoluntarily,seekingclosercontact.
Loganteasesthetipofhisindexfingerovermyclit.“Better?”hesays,hisvoicethickandraspy.
Somuchbetter.Andsogooditmakesmyheadspin,limitingmyresponsetoabreathymumbleofnonsense.
Smilingatmyincoherentanswer,heleansinandkissesmeagain.Withhisfreehand,hegraspsmyrighthandandbringsittohiserection,gentlywrappingmytremblingfingersaroundtheshaft.He’slongandhard,hissmooth,hotfleshslidingeasilyinsidemyclosedfist.
Mybodyisonfire.Wavesofarousalswellinmycore,andwhenhepusheshismiddlefingerinsideme,myinnermusclesclamparoundit,thepressuresointenseIforgethowtobreathe.
Wedon’tstopkissing.Noteventocomeupforair.We’rebothpanting,ourtonguestanglingandourhandshardatwork.Histhumbpressesonmyclitashisfingermovesinsideme,andthepleasurespiralingthroughmegathersinstrength,atightknotofanticipationthatcausesthemovementofmyhipstobecomeevenmoreerratic.
Minutespass.Ormaybehours.Ihavenoidea,becauseI’mtoocaughtupintheincrediblesensations.Istrokehiserection,squeezingthebluntheadoneachupstroke,untilhishipsstartmovingtoo,andaroughcommandleaveshismouth.
“Faster.”
Iquickenthepaceandhethrustsintomyfistwithalowgroan,hisbreathticklingmylipsashebreaksthekiss.Hiseyesareclosed,hisfeaturestautandhisteethdiggingintohisbottomlip.
“I’mgonnacome,”hemumbles.
Excitementripplesbetweenmylegs,andIknowhecanfeelhowwetIambecausehegroansagainandhisfingerplungesdeeper,faster.Afewsecondslater,hesagsintome,hisforeheadrestingonmyshoulderashishipsflexforwardonelasttimebeforegoingstill.
Aswetnessspurtsontomyhand,hiseyesslowlyopenandthesleepypleasureswimminginthemtakesmybreathaway.Holyshit.Idon’tthinkI’veeverseenanythingsexierthanthesightofJohnLoganrightafterhe’shadanorgasm.
Hisbreathingisstilllaboredashemeetsmygaze.“Didyoucome?”
Crap.Right.Hisfingerisstilllodgedinsideme.Nolongermoving,butareminderoftheorgasmI’dbeenabouttoreachbeforeIgotdistractedbythewayhelookedwhenhewascoming,therestlessgrindofhishipsandthesexysoundshemade.
ButI’mtooembarrassedtoadmitIdidn’tfinish,andsincehealreadydid,Ifeelawkwardaskinghimtokeepgoing.
SoInodandsay,“Uh-huh.Ofcourse.”
Ashadowofdoubtpassesthroughhiseyes,butbeforeIcanblink,hesitsupabruptlyandsays,“Ishouldgo.”
Iignoretheequaldosesofdisappointmentandirritationthattightenmybelly.Seriously?Hecan’tevenstickaroundforafewminutesofpost-hook-upsmalltalk?Whataprince.
It’sevenmoreawkwardnow.Hegrabsatissuefromtheboxontheendtableandcleansup.IpretendtobecoolandcomposedasIpullupmypantsandwatchhimdothesame.Ievenmanageacasualsmileasheusesmyphonetocallacab.Fortunately,hegetsthroughrightawaythistime,whichmeanstheawkwardnessdoesn’tlastlong.
Iwalkhimtothedoor,wherehehesitatesforabeat.“Thanksforhavingmeover,”hesaysgruffly.“Ihadfun.”
“Uh,yeah,sure.Metoo.”
Amomentlater,he’sgone.5
Logan
Iwalkintomybedroomaftermymorningshowertohearmyphoneringing.Andsinceeveryonemyagetextsinsteadofcalls,Iknowexactlywhoitiswithouthavingtocheckthescreen.
“Hey,Mom,”Igreether,grippingtheedgeofmytowelasIheadforthedresser.
“Mom?Holyshishkebob.Soit’strue?Imean,IthoughtIgavebirthtoabeautifulbabyboytwenty-oneyearsago,butthatseemslikeadistantmemory.BecauseifIdidhaveason,he’dprobablycallmemorethanonceamonth,right?”
Ilaugh,despitetheneedleofguiltprickingmychest.She’sright.I’vebeenacrappysonlately,toobusywiththepost-seasonandtermpaperstocallherasoftenasIshould.
“I’msorry,”Isaywithgenuineremorse.“Italwaysgetscrazybusyattheendofthesemester.”
“Iknow.That’swhyIhaven’tbeenbuggingyou.Areyoustudyinghardforyourexams?”
“Sure.”Yeah,right.Ihaven’tevencrackedopenabookyet.
Momseesrightthroughthenoncommittalresponse.“Don’tBSyourmother,Johnny.”
“Fine,Ihaven’tstartedyet,”Iadmit.“ButyouknowIworkbetterunderpressure.Canyouholdonasec?”
“Yup.”
Isetthephonedownanddropmytowel,thenyankapairofsweatpantsupmyhips.Myhairisstillwet,sprinklingdropletsdownmybarechest,soIrubthetowelovermyheadbeforepickingupthephoneagain.
“Back,”Itellher.“Sohow’sworkgoing?How’sDavid?”
“Good,andgreat.”
Forthenexttenminutesshechatsaboutherjob—she’samanageratarestaurantinBoston—thentellsmewhatmystepfatherhasbeenupto.Davidisanaccountant,andhe’ssoboringthatsometimesit’spainfultobearoundhim.Buthealsolovesmymotherwithallhisheartandtreatsherlikethequeensheis,soIcan’texactlyhatetheguy.
Eventuallyshegetsaroundtomysummerplans,takingonthatguardedtoneshealwaysuseswhenshebringsupthesubjectofmyfather.
“SoItakeityou’reworkingwithyourdadagain?”
“Yup.”Imakeanefforttosoundrelaxed.MybrotherandIagreedalongtimeagotokeepthetruthfromMom.
Shedoesn’tneedtoknowthatDadisdrinkingagain,andIrefusetodredgeupthatoldbullshitforher.Shegotout,andsheneedstostayout.Shedeservestobehappynow,andboringasheis,Davidmakesherhappy.
WardLogan,ontheotherhand,madehermiserable.Hedidn’thitherorabuseherverbally,butshewastheonewhohadtocleanuphismesses.Shewastheonewhohadtodealwithhisdrunkentantrumsandconstantvisitstorehab.Theonewhodraggedhimoffthefloorwhenhecamehomewastedandpassedoutinthefronthall.
Fuck,I’llneverforgetthetimewhenIwaseightornine,andDadcalledthehouseattwointhemorning.He’dbeenslurringlikeamaniacandfreakingoutbecausehe’ddrunkhimselfstupidatabar,gotteninthecar,andhadnoideawherehewas.Ithadbeenthedeadofwinter,andMomhadn’twantedtoleavemybrotherandmeathomealone,soshe’dbundledusup,andthethreeofusdroveforhourssearchingforhim.WithonlyhalfastreetnametogoonbecausethesignhadbeencoveredinsnowandDadwastoodrunktowalkoverandwipeitaway.
Afterwe’dfoundhimandhauledhimintothecar,IremembersittinginthebackseatfeelingsomethingI’dneverfeltbefore—pity.Ifeltsorryformyfather.AndIcan’tdenyIwasrelievedwhenMomshippedhimbacktorehabthenextday.
“Ihopehe’spayingyouaccordingly,sweetie,”Momsays,soundingupset.“YouandJeffreyworksuchlonghoursatthegarage.”
“Ofcoursehe’spayingus.”Butaccordingly?Fuckno.Imakeenoughtopayforrentandexpensesduringtheschoolyear,butdefinitelynotwhatIshouldbemakingforfull-timework.
“Good.”Shepauses.“Canyoustilltakeaweekofftocomevisitus?”
“I’mplanningonit,”Iassureher.JeffandIhavealreadyworkedoutaschedulesothateachofuscanheadtoBostontospendsometimewithMom.
Wetalkforafewmoreminutes,andthenIhangupandwanderdownstairstofindsomethingtoeat.Iprepareabowlofcereal,theno-sugar,all-branbore-festthatTuckforcesustoeatbecauseforsomereasonhe’sagainstsugar.AsIsettleattheeat-incounter,mymindinstantlytravelsbacktowhathappenedlastnight.
LeavingGrace’sroomfivesecondsaftershe’djerkedmeoffhadbeensuchanassholemove.Iknowthat.ButIhadtogetoutofthere.ThesecondI’drecoveredfromthatorgasm,myfirstthoughthadbeen,whatthehellamIdoinghere?Seriously.Imean,yeah,Gracewasawesome,andsexy,andfunny,buthaveIsunksolowthatI’mnowrandomlyfinger-bangingchicksIdon’tevenknow?AndIcan’tevenusealcoholasanexcusethistimebecauseIwasstone-coldsober.
Andtheworstpart?Shedidn’tevenfuckingcome.
Iclenchmyteethatthereminder.There’dbeenalotofmoaning,sure,butI’mninety-ninepercentcertainthatshedidn’thaveanorgasmdespitehertellingmethatshehad.Orrather,lyingtomethatshehad.Becausewhenawomandropsanoncommittal“Uh-huh”afteryouaskifshehadanorgasm,thenthat’scalledlying
Andthathalf-assed“yeah,sure,metoo”shegavemeaboutwhethershehadfun?Talkaboutbruisingaguy’sego.Notonlydidshenotcome,butmycompanydidn’tdoitforher,either?
Idon’tknowhowIfeelaboutthat.Imean,I’mnotanidiot.Idon’tliveinamagicalbubblewhereorgasmsfallfromtheskyandlandinawoman’sbedeverytimeshehassex.Iknowtheyfakeitsometimes.
ButI’mfairlyconfidentIspeakformostguyswhenIsaythatIliketothinktheydon’tfakeitwithme
Damnit.Ishould’vegottenhernumber.Whythehelldidn’tIgethernumber?
Iknowtheanswertothat,though.Thispastmonth,Ihaven’tcaredenoughtoaskforagirl’snumberafterahook-up.Orrather,I’vebeentoowastedbefore,duringandafterthehook-uptoremembertoask.
Thethudoffootstepsfromthecorridorsnapsmeoutofmythoughts,andIglanceupintimetoseeGarrettstrideintothekitchen.
“Morning,”hesays.
“Morning.”Ishoveaspoonfulofcerealintomymouthanddomybesttoignoretheinstantjoltofdiscomfort,whileatthesametimehatingmyselfforevenfeelingit.
GarrettGrahamismybestfriend.Forchrissake,I’mnotsupposedtofeeluncomfortablearoundhim.
“Sowhat’dyouendupdoinglastnight?”Hegrabsabowlfromthecupboard,aspoonfromthedrawer,andjoinsmeatthecounter.
Ichewbeforeanswering.“Ihungoutwiththisgirl.Watchedamovie.”
“Cool.AnyoneIknow?”
“Naah,Ijustmetheryesterday.”AndwillprobablyneverseeheragainbecauseI’maselfishloverandbadcompany,apparently.
GarrettdumpssomecerealintohisbowlandreachesforthemilkcartonIleftout.“Hey,sodidyoucallthatagentyet?”
“No,notyet.”
“Whynot?”
Becausethere’snopoint
“BecauseIhaven’tgottenaroundtoit.”MytoneisharsherthanImeanforittobe,andGarrett’sgrayeyesflickerwithhurt.
“Youdon’thavetobitemyheadoff.Itwasjustaquestion.”
“Sorry.I…sorry.”Realarticulate.Stiflingasigh,Itakeanotherbiteofcereal.
Ashortsilencesettlesbetweenus,untilGarrettfinallyclearshisthroat.“Look,Igetit,okay?Youdidn’tgetdraftedanditsucks.Butit’snotlikeyou’reoutofoptions.You’reafreeagentnow,andyou’renotlockedinwithateam,whichmeansyoucansignwithanyoneiftheywantyou.Andthey’retotallygoingtowantyou.”
He’sright.I’msuretherearelotsofteamsthatwouldwantmetoplayforthem.I’msureoneofthemwould’veevendraftedme—ifI’denteredthedraft.
ButGarrettdoesn’tknowthat.HethinksI’vebeenpassedoverthesepasttwoyears,and—haveImentionedwhatanassholefriendIam?—I’vebeenlettinghimthinkit.Becausefuckedupasitsounds,havingmybestfriendbelieveIdidn’tgetpickedbumsmeoutahelluvalotlessthanadmittingthatI’mnevergoingtoplayforthepros.
See,Garretthadachoiceaboutnotoptingin.Hewantedtoearnhisdegreewithoutthetemptationthatcomeswithbeingdrafted.Alotofcollegeplayerschoosetoditchschoolthemomentateamholdstherightstothem—it’shardnottowhenyou’vegotaproteampullingoutallthestopstocoaxyouintoleavingcollegeearly.ButGarrett’sasmartguy.Heknowshe’dlosehisNCAAeligibilityifhedidthat,andhealsoknowsthatsigningacontractwithateamdoesn’tguaranteeinstantsuccess,orevenplayingtime.
Hell,webothsawwhathappenedtoChrisLittle,ourteammateinfreshmanyear.Dudegetsdrafted,goespro,playsforhalfaseason,andthen?Acareer-endinginjurytakeshimout.Permanently.NotonlywillLittleneverstepfootontheiceagain,buthespenteverydimeofhissigningcontractonhismedicalexpenses,andlastIheard,hewentbacktoschooltolearnatrade.Welding,orsomeshit.
Soyup,Garrett’splayingitsmart.Me?IknewfromthestartIwouldn’tbegoingpro.
“Imean,Gretzkywentundrafted,andlookateverythingheaccomplished.Theguy’salegend.Arguablythebestplayerinhockeyhistory.”
Garrettisstilltalking,stilltryingto“reassure”me,andI’mtornbetweensnappingathimtoshutup,andhuggingthelivingshitoutoftheguyforbeingsuchanamazingfriend.
Idoneither,choosingtoplacatehiminstead.“I’llcalltheagentonMonday,”Ilie.
Heoffersapleasednod.“Good.”
Thesilencereturns.Wecartouremptybowlsovertothedishwasher.
“Hey,we’regoingtoMalone’stonight,”Garrettsays.“Me,Wellsy,TuckandmaybeDanny.Youin?”
“Can’t.I’vegottastartstudyingforexams.”
It’ssad,butI’mstartingtolosecountofallthethingsI’mlyingtomybestfriendabout.
*
Grace
“I’msorry—canyourepeatthat?”Ramonastaresatmeinutterdisbelief,hereyessowidetheylookliketwodarksaucers.
IshrugasifwhatI’vejusttoldherisnobiggie.“JohnLogancameoverlastnight.”
“JohnLogancameoverlastnight,”sheechoes.
“Yes.”
“Hecametoourdorm.”
“Yes.”
“Youwereinthisroom,andhewalkedin,andthenbothofyouwerehere.Inthisroom.”
“Yes.”
“SoJohnLoganshowedupatourdoor,andwalkedinside,andwashere.Withyou.Here.”
Laughterbubblesinmythroat.“Yes,Ramona.We’veestablishedthathewashere.Inthisroom.”
Hermouthfallsopen.Thenslamsshut.Thenopensagaintoreleaseashriekthat’ssoearsplittingI’msurprisedthewaterinmyglassdoesn’tjiggleJurassicPark-style.
“OhmyGod!”Sherunsovertomybedandflopsdown.“Tellmeeverything!”
She’sstillwearingherpartyclothesfromlastnight,ateenyminidressthatridesupherthighswhenshesits,andsilverstilettosthatshekicksawayinanexcitedbluroflegs.
WhenRamonahadwalkedintoourroom,I’dlastedallofthreesecondsbeforespillingthenews,butnow,withherstaringexcitedlyatme,reluctancejamsinmythroat.I’msuddenlyembarrassedtotellherwhathappenedlastnight,because…well…I’mjustgoingtosayit:becauseitwasunderwhelming
Ihadfunwatchingthemoviewithhim.AndIlovedfoolingaroundwithhim—atleastuntilthosefinalmoments—buttheguygotoffandthenleft.Whodoesthat?
Nowonderallhishook-upstakeplaceatfratparties.Thegirlsareprobablytoodrunktonoticewhethertheyhaveanorgasmornot.ToodrunktorealizethatJohnLoganissellingnothingbutfalseadvertising.
ButIalreadyopenedmybigmouth,sonowIhavetofollowthroughandgiveRamonasomething.Asshegawksatme,IexplainhowLoganshowedupatthewrongdoorandendedupstayingtowatchamovie.
“Youwatchedamovie?That’sit?”
Ifeelmycheekswarmup.“Well…”
Anotherscreechfliesoutofhermouth.“OhmyGod!Didyoufuckhim?”
“No,”I’mquicktoanswer.“Ofcoursenot.Ihardlyevenknowhim.But…well,wedidmakeout.”
I’mhesitanttodiscloseanymorethanthat,buttherevelationisenoughtolightupRamona’seyes.Shelookslikeakidwho’sjustgottenherfirstbicycle.Orapony.
“YoumadeoutwithJohnLogan!Eeeeeh!Thatissoawesome!Ishegoodakisser?Didhetakeoffhisshirt?Didhetakeoffhispants?”
“Nope,”Ilie.
Mybestfriendcan’tsitstillanymore.Shehopsoffthebedandbouncesaroundontheballsofherfeet.“Ican’tbelievethis.Ican’tbelieveIwasn’theretowitnessit.”
“You’reintovoyeurismnow?”Iaskdryly.
“IfI’mvoyeur’ingJohnLogan?Um,yeah.I’dwatchthetwoofyoumakeoutforhours.”Shegaspssuddenly.“OhmyGod,texthimrightnowandaskhimtosendyouadickpic!”
“What?No!”
“Aw,comeon,he’llprobablybereallyflatteredand—”Anothergasp.“No,texthimtoinvitehimovertonight!AndtellhimtobringDean.”
Ihatetorainonherparade,butconsideringthewayLoganrushedofflastnight,IhavenochoicebuttodumpabucketofcoldwateronRamona’sjoy.“Icouldn’tevenifIwantedto,”Iconfess.“Ididn’tgethisnumber.”
“What?”Shelooksdevastated.“Whatiswrongwithyou?Didyouatleastgivehimyours?”
Ishakemyhead.“Hedidn’thavehisphoneonhim,andtherewasn’tanopportunityformetogivehimmynumber.”
Ramonagoesquietforamoment.Sharpbrowneyesfocusonmyface,narrowing,probing,asifshe’stryingtotelepathicallytunnelintomybrain.
Ifidgetself-consciously.“What?”
“Behonest,”shesays.“Washeactuallyhere?”
Shockslamsintome.“Areyoukidding?”Whensheoffersatinyshrug,myshockturnstohorror.“WhywouldImakethatup?”
“Idon’tknow…”Shetucksastrandofdarkhairbehindherear,herdiscomfortobvious.“It’sjust…youknow,he’solder,andhot,andyoudidn’texchangenumbers…”
“SothatmeansI’mlying?”Ishoottomyfeet,beyondinsulted
“No,ofcoursenot.”Shestartstobackpedal,butit’stoolate.I’malreadypissedoffandheadingforthedoor.“Whereareyougoing?”shewailsfrombehindme.“Aw,comeon,Gracie.Ibelieveyou.Youdon’thavetostormout.”
“I’mnotstormingout.”Itossheracoollookovermyshoulder,thengrabmypurse.“I’mmeetingmydadinfifteenminutes.Ireallydohavetogo.”
“Really?”shesaysskeptically.
“Yes.”Ihavetoforcemyselfnottoscowlather.“Butthatdoesn’tmeanI’mnotsupermadatyourightnow.”
ShedartsoverandthrowsherarmsaroundmebeforeIcanstopher,squeezingtightenoughtoimpedetheairflowtomylungs.It’soneofhertrademarkForgiveMehugs,whichI’vebeenonthereceivingendofmoretimesthanIcancount.
“Pleasedon’tbemadatme,”shebegs.“I’msorryIaskedthat.Iknowyouwouldn’tmakeitup,andwhenyougetback,Iwanttohearallthedetails,okay?”
“Yeah…okay,”Imutter,notbecauseImeanit,butbecauseIwanttogetoutofherebeforeIsmackherintheface.
Shepullsback,reliefetchedintoherfeatures.“Awesome.ThenI’llseeyoulat—”
I’moutthedoorbeforeshecanfinishthatsentence.6
Grace
Mydadhasn’tarrivedyetwhenIwalkintotheCoffeeHut,soIorderagreenteaatthecounterandfindustwocomfychairsinthecorneroftheroom.It’sSaturdaymorning,andthecoffeehouseisdeserted.IhaveafeelingmostpeopleareprobablynursinghangoversfromFridaynight
AsIsettleontheplusharmchair,thebelloverthedoorchimesandmyfatherenterstheroom.He’swearinghistrademarkbrownblazerandstarchedkhakipants,anoutfitmymomreferstoashis“seriousprofessor”look.
“Hi,honey,”hegreetsme.“Letmegrabacoffee.”
Aminutelater,hejoinsmeinthecorner,lookingmoreharriedthanusual.“I’msorryI’mlate.Istoppedbytheofficetopickupsomepapersandgotcorneredbyastudent.Shewantedtodiscusshertermpaper.”
“It’sokay.Ijustgothere.”Ipopopenthelidofmycupandsteamrisesuptomyface.Iblowonthehotliquidforamoment,thentakeaquicksip.“Howwasyourweek?”
“Chaotic.Iwasconcernedwiththequalityofthepapersthatwerebeingturnedin,soIextendedofficehoursforthestudentswhohadquestionsabouttheexam.I’vebeenoncampusuntilteno’clockeverynight.”
Ifrown.“YouknowyouhaveaTA,right?Can’thehelpout?”
“Hedoes,butyouknowIenjoyinteractingwithmystudents.”
Yep,Idoknowthat,andI’msurethat’swhyallhisstudentslovehimsomuch.Dadteachesgraduate-levelmolecularbiologyatBriar,acourseyouwouldn’tthinkwouldbeallthatpopular,andyetthere’sactuallyawaitinglisttogetintohisclass.I’vesatinonafewofhislecturesovertheyears,andIhavetoadmit,hedoeshaveawayofmakingtheridiculouslyboringmaterialseeminteresting.
Dadsipshiscoffee,eyeingmeovertherim.“So,ImadereservationsatFerro’sforFridayatsix-thirty.Doesthatworkforthebirthdaygirl?”
Irollmyeyes.Iamsonotabirthdayperson.Ipreferlow-keycelebrations,or—inaperfectworld—nocelebrationsatall,butmymomisabirthdayfiend.Surpriseparties,gaggifts,forcingwaiterstosinginrestaurants…she’sallaboutinflictingthegreatestamountoftorturepossible.Ithinkshegetsakickoutofembarrassingheronlydaughter.ButsinceshemovedtoParisthreeyearsago,Ihaven’tbeenabletospendmybirthdaywithher,soshe’srecruitedmydadintotakingoverhumiliationduties.
“Thebirthdaygirlwillonlyagreetogoifyoucanpromisenobodywillsingtoher.”
Heblanches.“Lord,doyouthinkIwanttositthroughthat?Noway,honey.We’llhaveanice,quietdinner,andwhenyoutalktoyourmomaboutitafterward,youcantellheramariachibandcameovertothetableandsangforyou.”
“Deal.”
“Areyousureyou’reokaythatwe’renothavingdinneronyouractualbirthday?IfyouwanttocelebrateonWednesdaynight,Icancancelofficehours.”
“Fridayisfine,”Iassurehim.
“Allright,thenit’sadate.Oh,andIspoketoyourmomagainlastnight,”headds.“Sheaskedifyou’vereconsideredchangingyourflighttoMay.She’dlovetoseeyouforthreemonthsinsteadoftwo.”
Ihesitate.I’mexcitedtovisitMomthissummer,butforthreemonths?Eventwoispushingit—that’swhyIinsistedoncomingbackthefirstweekofAugust,eventhoughthesemesterdoesn’tstartuntiltheendofthemonth.Don’tgetmewrong,Iadoremymother.She’sfunandspontaneous,andsobubblyandencouragingit’slikehavingyourownpersonalcheerleaderfollowingyouaroundwavingherpom-poms.Butshe’salso…exhausting.She’salittlegirlinagrownwoman’sbody,actingonhereverywhimwithoutstoppingtoconsidertheconsequences.
“Letmethinkaboutit,”Ianswer.“IneedtodecideifIhavetheenergytokeepupwithher.”
Dadchuckles.“Well,webothknowtheanswertothatisno.Nobodyhastheenergytokeepupwithyourmom,honey.”
Hecertainlyhadn’t,butluckily,theirdivorcehadbeenonehundredpercentamicable.IthinkwhenMomtoldhimshewantedout,Dadwasmorerelievedthanupset.AndwhenshedecidedtomovetoParisinorderto“findherself”and“reconnectwithherart”,he’dbeennothingbutsupportive.
“I’llletyouknowthisweekend,okay?”Ireachformytea,butmyhandfreezeswhenthebellringsagain.
Adark-hairedguyinaBriarhockeyjacketstrollsin,andforoneheart-stoppingmoment,Ithinkit’sLogan.
Butnope.It’ssomeoneelse.Shorter,bulkier,andnotasdevastatinglygorgeous.
Disappointmentfluttersthroughme,butIforceitaway.EvenifLoganhadwalkedthroughthatdoor,whatwouldIreallyexpecttohappen?He’dcomeoverandkissme?Askmeout?
Riiiight.Imadetheguycomelastnightandhedidn’tevenstickaroundlongenoughtokissmegoodbye.Soyeah,Ihavetofacethefacts:I’mjustanothergirlonalonglistofJohnLogan’sconquests.
Andhonestly?I’mtotallycoolwiththat.Asunderwhelmingasitmayhavebeen,getting,um…conqueredbyLoganishands-downthehighlightofmyfreshmanyear.
*
Logan
“Hasagirleverfakedanorgasmwithyou?”Iblurtout.It’seighto’clockonMondaymorning,andInervouslytapmyfingersonthekitchencounterasIlookatmyroommate.
Dean,whowasonhiswaytothefridge,stopsinhistrackssoabruptlythatifhe’dbeenonskates,Iwouldbewipingiceshavingsoffmyfacerightnow.
“I’msorry,didn’thearyou.Whatwasthat?”
Hisexpressionistheepitomeofinnocence,soit’snotuntilafterIrepeatmyselfthatIrealizeI’mbeingplayed.Deandoublesover,honest-to-Godtearsstreamingdownhischeeksasheshudderswithlaughter.
“Itotallyheardyouthefirsttime,”hecroaks.“Ijustwantedtohearyouaskitagain…ohshit…IthinkImightpissmyself…”Anotherhowlripsoutofhisthroat.“Youtappedagirlandshefakedit?”
Iclenchmyteethsohardmymolarshurt.WhatonearthhadmademethinkconfidinginDeanwasagoodidea?
“No,”Imutter.
He’sstilllaughinglikeamaniac.“Howdoyouknowshefakedit?Didshetellyouafterward?OhGod,pleasesayyes!”
Istareintomycoffeecup.“Shedidn’ttellmeanything.Ijustgotafeeling,okay?”
DeanopensthefridgeandgrabsacartonofOJ,stillchucklingtohimself.“Thisispriceless.Bigstudoncampuscouldn’tmakeagirlcome.You’veofficiallygivenmeenoughammotoragonyouforyears.”
Yup,Isuredid.NobodyeversaidIwassmart.
AndwhythehellamIevenstillobsessingaboutthis?AllweekendI’vefoughtthetemptationtoseeGrace.Iforcedmyselftostudyforexams.Iplayedasix-hourIcePromarathonwithTuck.Ievencleanedmyroomanddidlaundry.
AndthenIopenedmyeyesthismorningandcouldn’ttakeitanymore.
I’vegotmoves,damnit.WomenknowthatwhentheyhookupwithJohnLogan,they’regoingtoleavewithasatisfiedsmileontheirfaces,anditdrivesmecrazythinkingthatGracemight’vebeenunsatisfied.It’sbeengnawingatmefordays.Days,damnit.
Youknowwhat?Screwit.Imightnothavehernumber,butIknowwhereshelives,andthere’snowayI’llbeabletoconcentrateonadamnthingtodayuntilI’verectifiedthisunholysituation.
Leavingagirlwantingisn’tjustembarrassing.It’sunacceptable.
Thirtyminuteslater,I’mstandinginfrontofGrace’sdoor
Showingupatagirl’sdormateight-thirtyinthemorningmightnotbethebestwaytoscorepoints,butsincemystupidegorefusestoletmewalkaway,Itakeabreathandtapmyfistonthedoor.
Graceopensitasecondlater.
Wearingnothingbutabathrobe.
Hereyeswidenwhensheseesme,hervoicecomingoutinasqueak.“Hi.”
Swallowing,Idomybestnottodwellonthefactthatshe’sprobablynakedunderthatrobe.Thewhiteterryclothhangstoherknees,thebeltsecuredtightlyaroundherwaist,butthetoppartsslightly,givingmeacandidviewofhercleavage.
“Hi.”Myvoicesoundsgravelly,soIclearmythroat.“CanIcomein?”
“Um.Sure.”
Sheclosesthedoorbehindme,thenturnsaround,anuneasysmileplayingonherlips.“Idon’thavemuchtime.Mylastpsychseminarisinanhour,soIneedtogetdressedandhikeallthewayacrosscampus.”
“That’sokay.Idon’thavealotoftimeeither.Studygroupinthirtyminutes.”Ishovemyhandsinmypocketstostopfromfidgeting.I’mnervousandIhavenoideawhy.I’veneverhadaproblemtalkingtochicksbefore.
“What’sup?”Shenonchalantlygraspsthefrontofherrobe,asifshe’srealizedit’sdangerouslyclosetogapingopen.
“Youdidn’tfinish,didyou?”ThequestionfliesoutbeforeIcanstopit.
“Finishwhat—”Shehalts,aflushrisinginhercheeksasunderstandingdawns.“Oh.Youmean…?”
Igritmyteethandnod.
“Well…no,”sheconfesses.“Ididn’t.”
Istruggletokeepmymouthinaneutral,non-frownposition.“Why’dyoutellmeyoudid?”
“Idon’tknow.”Shesighs.“Youwerealreadydone.AndIguessIdidn’twanttodamageyouregooranything.Iwasreadingthisarticletheotherdayabouthowmenaresensitiveaboutthatkindofstuff.Howittriggersfeelingsofinadequacyifawomandoesn’treachorgasm.Butdidyouknowthatsomethingliketenpercentofwomendon’thaveanorgasmduringsexualactivity?Sogoingbythatstatistic,menreallyshouldn’tfeellike—”
“You’redoingthatbabblingthingagain.”
Herexpressionissheepish.“Sorry.”
“Idon’tmindit.I’mgladyou’reworriedaboutmyego.”Igrinather.“Youshouldbe.”
Shelooksstartled.“Why?”
“BecauseI’vebeenthinkingnon-stopabouthowIdidn’tmakeyoucomelasttime.”Ishrug.“AndhowbadlyIwanttochangethat.”7
Logan
Grace’scheeksgofromlily-whitetopale-pinkinamatterofseconds.She’sgotthemostexpressivefaceI’veeverseen,soquicktodisplayeverythingshe’sfeeling.Iappreciatehoweasyitistoreadher,otherwiseherprolongedsilencetomylastremarkmight’veworriedme.ButtheglimmerofintrigueinhereyesconfirmsIhaven’tscaredheroff.
“Really?”Shewrinklesherforehead.
“Yeah.”MylipscurveinasmallsmileasItakeasteptowardher.“Soareyougonnaletmeorwhat?”
Alarmflitsacrossherface.“Letyoudowhat?”
“Makeyoucome.”
I’mgratifiedtoseetheuneaseinherexpressionmeltintomoltenhotexcitement.Ohyeah,I’mnotscaringheratall.She’sturnedon.
“Um…”Sheletsoutastrangledlaugh.“Thisisthefirsttimeaguyhasevershownupatmydooraskingmethat.Yourealizehowfrickin’crazythatsounds,right?”
“Youwanttotalkcrazy?I’vespentthewholefuckingweekendfantasizingaboutdoingthis.”Frustrationrisesinmychest.“I’mnotusuallysuchanasshole,okay?Imightfuckaround,butIalwaysmakesurethewomenI’mwithhaveagoodtime.”
Shesighs.“Ididhaveagoodtime.”
“Youwould’vehadabettertimeifIdidn’tblowmyloadandtakeoff.”
Nowshelaughsagain,whichmakesmesigh.“You’rekillingmehere,gorgeous.I’mtalkingabouthowmuchIwanttogiveyouascreamingorgasm,andyou’relaughingatme?”Igrin.“Didwenotjustestablishthatmyegoisfragile?”
Herlipscontinuetotwitch.“Ithoughtyouhadtogo,”sheremindsme.
“Ittakestenminutestogettothelibraryfromhere.WhichmeansIhavetwentyminutes.”Mysmilebecomesdownrightdevilish.“IfIcan’tmakeyoucomeintwentyminutes,thenI’mdefinitelydoingsomethingwrong.”
Gracetoyswithastrandofwet,darkhair,visiblynervous.Mygazelowerstoherlips,whichglistenashertonguedartsouttomoistenthem.Theurgetokissherhumsinmyblood,andtheanticipationhangingintheairisthickenoughtotightenmythroat.
Itakeanotherstep.“So?”
“Um…”Herbreathshuddersoutinarush.“Sure.Ifyouwantto.”
Alaughpopsout.“FuckyeahIwantto.Butdoyouwantit?”
“Y-yes.”Sheclearsherthroat.“Yes.”
Imovecloserandhereyesflareagain.Shewantsme.Iwanthertoo,butIordermyrapidlyhardeningcocktobehave.Thisain’taboutus,bro.Onlyher
Mydicktwitchesinresponse,butthere’snowayit’sgettinganyactionrightnow.Ifthiswasanyothergirl,Imightsuggestaquickie,butunlessmyV-darisonthefritz,thenGraceismostdefinitelyavirgin.NotonlydoInothavethatkindoftimeonmyhandsrightnow,butI’malsonotparticularlyeagertotakeontheresponsibilityofbeingherfirst.
Butthis…Ireachforthesashofherrobeandgiveitaslowtug…thisI’mmorethancapableofdoing.
AndIplanondoingitrightthistime.
Idon’tparttherobefully.Ijustsliponehandthroughthegapintheterryclothandgentlystrokethebarefleshofherhip.SheshiversthemomentItouchher.Herlightbrowneyesfixintentlyonmyface,andwhenmypalmconductsanotherfeatherlightsweep,shemoanssoftlyandmovesincloser.
“Getonthebed,”Irasp,gentlynudgingherbackward.
Shesitsontheedgeofthemattress,butdoesn’tlieback.Hergazestaysfocusedonme,asifshe’swaitingformetoissueanotherorder.
Exhalingabreath,Ikneelinfrontofherandgivetherobeonefinaltug,pushingitoffhershoulders.TheoxygenI’djustreleasedsucksrightbackintomylungs.Holyfuck.Hernakedbodymakesmycockache.She’sslender,withtinyhips,long,smoothlegs,andsmall-ishtitswiththeprettiestpinknipples.SalivafloodsmymouthasIleanintoflickmytongueoveronenipple.Ican’thelpmyself.Ineedtotasteher.
“Ohfuck,”Igroanagainstthedistendedbud,beforesuckingitbetweenmylips.
Gracewhimpers,archingherbackandpushingherbreastdeeperintomymouth.Jesus,Iwanttosuckandplaywithhertitsalldaylong.I’vealwaysbeenaboobman,andthethoughtofstayingrighthereinthispositionforallofeternitysendsasizzleofheattothetipofmycock.ButtherecklessrockingofGrace’shipsremindsmethattimeisoftheessence.Andgoddamn,I’mnotleavinguntilImakehercome.
Ireleasehernipplewithawetsoundandplacemyhandsonherthighs.Theytremblebeneathmyfingers,makingmechuckle.“Youokay?”
Shenodswordlessly.
Satisfiedthatshe’sstillonboard,Ispreadherlegswider,slidelowertothefloor,andbringmymouthtoherpussy.
Instanthard-on.
Fuck,Ilovegoingdownonagirl.ThefirsttimeIdiditIwasfifteen,anditturnedmeonsofrickin’muchIcameinmypants.I’mnotsoquickonthetriggeranymore,butIcan’tdenythatthefeelofGrace’sslick,warmpussybeneathmytonguegetsmydickharderthannobody’sbusiness.
Ilickherclitinaslow,teasingstrokethatmakeshermoan.Shefallsbackonherelbows,andIpeeruptofindthatshe’sclosedhereyes.Herlipsareparted,herpulsevisiblythrobbingatthecenterofherthroat,andthat’salltheencouragementIneedtokeepgoing.
Mytonguetravelsdownherslittoheropening.She’ssoakingwet.Hell.MaybeIshouldbeworriedaboutrepeatingtheoldcoming-in-my-pantsfiasco,becausemyballsdrawupsotighttheydamnneardisappear.
Iclenchmyasscheekstocontrolthewildtinglingatthebaseofmyspineandfocusonmakingherfeelgood.Ilickmywaybacktotheswollenbudthat’sbeggingformyattention,gentlyflickingmytongueagainstit,kissingandsuckingandgauginghereveryresponsetofindoutwhatshelikes.Slowandsoft,Idetermine.HermoansaremoredesperateandherhipsrockharderwhenIteaseher.
Exceptteasingheristeasingme,andnowmydickispresseduppainfullyagainstmyfly.Damnthingwillprobablybeartheimpressionofmyzipperbythetimewe’rethrough.
Ieasethetipofmyindexfingerinsideher,andI’mimmediatelyrewardedbyathroatycry.
“Good?”Imurmur,gazingupather
Hereyelidsaredroopy.“Mmm-hmmm.”
Satisfactionstreaksthroughme,eggingmeon,makingmeevenmoredeterminedtosendhertopplingovertheedge.Iresumemytask.Sweet,languidstrokestoherclitwhilemyfingerinchesdeeperanddeeper,untilit’sfinallylodgedinsideher.She’stight.Reallytight.Andwet.God.Reallywet.
Andifshedoesn’tcomesoon,mypantsareabouttogetwettoo,becauseI’msoclosetoexplodingthat—
“I’mcoming,”shemoans.
Andhellyes,sheis.Herclitpulsesagainstmytongueasherpussysqueezesmyfingerlikeasteelglove.She’snotascreamer.Notmuchofamoanereither,butthebreathysoundsthatleavehermoutharehotterthananypornstarnoisesI’veeverheard.
Irideouttheorgasmwithher,strokingherinnerchannelandsuckingonherclitassheshuddersquietlyonthebed.Severalsecondslater,shestartstolaugh,squirmingasshetriestomoveoutofmygrasp.
“Toosensitive,”shechokesout.
Iliftmyheadwithagrin.“Sorry.”
“OhmyGod,youarenotallowedtosaythatrightnow.Notafter…”Shesucksinabreath.“Thatwas…amazing.”She’sslowtositup,hereyeshazywithpleasure.“Ihavenoideawhatelsetosay.Thankyou?”
Laughterbubblesinmythroat.“You’rewelcome?”
MylegsfeelunusuallyweakasIstandup.I’mstillridiculouslyhard,butthealarmclockonthenighttablerevealsIhaveexactlyelevenminutestotrekovertothelibrary.Underanyothercircumstances,Iwouldn’tcareaboutbeinglate,butthisisthelaststudygroupbeforetomorrow’smarketingfinal,andIcan’taffordtomissit.I’malreadygoingintotheexamwithaDinthecourse,sofailingtheclassisbothascarypossibilityandanoutcomeIrefusetolethappen.Thecourseisaprerequisiteformydegree,andIhavenodesiretoretakeitnextyear.
“IneedtogoorI’llbelateforstudygroup.”Imeethereyes.“CanIgetyournumber?”
“Oh.Um…”
Herhesitationsparksapangofanxiety.OneoftheraretimesIaskforagirl’snumberandshe’suncertainaboutdolingitout?AfterIrockedherworld?
Jesus.Ismygameslipping?
Iraiseabrow,myvoicetakingonanoteofchallenge.“Unlessyoudon’twanttogiveittome?”
“No.Imean,yes,Ido.”Shebitesherbottomlip.“Doyouwantitnow?”
IforcealaughthatIhopesoundsflirtyratherthannervous.“Nowwouldbegood.”Igrabmyphonefrommybackpocketandopenanewcontactpage.“Hitme.”
Sherattlesoffaseriesofnumbers.SofastIhavetomakeherstopandrepeatit.Itypeinhernameandpressenter,thentuckthephoneaway.“Maybewecanhangoutagainsometime?WecouldwatchthenextDieHardinthelineup…”
“Yeah,sure.Thatsoundsgreat.”
Seriously?Another“yeah,sure”?
Whatthehelldoesittaketogetan“I’DLOVETO!”fromthischick?
“Okay.Cool.”Igulp.“IguessI’llcallyou,then.”
Shedoesn’tsayanything,andintheensuingsilence,I’movercomewithawaveofdiscomfort.
ThenIdipdownanddothestupidestthingever.Whichsaysalot,becauseI’vedabbledinmyshareofstupidityovertheyears.
Ikissherforehead.
Notherlips.Nothercheek.Herfuckingforehead
Realsmooth,bro
Shelooksupatmeinamusement,butIdon’tgiveherthechancetocommentonmydumbassmove.
“I’llcallyou,”Imumble.
Andforthesecondtimeinthreedays,IleaveGrace’sdormfeelinglikeajackass.
*
Grace
Mypsychologylectureisthreehourslong,andIcanhonestlysayIdidn’thearawordtheprofessorsaid.Notonesingleword.
Foronehundredandeightyminutes,allIdidwasrunthrougheveryincrediblesecondofeveryincrediblethingLogandidtomethismorning.
Canyounominateanyoneforsainthood,orarethereeligibilityrequirements?
Canyounominatesomeone’stongueforsainthood?Ormaybethere’sanorgasm-givingawardthattheDepartmentofSexualityhandsout?
Ifso,Logandeservestowinit.
I’mstillflummoxedthatheshowedupatmydoorandprettymuchdemandedIlethimgivemeanorgasm.IguesshisegoisassensitiveasthatCosmoarticlesaiditwouldbe,butyouknowwhat?Ifounditkindofcharming.AndoddlysatisfyingthatsomeoneasconfidentasJohnLoganwasactuallydoubtinghissexualprowess.
It’sfunny.LessthanaweekagoIwasbemoaningthelackofexcitementinmylife,andnowlookatme—sexyhockeyplayersshowingupatmydoortoexcitethehelloutofme.
Fuckit.I’mgivingmyselftheaward.
LogancontinuestodominatemythoughtsasImeetRamonaandthegirlsforlunch,joiningthematourusualtableagainstthebackwallofthecavernousdininghall.
CarverHallismyfavoriteplaceoncampus.Whoeverconstructeditmustnothavepaidattentiontotherestofthebuildingsoncampus,though,becauseCarverhasarusticchalet-stylefeeltoit.Highceilings,woodpaneledwalls,andornatelightfixturesthatcastasoftyellowglowovertheroominsteadofthefluorescentlightingyoufindintheothermealhalls.Andit’sonlytwominutesfrommydorm,whichmeansIgettobaskinitssplendoronadailybasis.
IsetmytrayonthetableandpopopenthetabofmyrootbeerasIsitinanemptychair.“Hey,”Igreeteveryone.“Whatarewetalkingabout?”
Ramona,Jess,andMayainstantlyclamup,theirexpressionstakingonsecretivegleamsthattellmepreciselywhattheyweretalkingabout.
Me
Inarrowmyeyes.“What’sgoingon?”
Ramonaglancesoversheepishly.“Okay,sodon’tbemad…butItoldthemaboutLogan.”
Annoyancespiralsthroughme,butit’smostlydirectedatmyself.Idon’tknowwhyIbothertellingRamonaprivatethingsanymore.Askinghertokeepasecretislikethrowingaballandaskingadognottochaseit.Well,Ithrewthedamnball,andnowRamona’sscamperingbackwithit.AndthisyearshehappenedtomeetandbecomeBFFswithtwogirlswhogossipevenmorethanshedoes.JessandMayaspendsomuchtimedissectingotherpeople’slivestheyshouldcreateawebsiteandgivePerezHiltonsomecompetition.
“Soisittrue?”Jessdemands.“Didyouseriouslyhookupwithhim?”
IfeeluncomfortablediscussingLoganwiththem,butIknowthesegirls,andtheywon’tletupuntilIgivethemsomething.Tryingtoappearcasual,Itwirlsomefettuccinearoundmyforkandtakeabite.ThenIglanceatJessandsay,“Yep.”
“That’sit?Yep?”Shelooksaghast.“That’sallyou’regoingtosay?”
“Itoldyouguys,she’sbeingsuperhush-hushaboutit.”Ramonagrins.“ObviouslyweneedtoremindGraceaboutthenumberoneruleoffriendship.AKAnotskimpingondetailswhenyoumadeoutwiththehottestguyoncampus.”
Ichewmypasta.“Idon’tkissandtell.”
Mayaspeaksup,amockingnoteinhervoice.“Youknow,consideringthecompletelackofdetails,onemightthinkitdidn’tevenhappenatall.”
Onemightthink?
MyheadswivelstowardRamona.Unbelievable.Isshespreadingthataroundnow?LettingpeoplebelieveI’msomecrazypathologicalliar?
Ramonaisquicktodefendherselfagainstmyunspokenaccusation.“Hey,weclearedthatup,remember?Itotallybelievethatyoufooledaroundwithhim,babe.”
“Twice.”TheconfessionslipsoutbeforeIcanstopit.Damnit.
Ramona’sjawfallsopen.“Whatyoumeantwice?”
Ishrug.“Hecameoveragainthismorning.”
Thatgetsmetwogasps,followedbytwohigh-pitchedsqueals—fromJessandMaya.Ramonaremainsstrangelyquiet,butwhenIstudyherexpression,it’simpossibletodecipher.
“OhmyGod.Hedid?”Jessexclaims
“Whenwasthis?”Ramonaasks.
Hertoneiswaytoopolitetonotraisemyhackles.“Rightafteryouleftforclass.Hedidn’tstaylong,though.”
Herdarkeyesstayshuttered.“Didyouatleastgethisnumberthistime?”
“No,”Iadmit.“Buthehasminenow.”
“Soyoustillhavenowayofreachinghim.”It’snotaquestion.It’snotevenaparticularlypleasantstatement.There’sanedgetohervoice,andwhenIglanceacrossthetable,there’snomissingthesmirkonMaya’sface.
Theydon’tbelieveme.
Ramonacandenyituntilshe’sblueinthefaceandbackpedaluntilshe’sinanotherstate,butmybestfriendstillthinksI’mmakingitup.Andnowshe’srecruitingourfriendsintodoubtingmetoo.
Ourfriends?
Thescornfulvoiceraisesagoodpoint,andasIthinkitover,Isuddenlycan’tthinkofasinglepersonI’vehungoutwiththisyearthatRamonadidn’tintroducemeto.TheonetimeIinvitedafewgirlsfrommyEnglishLitclasstocomeover,Ramonalaughedandchattedwiththemallnight,toldthemwhatafabuloustimeshehad,andthen,aftertheyleft,informedmetheywereboringandthatIwasn’tallowedtobringthemoverwhenshewasaround.
Damnit,whydoIletherdictatemylifelikethat?Itolerateditinhighschoolbecause…hell,Idon’tevenknowwhyItoleratedit.Butwe’renotinhighschoolanymore.Thisiscollege,andIshouldbeabletospendtimewithwhoeverIwantwithoutworryingaboutwhatRamonawillthinkaboutthem.
“No,”Ianswerthroughclenchedteeth.“Ihavenowayofreachinghim.Butdon’tworry,I’msuremyimaginaryhook-uppartnerwillgetintouchwithmesoonerorlater.”
Shefrowns.“Grace—”
“I’mheadingbacktothedormtoworkonmypaper.”Myappetitehasdisappeared.Ipickupmyhalf-eatendinnertrayandrisetomyfeet.“I’llseeyoulater.”
MaybeI’mnaive,butIthoughtcollegewouldbedifferent.Ithoughtallthegossipingandbackstabbingandbullshitceasedtoexistonceyoulefthighschool,butIguessmeangirlscanbefoundatanyleveloftheeducationsystem.It’slikevisitingafarm—ifyougotherenotexpectingtoseepilesofcowshiteverywhere,thenyou’reinforarudeawakening.Andthere’sagoodSATquestionforyou.SCHOOListoMEANGIRLSasFARMSareto_______.
Shit.Theanswertothatisshit
RamonacatchesuptomethemomentIburstoutside,herheelsclickingonthelimestoneentranceasshehurriestowardme.
“Grace,wait.”
MyjawtensesasIturnaround.“Whatnow?”
Paniclightshereyes.“Pleasedon’tbepissedatme.Ihateitwhenyou’repissedatme.”
“Gee,I’msosorryyou’reupset,Ramona.WhatcanIdotomakeyoufeelbetter?”
Herbottomlipquivers.“Youdon’thavetobesarcastic.Icameoutheretoapologize.”
Forfuck’ssake,ifshelaunchesintoherwholecrocodile-tearsact,Imightactuallylosemyshit.
“I’mnothavingthisconversationwithyouagain,”Isayinacoldvoice.“Idon’tcareifyouthinkI’mlying.IknowI’mnot,andthat’sallthatmatterstome,okay?JustknowthatIfinditincrediblyinsultingthatmybestfriendsinceIwassixyearsoldbelievesI—”
“I’mjealous,”sheblurtsout.
Istoptalking.“What?”
Herfacecollapsesasourgazeslock.Shelowershervoice,thenrepeatsherself.“I’mjealous,allright?”
Hellmusthavefrozenover.There’snootherexplanationforwhatI’mhearing.Becauseinthirteenyearsoffriendship,Ramonahasneveradmittedtobeingjealousofme.
“I’vebeentryingtogetwithDeanallyear,”shelaments.“Allfuckingyearandhedoesn’tknowIexist,andyoujusthookupwithhisbestfriendwithouteventrying.”Anoddlyvulnerablelooksoftensherfeatures.“I’vebeenactinglikeatotalbitchandI’msosorry.IwasinsecureandItookitoutonyouandthatwasn’tfair,butpleasedon’tbeangrywithme.It’syourbirthdayonWednesday.Iwanttocelebratewithyou,andIwantustobegoodagain,andI—”
Iinterruptwithasigh.“We’regood,Ramona.”
“Weare?”
TheangerthathadbeenflowingsofreelythroughmyveinsdissipatesasIglimpseherhopefulexpression.ThisistheRamonaIinvestedthirteenyearsofmylifefor.Thegirlwholistenedtomebabbleforhoursaboutmyhighschoolcrushes,whobroughtmyassignmentshomewheneverIwassick,whotaughtmehowtoputonmakeup,andthreatenedtokicktheassofanyonewhosomuchaslookedatmethewrongway.Shemightbeself-absorbedandshallowattimes,butshe’salsofiercelyloyalandunbelievablykindwhenshedropsthatbadgirlbitchact.
AllthebullshitwithJessandMayabacktherestillstings,butIcan’tbringmyselftothrowawayyears’worthoffriendshipoversomethingsotrivial.
“We’regood,”Iassureher.“Ipromise.”
Abrilliantsmilefillsherface.“Good.”Sheflingsherarmsaroundmywaistandbear-hugsthehelloutofme.“Nowlet’sgohomesoyoucantellmeeverydirtythingJohnLogandidtoyouthismorning.Inexplicitdetail.”8
Logan
IdrivetoMunsenonWednesdaymorning,myenthusiasmlevelsittingfirmlyonitsusualspotonthesuper-happy-fun-timescale:zero.
It’srarethatI’mforcedgohomeduringtheschoolyear,butsometimesIhavenochoice.Usuallyithappensifthepart-timemechanicatmydad’sshopcan’tcoverforJeffwhenhetakesDadtohisdoctor’sappointments.Todayisoneofthoseinstances,butIassuremyselfthatIcanhandleacouplehoursofoilchangesandtune-upswithoutlosingmymind.
Besides,it’llbeagoodwarm-upforthesummer.ItendtoforgethowmuchIhateworkinginthegarage,soonthatfirstdayback,it’slikebeingsenttothefrontlinesofawarzone.Mystomachdropsandfearpummelsintome,asIrealizethatthiswillbemylifeforthenextthreemonths.AtleastifIdipmytoesintoday,Icangetsomeofthepanicoutoftheway.
Jeff’svanisalreadygonewhenIparkmypickupinfrontofLoganandSonsAutoRepair.Thenameiskindofironic,seeingastheshopwasalreadycalledthatlongbeforemyparentseverhadkids.Mygranddadrantheplacebeforemydadtookover,andIguesshe’dbeenhopingtosirealotofstrappingmaleoffspring.Heonlysiredone,though,sotechnicallytheplaceshouldbecalledLoganandSon
Theshopconsistsofonesmall,brickbuilding,theinteriorofwhichonlyhasroomfortwolifts.Butthemeagersquarefootagedoesn’treallyimpactthebusinesssinceit’snotexactlybooming.L&Sdoeswellenoughtocoverexpenses,mydad’sbills,andthemortgageonourbungalow,whichsitsatthebackoftheproperty.Growingup,Ihatedthatourhousewassoclosetotheshop.Weusedtogetwokenupinthemiddleofthenightbycustomerspoundingonourdoorbecausetheircarbrokedownnearby,orbyphonecallsfromthetowtruckcompanysayingtheywerebringingoveravehicle.
Sincemydad’saccident,thecloseproximityhasactuallybecomeconvenient,becauseitmeanshecangetfromhometoworkinlessthanaminute.
Notthathespendsmuchtimeinthegarageanymore.Jeffistheonewhodoesallthework,whileDaddrinkshimselfstupidonthelivingroomrecliner.
Iwalkuptothedentedmetaldoor,whichisshutandlocked.Alinedpieceofpaperstickstoitwithajaggedstripofducttape,andIinstantlyrecognizemybrother’shandwriting.
YOU’RELATE.
Twowords,allcaps.Shit,Jeffwaspissed.
Iusemysetofkeystounlockthesidedoor,thenstepinsideandhitthebuttonthatsendsthehugemechanicaldoorsoaringupward.It’sstillcoldout,butIalwayskeepthedooropen,nomatterhowfrigidtheweatheris.It’smyonerequirementforworkinghere.Afterawhile,theoverpoweringodorofoilandcarexhaustmakesmewanttokillmyself.
Jeffhasleftmealistoftasks,butluckily,it’snottoolong.TheoldermodelBuickparkedontheconcreteneedsanoilchangeandaheadlightreplaced.Easypeasy.IthrowonabluejumpsuitwiththeL&Slogoontheback,turntheradiodialtothefirstmetalstationIfind,andgetrighttowork.
AnhourpassesbeforeItakemyfirstbreak.Ichugwaterfromthesinkintheoffice,thenpopoutsideforaquickcigarette.
I’vejustsnubbedthebuttoutbeneathmysteel-toedbootwhenthesoundofanenginehumsinthedistance.MychesttightenswhenIglimpsethefrontbumperofmybrother’swhitevanslicingthroughthetreesthatlinethelongdriveway.
Likeacoward,IduckbackinsideandracetotheraisedhoodoftheBuick.Ibendoverandpretendtogivetheengineaspotcheck,whilealsopretendingI’mtoofocusedonmyworktonoticethecardoorsslammingandmydad’sharshvoiceashesnapssomethingatmybrother.Iheartwosetsoffootsteps,oneslowandlaborious,leadingawayfromthedirtdriveway,theotherafastangrythumpasJeffstormsintothegarage.
“Youcouldn’tcomeoverandsayhellotohim?”myolderbrotherdemandsirritably.
Istraightenupandclosethehood.“Sorry,Iwasfinishingup.I’llstopbythehousebeforeIgo.”
“Youbetter,becausehejustgavemeshitforit,andI’mnoteventheonewhodidn’tsayhello!”Jeff’sdarkeyebrowsdrawtogetherinadispleasedfrown.Helookslikehewantstolecturemesomemore,soIspeedilychangethesubjectbeforehecan.
“Sowhatdidthedoctorsay?”
Jeffrespondsinaflatvoice.“Heneedstostopdrinkingorhe’sgoingtodie.”
Ican’thelpbutsnort.“Fatchanceofhimstopping.”
“Ofcoursehewon’tstop.He’sdrinkingtodie.”Jeffangrilyshakeshishead.“Beforetheaccident,itwasanaddiction.NowIthinkit’sapurpose.”
Jesus.I’veneverheardamoredepressingassessmentinmylife.
Ican’targue,though.Theaccidentreallywasthegame-changer—ithadpushedmydadrightoffthewagonandprettymucherasedallthoseyearsofsobriety.Goodyears,damnit.Threewholeyearsofhavingafatheragain.
WhenIwasfourteen,Dad’slateststintinrehabhadmiraculouslystuck.He’dbeensoberforanentireyearbeforeMomleft,whichwastheonlyreasonsheagreedtoletusstaywithhim.Duringthedivorce,wehadachoiceaboutwhichparenttolivewith,andsinceJeffdidn’twanttochangeschoolsandrefusedtoleavehisgirlfriend,hechosetostaywithourdad.AndIchosetostaywithmyolderbrother.NotonlybecauseIidolizedhim,butbecausewhenwewerelittle,thetwoofusmadeapromisetoalwayswatcheachother’sbacks.
Dadhadstayedsoberfortwomoreyearsafterthat,butIguesstheuniversedecidedthattheLoganfamilywasn’tallowedtobehappy,becausewhenIwassixteen,myfatherwasinvolvedinamassivecaraccidentonhiswaybackfromdroppingusoffinBostontoseeourmom.
Bothhislegswerecrushed.AndImeancrushed—hewasluckytoescapewithoutbeingparalyzed.Hewasinashittonofpain,butthedoctorswerehesitanttoprescribepainkillerstoamanwithadestructivehistoryofaddiction.Theysaidheneededtobemonitoredtwenty-four/seven,soJeffleftcollegetocomehomeandhelpmetakecareofhim.Mom’snewhusbandofferedtotakeoutaloaninordertohiresomeonetocareforDad,butweassuredDavidthatwecouldhandleit.Becauseatthetime,wehonestlybelievedwecould.Dad’slegswouldheal,andifhewenttophysicaltherapylikethedoctorshadinstructed,thenhemightbeabletowalknormallyoneday.
Butagain,theuniversehadanotherfuckyoufortheLogans.Dadwasinsomuchagonythatheturnedtodrinkingtonumbthepain.Healsodidn’tfinishhisPT,whichmeanshislegsdidn’thealthewaytheyweresupposedto.
Sonowhehasabadlimp,constantpain,andtwosonswhohaveresignedthemselvestothefactthatthey’llbetakingcareofhimuntilthedayhedies.
“Whatdowedo?”Iaskgrimly.
“Samethingwe’vealwaysdone.Wemanupandtakecareofourfamily.”
Frustrationtwistsmygut,tanglingwiththepretzelofguiltalreadylodgedthere.Whyisitourjobtosacrificeeverythingforhim?
Becausehe’syourfatherandhe’ssick.
Becauseyourmotherhadtodoitforfourteenyearsandnowit’syourturn
Anotherthoughtbubblestothesurface,oneI’vehadbefore,andwhichmakesmewanttothrowupeverytimeitentersmymind.
Thingswouldbesomucheasierifhedied.
Asbileburnsmythroat,Ibanishtheselfish,disgustingnotion.Idon’twanthimtodie.Hemightbeamess,hemightbeadrunkandanassholesometimes,buthe’sstillmyfather,damnit.He’sthemanwhodrovemetohockeypractice,rainorshine.Whohelpedmememorizemymultiplicationtablesandtaughtmehowtotiemyshoes.
Whenhewassober,hewasareallygooddad,andthatjustmakesthiswholesituationsomuchfuckingworse.BecauseIcan’thatehim.Idon’thatehim.
“Listen,I’vebeenthinking…”Itrailoff,tooafraidofJeff’sreaction.Coughing,Ifishanothercigaretteoutofthepackandheadforthedoor.“Let’stalkoutsideforasec.”
Amomentlater,Itakeadeepdragofmysmoke,hopingthenicotinewillbringmeamuch-neededdoseofconfidence.Jeffeyesmeindisapprovalbeforereleasingadefeatedsigh.
“Givemeoneofthose.”
Ashelightsup,Iexhaleacloudofsmokeandforcemyselftocontinue.“I’vehadsomeinterestfromanagentinNewYork.Thisreallybigsportsagent.”Ihesitate.“HethinksI’llhavenotroublesigningwithateamifItestoutfreeagency.”
Jeff’sfeaturesinstantlyharden.
“Thatcouldmeanadecentsigningbonus.Andacontract.Money,Jeff.”Desperationtightensmythroat.“Wecouldhiresomeoneelsetorunthegarage,afull-timenurseforDad.Maybeevenpayoffthehouseifthecontractisbigenough.”
Mybrotherbarksoutaderisivelaugh.“Howbigofacontractdoyouthinkyou’llactuallyland,John?Let’sbeserioushere.”Heshakeshishead.“Look,wetalkedaboutthis.Ifyouwantedtogopro,youshould’vegonetheMajorJuniorroute.Butyouwantedthecollegedegree.Youcan’thaveitbothways.”
Yeah,Ididchoosethedegree.BecauseIknewdamnwellthatifIpickedthealternative,I’dneverleavetheleague,andthatwouldmeanscrewingovermybrother.Theywould’vehadtoprythathockeystickoutofmycolddeadhandstostopmefromplaying.
ButnowthatthetimeforJeffandmetotradeplacesisdrawingnear,I’mterrified.
“Itcouldbealotofmoney,”Imumble,butmyfeebleattempttoconvincehimdoesn’twork—Jeffisalreadyshakinghishead.
“Noway,Johnny.Wehadadeal.Evenifyousignedwithateam,youwouldn’tgetallthatmoneyupfront,anditwouldtaketimetogeteverythinghereinorder.Idon’thavetime,okay?Thesecondtheyslapthatdiplomainyourhand,I’moutofhere.”
“Oh,comeon.Youexpectmetobelieveyou’rejustgoingtoskiptownatthedropofahat?”
“KylieandIareleavingforEuropenextMay,”Jeffsaysquietly.“We’llbegonethedayafteryourgraduation.”
Surpriseslamsintome.“Sincewhen?”
“We’vebeenplanningthisforalongtime.Ialreadytoldyou—wewanttotravelforacoupleofyearsbeforewegetmarried.AndthenwewanttospendsometimeinBostonbeforewelookforaplaceinHastings.”
Mypanicintensifies.“Butthat’sstillyourplan,right?LivinginHastingsandworkinghere?”
Thatwasthedealwe’dstruckafterIgraduatedhighschool.JeffmansthefortwhileI’mincollege,andthenItakeoverforafewyearsbeforeheandhisfiancéesettledowninthisarea,atwhichpointhe’llruntheshopagainandI’llbefree.
Granted,I’llalsobetwenty-fivebythen,andtheoddsofplayingprofessionalhockeywon’tbeasfavorable.Yeah,ImightlandintheAHLsomewhere,butIdon’tknowhowmanyNHLteamswouldbeinterestedintakingmeonatthatpoint.
“It’sstilltheplan,”heassuresme.“Kyliewantstoliveinasmalltownandraiseourkidshere.AndIlikebeingamechanic.”
Well,thatmakesoneofus.
“Idon’tmindtakingcareofDad,either.I…”Hebreathesheavily.“Ijustneedabreak,okay?”
Mythroathasclampedshut,soIsettleforanod.ThenIputoutmysmokeandforceasmile,finallyfindingmyvoice.“Istillneedtochangethatheadlight.Bettergetbacktoit.”
Wewalkinside,JeffheadingfortheofficewhileIwanderbacktotheBuick.
Fifteenminuteslater,Ihangupmycoverallsononeofthehooksonthewall,calloutahastygoodbye,andpracticallysprinttomypickup.
Hopinglikehellmybrotherdoesn’trealizeIdidn’tsayhellotoourfather.9
Logan
AllIwanttodotonightissprawlonthecouchandwatchthefirstplayoffsgameoftheseason.Idon’tevencarethatBostonisn’tplaying—I’llwatchanygameyouputinfrontofmeduringthepost-season.Nothinggetsyourbloodgoingandheartracingmorethanplayoffshockey
Dean,however,hasotherplans.HewaitsformeinthehallwhenIleavethebathroomaftermyshower,hisgreeneyesnarrowedinimpatience.“JesusChrist,bro,whatthehellwereyoudoinginthere?Shavingyourlegs?Thirteen-year-oldgirlstakeshortershowersthanthat!”
“Iwasliterallyinthereforfiveminutes.”
Ibrushpasthimandduckintomybedroom,buthefollowsmein.Nosenseofboundaries,thisone.
“Hurryupandgetdressed.We’regoingtoamovieandIdon’twanttomissthepreviews.”
Istareathim.“Areyouaskingmeoutonadate?”
Thatgetsmeamiddlefinger.“Youwish.”
“No,youwish?apparently.”Igrabapairofboxersfromthetopdrawerandshoothimapointedlook.“Doyoumind?”
“Seriously?I’veseenyourcockhundredsoftimesinthelockerroom.Getdressedalready.”Hefoldshisarmsoverhischestandtapshisfoot.
“Goaway.I’mwatchingtheRedWingsgametonight.”
“Aw,comeon,youdon’tevenlikeDetroit.Andit’shalf-priceticketnightatthetheater—I’vebeenwaitinglikeaweektoseethisStathammoviejustsowecouldgotonight.”
NowI’mgapingathim,becauseisheforreal?“Hey,asshole,you’refilthyrich.Ifanyoneshouldbepayingfullpriceformovietickets,it’syou.”
“Iwasbeingnice,asshole.Waitingforthecheapdaysoyou’dbeabletoaffordit.”Thenheflasheshistrademarkgrin,theonethatmakeschicksdroptheirpantiesanddiveontohisdick.
“Don’tgivemeyoursexgrin.It’screepingmeout.”
Hismouthstaysfrozeninthesex-grinposition.“I’llstopsmilinglikethisifyouagreetobemydatetonight.”
“You’rethemostannoyingpers—”
Thegrinwidens,andheeventhrowsalittlewinkinthere.
Tenminuteslater,we’reoutthedoor.
ThemovietheaterinHastingsonlyhasthreescreensandcarriesonenewreleaseaweek,whichreallylimitstheselection.LuckilyforDean,theJasonStathammoviehe’sgotahard-onforisplayingthere.Dean’sahugeStathamfan.IfsomeonetoldmehestandsinfrontofhismirrorspeakinginaBritishaccentandpretendstotransportthingsaroundhisbedroom?I’dbuyit.
I’mstillnotinthemoodtoseeamovie,butafterDeantwistedmyarm,Irealizedthatgettingoutofthehousemightnotbetheworstidea.HannahusuallycomesbyafterworkonWednesdays,sohopefullysheandGarrettwillalreadybeasleepbythetimeDeanandIgethome.Andyes,Iknowherworkschedule,sadpatheticloserthatIam.
Onthebrightside,Ihaven’tbeenobsessingoverherasmuchasusual.ThepersonwhomonopolizedmythoughtsallweekendwasnotHannah,butGrace.Christ,anddon’tgetmestartedonMonday’soralspectacular.WhenIjerkedofflastnight,itwastothememoryofGrace’sfirm,creamythighsandhot,tight—
“Logan.Hey.”
IblinkinconfusionasGraceentersmylineofvision.Forasecond,Iwonderifmydirtymindsomehowconjureduptheimageofher,butnope.She’sactuallyhere,standingfivefeetfromtheboxoffice.
“Hey,”Igreether.
Shesmiles,tuckingastrandofhairbehindherear.She’sinatightsweater,blackyogapants,andanunzippedbluewindbreaker,lookinglikeshesteppedoffthepagesofanAbercrombie&Fitchcatalogue.Ikindoflikethewholecomfy-but-hotlookshehasgoingon.
Ihearasoftahemandnoticethere’ssomeonestandingbesideher.Acurvy,raven-hairedgirlinabrownleatherskirtandfuzzyredtop.Andshe’sgapingatme.Like,jaw-scraping-the-floorgaping.
Someonepokesmefrombehind.“Dude,”Deansaysirritably.“Sticktotheplan.You,tickets.Me,popcorn.”
Ithrustoutthetwenty-dollarbillinmyhand.“Changeofplans.I’llgrabthesnacks.”
Herollshiseyes,thensparesanadmiringglanceatGrace’sfriend’stitsbeforeamblingofftograbthetickets.
“Whatareyouguysheretosee?”IaskGrace.
Shegrins.“Whatdoyouthink?”SheholdsuptwoticketsandIchucklewhenIglimpsethetitleoftheStathammovie.
Ofcourse.Iforgotwhatanactionnutsheis.
“That’swhatwe’rewatchingtoo.Weshouldallsittogether.”
Herfriendmakesanothersqueakynoise.Actually,it’smoreofagasp,withabitofawheezethrowninthere.There’salotgoingoninthatonelittlesound.
Gracegesturestoherfriend.“ThisisRamona.Ramona,thisisLogan.”
Thefriendlooksmeupanddown.“Iknowwhoheis.”
Aw,hell.I’veseenthatlookbefore.Many,manytimes,onthefacesofmany,manywomen.Asifshe’spicturingmenakedandinsideher.
ToobadI’mnotinterestedinfulfillingthatfantasy.I’mwhollyfocusedonGrace,andtheparadeofwickedimagesflashingthroughmymind.Likethewayhereyesglazedoverwhenmytonguefirsttouchedherclit.Andthebreathynoisesshemadewhenshecame.And—
“It’sGrace’sbirthday,”thefriendannounces.
Grace’sfeaturescreaseindiscomfort.“Ramona.”
“Shit,itis?”Igrinather.“Happybirthday,gorgeous.”
Idon’tmissthewayherfriend’sjawslackensagain,orhowGraceshiftsinvisibleembarrassment.
“Thanks.”Herbottomlipjutsoutglumly.“I’mnineteentoday.Gome.”
Isnicker.“Itakeityou’renotabirthdayperson?”
“Absolutelynot.Mymotherscarredmeforlife.”
Herfriendsuddenlysnorts.“Hey,remembertheyearatthespringfair?Whenyourmomcrashedthestageduringthatfolkband’ssetandperformedabirthdayrapforyou?”
“YoumeandoIrememberthedayIresearchedhowtoemancipatemyselffrommyparents?”Gracerepliesinadryvoice.“Vividly.”
Ramonashootsmeaconspiratoriallook.“Iwantedtoinvitesomepeopleovertothedormtocelebrate,butshethreatenedtocutoffbothmyarmsandfeedthemtomeifIdid.Sowecompromisedbygoingtothemovies.”
We’reinterruptedbyDean,whofrownswhenheseesmyemptyhands.“Forfuck’ssake,doIhavetodoeverything?”Then,asifrememberinghe’sinthepresenceoftwoveryprettygirls,hebreaksoutinagrin.“Also,areyougonnaintroducemeorwhat?”
“ThisisGraceand—”Shit,I’vealreadyforgottenthefriend’sname.
“Ramona,”shesupplies,andthathungrygazefixatesonDeannow.
Shecanoglehimasmuchasshewants,butIcanprettymuchguaranteethatthemomenthefindsoutshe’safreshman,Deanwon’tbeoglingherback.
Forallhismanwhoring,theguyhasastrictruleaboutnotdoingfreshmen.I’mnotsureIblamehim,consideringourlittlestalkerincidentatthestartoftheyear.Deanhadhookedupwithafreshman,who,afteronenightofexquisitepassion,decidedtheyweremadlyinlove.Shethenproceededtoshowupatourhouseatallhoursofthedayandnight,sometimeswearingclothes,othertimesnotwearingclothes,usuallyarmedwithflowersandlovelettersand—mypersonalfavorite—aframedphotoofherselfwearingDean’shockeyjersey.
SometimeswhenI’mfallingasleep,IcanstillhearherwailingDeeeeeeeeeanoutsidemywindow.
Needlesstosay,Dean’savoidedtheyoungoneseversince.Hecallsthemleveltenclingers.
ThefourofusstopattheconcessionscountersoDeancangethispopcorn,andafewminuteslater,weenterthedarktheater,wherethepreviewshavejuststarted.Theauditoriumispacked.There’sabetterchanceofJasonStathamhimselfshowinguptooffercommentaryonthemoviethanofusfindingfourseatstogether.ButfromwhereIstand,Ispotseveralavailabletwo-seatblocks.
Thegirlsarewalkingaheadofus,soIleanclosertoDeanandmurmur,“Mindifwesplitup?IwanttositwithGrace.It’sherbirthday.”
HisgazerestsonRamona’sundeniablygreatass.“Icanlivewiththat.”
BothGraceandRamonanodinagreementwhenIsuggestsittingseparately.RamonainstantlylinksherarmthroughDean’sandwhisperssomethinginhisearthatmakeshimchuckle,andthentheyshuffleforwardinthedarktolookforseats.
GraceandIdothesame.Wefindtwoemptyspotshalfwayuptheauditorium,rightontheaisle,andoncewe’resettled,sheslidesclosertowhisper,“AreyousureyourfriendisokaysittingwithRamona?Becauseshe’sabsolutelygoingtohitonhimthewholetime.”
Herlipsarepracticallyonmyear,andshesmellsincredible.Ican’tnamefloweryscentstosavemylife,buthersissweetandgirly,andwhensherunsahandthroughherhair,awhiffofitfloatsintomynostrils.
“Don’tworry.Deancanhandlehimself,”Iwhisperbackwithagrin.
Weturntothescreen,whichisshowingapreviewthatinstantlycaptivatesGrace.It’ssomeshoot-em-upexplosionpornwithbigstarsandevenbiggerguns,andherexcitedexpressionmakesmewanttokisshersofuckingbad.Herloveforactionmoviesisamajorturn-on.
BeforeIcanstopmyself,Ireachoutandtakeherhand.
Shejerksinsurprise,thenrelaxesandlooksoverwithasmilebeforerefocusingherattentiononthescreen.
Istillcan’tfigureherout.She’ssweet,butshedoesn’tcomeoffasnaive.Shegivesoffaninnocentvibe,butshealsoseemsincrediblysecurewithherself.Shedoesn’tbarragemewithquestionsorflirtupastorm.Hell,shehasn’tevenbroughtupthefactthatIplayhockey,whichisusuallythefirstthingchicksdowhenI’maround.
It’scrazyhowIhardlyknowathingabouther,yetIhadmyfacebetweenherlegsacoupledaysagoand—ohshit,nowI’mthinkingaboutherpussy.
Wonderful.AndnowIhaveabonerofmonstrousproportions.
Iclumsilyshiftinmyseat,resistingtheurgetoslidemyhanddownmypantsanddosomediscreetrearranging.Ormaybetoslidemyhanddownherpantsandgiveherabirthdaypresenttoremember.
Idoneither.Thesoundsofcrunchingpopcornandcrinklingcandywrappersechoallaroundus,ablatantreminderthatwe’resurroundedbypeople.Itrytoconcentrateontheopeningcreditsflashingonthescreen,buttenminutesintothemovie,andmyboner’sstillgoingstrong.
Howlongdoesanerectionhavetolastbeforeit’sconsideredbadnews?Threehours?Four?Nowaythismovieisthatlong,right?
God,Ifuckinghopenot.10
Grace
Forthefirsttimeinforever,I’mnotangrywithRamonaforpersuadingmetogooutonmybirthday.Iwantedtoavoidallthefanfarebysimplystayinghome,butshe’ddangledJasonStathamundermynoselikealittleBritishcarrot.We’vebeenfriendslongenoughthatRamonaknowsallmyweaknesses—andexploitsthematallcosts.
ButIoweherbigforusingStathamasabargainingchiptonight,otherwiseIwouldn’tbesittingnexttoLoganrightnow.
Withthatsaid,I’mstillnotsurehowIfeelabouthim.Hedidn’tmakethebestfirstimpressionwhenheracedoutofmydormthatfirstnight,butIcan’tdenythathissecondimpressionwasascreaming-orgasmsuccess.SoIguesshe’sgotacheckmarkinboththeprosandconscolumnsatthemoment.
Makethattwocheckmarksintheprosdepartment—becausehalfwaythroughthemovie,hekissesme.
Notapeck.Notalingeringcaressofhislips.It’sahot,tongue-tanglingkissthatmakesmyheartpoundharderandlouderthanthedeafeningexplosionsblastingfromthescreen.Ilosemyselfinit,inhim,intheskillfulstrokeofhistongueandthewarmthofhishandasitcurlsaroundthesideofmyneck.
Itisn’tuntilIhearchucklesfromtheguysontheothersideofmethatIrememberwhereweare.Iself-consciouslypullaway,andLogan’sheavy-liddedgazerestsonmymouth,whichiswetandswollenfromhiskisses.
Heleansincloser.“Onascaleofonetoten,howmuchwouldyoucareifyoumissedafewminutesofthemovie?”
Ithinkitover.“Two?”
“ThankGod.”
Hetugsmetomyfeet.Sincewe’reontheaisle,wedon’thavetoshufflepastanyone,thussparingourselvesandeveryonearoundusthatawful‘scuseme,sosorrydisruptionthatmoviegoershate.Stillholdinghands,wetiptoedownthesteps.IspotDeanandRamona’sheadsnearthefrontrow,butneitherofthemnoticesusmakingourescape.
“Wherearewegoing?”Iwhisper.
AllIgetinresponseisamischievoussmile.Heleadsmedownthedarkcorridortowardtheauditoriumdoors,butratherthangothroughthem,heveersleftandturnstheknobofadoorIhadn’tevenrealizedwasthere.
We’reinacloset.It’spitchblackandreeksofcleaningsupplies,butsuddenlyLogan’sbodypressesupagainstme,andallIcansmellishim.Igaspwhenhismouthcoversmine,becauseIdidn’tseethekisscoming.Ican’tseeanythingactually.ButIsureashellcanfeel.ThehardmusclesofLogan’scheststrainingbeneathhislong-sleeveshirt.Theseductivecoaxingofhistongueasitslipsthroughmypartedlipsandfillsmymouth.
Iwrapmyarmsaroundhisneckandeagerlyreturnthekiss.Inaheartbeat,hebacksmeintothewall,onemuscularthighthrustingbetweenmylegs.Theunexpectedcontacttriggersaninstantjoltofarousalthatspiralstomycore
Hekissesmelikehecan’tgetenough,suckingonmytonguelikeit’smadeofcandy.Thenhecupsmyassandyanksmecloser,grindingourlowerbodiestogether.
“IwishIcouldfuckyourighthere.”Hegrowlsthewordsagainstmyneckbeforesinkinghisteethintoit,bringingastingofpainthatheimmediatelysootheswithhistongue.
Ihadn’trealizedmyneckpossessedsomanysensitivenerveendings.I’monfire,everyinchofskinpricklingwithawareness,tinglingeachtimehislipstravelovermyfeverishflesh.
Myclitswells,aches,andthetensionbetweenmylegsgrowsandgrowsuntilI’mshamelesslygrindingagainsthisthighinadesperateattempttoeasetheache.I’veneverfooledaroundinpublicbefore,andthenotionthatanyonecouldwalkinandcatchusrightnowissothrillingthatmyhipsmovefaster,cravingmorefriction
“Ohfuck,keepdoingthat,baby,”hemutters.“Rubyourpussyagainstme.”
Oh.God.
Dirtytalkis…different.Andexciting.AndI’msoturnedonIcannolongerformulatecoherentthoughts.
Hekissesapathbacktomymouth,histongueplungingdeep,mimickingthemovementsofhiships.IfsomeonetoldmeaweekagothatJohnLoganwouldbedryhumpingmeinamovietheatercloset,Iwould’velaughedmyfoolheadoff
Buthereweare,andit’sfrickin’amazing.Myclitthrobseverytimetheseamofhisflypressesintoit,andeitherI’mcompletelymisinterpretingthewildtinglinginmycore,or…Imightactuallycomethisway.Fullyclothed,withnocontactotherthanhisthighrubbingmy…ohGod,yep,I’mabouttocome.
Adesperatenoisetearsoutofmymouth,butit’sinstantlyswallowedupbyanotherblisteringkissfromLogan,whosehipsrockharder,faster,untiltheknotofpleasureexplodesinarushofpureblissthatsweepsthroughme,buzzinginmyfingersandcurlingmytoes
Logan’sheadfallsinthecrookofmyneckandheletsoutalowgrunt.Breathinghardagainstmyskinashisentirebodytrembles.
“Fuck.Thatwassohot,”hegroansafewsecondslater.
Hisarmswraparoundme,holdingmetighttohisrock-hardchestaswebothrecover,ourbreathinglaboredandourheartbeatshammeringinunison.Afullminutepassesbeforehereleasesmeandtakesastepaway.
Myeyeshaveadjustedtothedarkness,andIseehimreachforastackofpapernapkinsonanearbyshelf.Hishanddipsinsidehispantsbeforecrumplingthenapkinandtossingitinthewastebasketbythedoor.
Thenhe’sback,hisvoicehuskyashebringshismouthtomyear.“Happybirthday.”
Istarttolaugh.Ihavenoideawhy,butthisentirehook-upwassosurrealthatIfindmyselfquakinginamusement,whichelicitsadeepchucklefromhim.
“Thankyou,”Ianswerbetweengiggles.
Hislipsgrazemineforonefleetingmoment,andthenhetakesmyhandandleadsmetothedoor.Hepausesinfrontofit,bowinggallantlybeforeholdingitopenforme.“Afteryou,gorgeous.”
Awhell.Thosethreewordsturnmyheartfromasolidtoaliquid.Awarm,gooeypileofmushinmychest.
Well,atleastI’vefiguredouthowIfeelabouthim.
IthinkImightbecrushingontheguy.Hard
*
Logan
Thenextevening,I’mbattlingTuckertothedeathinanintensegameofIceProwhenDeanwandersintothelivingroom,shirtlessandbarefoot.Herakesahandthroughhisspikyblondhairbeforesettlingonthearmchairnexttothecouch.
“Listen,Ineedtotalktoyouaboutthefreshman.”
“Whatfreshman?”Tuckervoicesthequestionevenashiseyesstaygluedtothescreen.
Minedotoo.“YoumeanGrace?”Isayabsently.
MyteamiskickingTuck’sass,probablybecausetheidiotrefusestoplayasanyoneotherthanDallas,who’sbeeneliminatedfromplayoffcontention,what,amillionyearsinarow?I,ofcourse,playexclusivelyasBoston,becausethat’stheteamIgrewupcheeringforandtheoneIenvisionedmyselfplayingforsomeday.
“Yes,ImeanGrace.Unlessthere’sanotherfreshmanyoutooktothemoviesandsuckedfacewiththewholetime?”Dean’sremarkoozessarcasm.
IpausethegametotakeasipofmyCoke.Yup,Coke.I’mstillmakinganefforttodialdownthepartying.Well,thatandmyfirstexamistomorrow,andIdon’twanttoshowuphung-over.
“Ididn’ttakehertothemovies,”Ianswer.“Weranintothemthere,remember?”
“Oh,Iremember.Ialsorememberthesuckingfacepart.Seriously,bro,everytimeIturnedaround,youweregoingatitlikepornstars.”
It’sagoodthingIhaven’ttoldhimwhatwedidinthecloset.He’dprobablyhaveafielddaywiththatone.
“Wait—you’regoingoutwithafreshman?”Tuck’sexpressionisunreadable,butI’mprettysureIhearachordofreliefinhisvoice.
“Naah,we’renotgoingout.”
“Good,”Deansays,noddingbriskly.“Thoseyoungerchicksbringwaytoomuchdramatothetable.”
Tuckersnickers.“Drama?Isthatwhatwe’recallingtheBethanyincidentnow?Becausethatwasn’tdrama,dude.Itwasstalking.”
“Itwasapainintheass,that’swhatitwas,”Deanmutters.“Andthankssomuchforremindingmeofit.NowI’mgoingtohavenightmarestonight.Jerk.”
Irollmyeyes.“Don’tworry,Graceisn’tlikethat.Nodramawhatsoeverwithher.”
WhichisoneofthereasonsI’msodrawntoher.She’sthemostuncomplicatedgirlI’veevermet.Plus,whenI’mwithher,Idon’tthinkaboutHannahatall,whichis—
Soyou’reusinghertonotthinkaboutHannah?
Theaccusationfliesintomyheadlikeahockeyteamontheoffensive.
No.OfcourseI’mnotusingher.
AmI?
No.That’scrazy.IgenuinelylikeGrace,andIfuckinglovehookingupwithher.
But…shedoeshappentobeagreatdistractionfromallthisHannahbullshit.
Agreatdistraction?
JesusChrist.I’msuchafuckingbastard.
Asguiltfloodsmystomach,IsuddenlycomprehendtheirrefutableshittinessofwhatI’vedone.Andinthatmoment,IrealizeIcan’tseeGraceagain.HowcanIwhenapartofmeviewsherasadistraction?WhenIstillexperiencethatawfulclenchinmyguteverytimeIseeGarrettandWellsytogether?WhenI’mstillconsumedwithenvyandanxietyandsomuchself-loathing?
I’dtextedGracemynumberearlierandwasplanningonaskingherifshewantedtohangouttomorrownight,butthere’snofuckingwayIcandothatnow.Imightbeanassholeforunintentionallyusingherasadiversion,butnowthatI’mconsciousofmyasshole-ness,Irefusetoletitcontinue.Itwouldn’tbefairtoGrace.
“Nodrama?”Deanechoes,joltingmefrommytroubledthoughts.“Yeah,sorrytobreakittoyou,butthedramatrainhasalreadyleftthestation.That’swhatIcamedownheretotellyou.”
Ifrown.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
“YouknowPiper?”
Tuckersnorts.“Didyoureallyjustaskthat?WeallknowPiper.”
Myfrowndeepens,becauseifPiperStevensisinvolvedinwhateverDean’sabouttotellme,thenitsureashellain’tgonnabegood.Piperisthepuckbunnyofallpuckbunnies.She’salsohotasfuck,whichiswhyhalftheguysontheteamhavesleptwithher.Which,bytheway,isanaccomplishmentshe’sincrediblyproudofandhappytoadvertise.
Ihavenoproblemwiththat,though.EverytimeIhearsomeonerefertoherasaslut,Ithreatenabeat-down,becausewhatthefuck?MostofthedudesIknowhavescrewedtheirwaythroughcollege,andnobodybatsaneyewhentheydoit.Sono,I’mnotabouttojudgePiperforherveryactivesexlife.
Nope,whatIhaveaproblemwithisthefactthatshe’satotalbitchwhospreadsnastyrumorsandgossipsmorethanaHollywoodtabloid.
“IwaschillingwithNikothisafternoonandhetoldmePiper’sbeensayingshitaboutyourfreshman,”Deansaysflatly.
Myspinestiffens.“What?”
“Yeah,apparentlyPiper’slittlesisterisfriendswithGrace,andIguessGracetoldheraboutthetwoofyouhookingup?Exceptforsomereason,thelittlesisterthinksshe’smakingitup?”
“Areyouaskingmeortelling?”Igrumble.
“Both?Idon’tknow.I’vegivenupontryingtounderstandthecomplexitiesofwomen.”
“Preachingtothechoir,”Tucksayssolemnly.
Deanmakesanexasperatednoiseinthebackofhisthroat.“AllIknowisthatPiper’sspreadingitaroundthatsomepatheticfreshmanislyingaboutdoingyou,whichisobviouslybullshitsinceIhadafrontrowseattoyourhook-uplastnight—youknow,whenyourtonguewasbobbingforapplesinthebackofherthroat?”
“ThetheaterwaspackedwithBriarstudents.Ifyousawus,thenI’msureotherpeopledidtoo.”
“Oh,theysawyou,dude.”
“ThenwhyisanyoneevenbuyingPiper’sbullshit?Iwasn’ttryingtohidethatweweregoingatit.”
“Hey,ifyousayshitwithconfidence,peoplearegoingtobelieveit.”Heshrugs.“Anyway,figuredyoushouldknowthatPiper’sbeingPiperagain.She’stweetingaboutittoo,Nikosaid.Shemadeupsomecattyhashtagaboutyourgirl.”
What?IsnatchmyphoneoffthecoffeetableandlaunchtheTwitterapp.“What’sthehashtag?”
“Noidea.I’msureyoucanfinditifyougoonPiper’saccount.”
IquicklytypePiper’snameinthesearchbox,clickonherprofile,andproceedtoskimthefirstdozenorsotweetsonthepage.Eachonecausestheangerinmyguttoburnandbubbleandsimmer,untilfinallyitboilsoverandsendsmestumblingtomyfeetinpureoutrage.
Ohhellno.11
Grace
Youknowthoseanxietydreamswhereyou’rewalkingdownthehallinhighschool,orgettinguponthestageofanauditoriumtogiveabigspeech—andyousuddenlyrealizeyou’rebucknakedandeveryoneisstaringatyou?Andthenallthosepairsofeyesgetbiggerandbiggeranditfeelslikehotlasersboringintoyourskin?
Iamcurrentlylivingthatdream.Sure,I’mfullyclothed,butdespiteRamona’snumerousassurancesthatnobodyisstaringatme,IknowI’mnotimaginingthecuriouslooksandknowingsmirksfrommyfellowstudents.
DamnMayaStevenstohell.Thatbitchdidtheimpossible—shemademeafraidofwalkingintoCarverHall,myfavoriteplaceoncampus.
It’sactuallyratherimpressivethatevenlimitedbyonehundredandfortycharacters,Maya’ssistermanagedtospinabeautifultaleofapitiful,woe-is-meheroinewhosefierceyearningforacertainhockeyplayerleadshertofabricateagrandloveaffairfilledwithburningloinsandendlesspassion.
Inotherwords,Piper’scallingmeafuckingliar.
“Thisissohumiliating,”ImutterasIpickatthechickenstir-fryonmyplate.“Canwepleasejustgo?”
Ramona’schinsticksoutinanobstinatepose.“No.Youneedtoshowpeoplethatyoudon’tgivearat’sassaboutwhatPiperissaying.”
Easiersaidthandone.MybrainknowsthatIshouldn’tcareaboutsomeasinineTwitterbashfest,butmystomachhasn’treceivedthememo.Everytimethewords#GracelessLiarflashinmyhead,myinsidestwistintoamortifiedpretzel.
Whatthehellisthematterwithpeople?It’sinfuriatinghowtheygrantthemselvestherighttosaywhateverhurtfulpoisontheywant,withoutgivingashitaboutthepersonthey’rehurting.Actually,youknowwhat?I’mnotevenpissedattherumormongers.I’mpissedatwhoeverinventedtheInternetandhandedtheassholesintheworldaplatformonwhichtospewtheirvenom.
FuckingInternet.
Mybestfriendtreatsmysilenceasaninvitationtokeepbabbling.“Piper’sabitch,okay?Youknowhowpossessivesheisaboutthehockeyplayers.Sheactslikeeverysingleoneofthembelongstoher,whichistotalbullshit.She’sprobablyconsumedwithjealousythatyoumanagedtolandoneofthestarplayers,who,bytheway—”Ramonalowershervoicetoaconspiratorialpitch“—she’sbeenchasingaftersincefreshmanyear,buthekeepsshuttingherdown.”
SweetmotherofMoses.Nowwe’regossipingaboutPiper?Arethereanymatureadultsatthismotherfuckinguniversity?
“Canwepleasenottalkabouther?”Iclenchmyteeth,whichmakesitdifficulttotakeabiteofthenoodlesI’vejustraisedtomymouth.
“Fine,”sherelents.“ButknowthatI’vegotyourbackonthis,babe.NobodytalksshitaboutmyBFFandlivestotellaboutit.”
IdecidenottopointoutthatPiperwouldn’thavebeentalkingshitinthefirstplaceifsomeonehadn’timpliedtoMayathatI’dmadeeverythingup.
“Ifyouwant,wecantalkaboutmymisery,”shesaysglumly.“Asin,thefactthatDeandidn’taskformynumberafterthemovielastnight—”
Ramonastopstalkingwhenfootstepssoundfrombehindus.Myshoulderstense,thenrelaxwhenIrealizethefootstepsbelongtoJess.Thentheytensealloveragain,becauseit’sJess.Lovely.Letanotherroundoftorturecommence.
“Hey,”Jessgreetsme,hereyesawashwithsympathy.“I’msosorryaboutthisTwitterbullshit.Mayashouldn’thavesaidanythingtohersister.She’ssuchagossip.”
IfIhadadictionaryonme,Iwould’veopenedittotheH’s,passedittoJess,andforcedhertoreadthedefinitionofHYPOCRITE
Luckily,myphonebuzzesbeforeIgiveinandhurlabitchyretortherway.
WhenIseeLogan’snameonthescreen,myheartdoesaninvoluntaryflip.I’mtemptedtohopuponthetableandwavethephonearoundtoprovetoeveryoneinCarverHallthatcontrarytowhatPiperStevenshasposited,JohnLoganis“awareofmyexistence.”ButIresisttheurge,becauseunlikesomepeople,Idon’tneedadictionaryreminder—Ialreadyknowthemeaningoffutile
Logan’smessageisshort.
Him:Whereuat?
Iquicklytypeback,Dininghall.
Him:Which1?
Me:Carver.
Noresponse.Okaythen.I’mnotsurewhatthepointofthatconversationwas,buthisconsequentsilencehasadampeningeffectonmyalreadyflailingself-confidence.I’vebeendyingtotalktohimsincelastnight,buthehasn’tcalled,texted,orattemptedtomakeplans.Andfinallyhegetsintouchandthisistheresult?Twoquestionsfollowedbycrickets?
I’mhorrifiedtorealizeI’monthevergeoftears.I’mnotsurewhoI’mevenupsetwith.Logan?Piper?Ramona?Myself?Butitdoesn’tmatter.Irefusetocryinthemiddleofthedininghall,orgiveanyonethesatisfactionofseeingmerushoutfiveminutesafterIgothere.Thegirlsattheneighboringtablehaven’tstoppedsmirkingsinceIsatdown,andIcanstillfeelthemwatchingme.Ican’tmakeoutawordoftheirhusheddiscussion,butwhenIglanceover,allfiveofthemquicklyaverttheirgazes.
Ignorethem
Althoughmyappetitehasdisappearedrightalongwithmyself-esteem,Iforcemyselftoeatmydinner.Everylastbite,shovingstir-frydownmythroatwhilepretendingtocareaboutRamonaandJess’sconversation,whichhasblessedlyshiftedtoatopicthatdoesn’tinvolveme.
Fifteenminutes.That’showlongIlastbeforeIcannolongertakeit.Myeyesareactuallysorefromtheincessantblinkingrequiredtostaunchthethreateningflowoftears.
I’mabouttoscrapemychairbackandfeedmyfriendsanexcuseaboutneedingtostudywhentheybothfallsilent.Jessliterallystopstalkingmid-sentence.Thetablebesideushasgonesuspiciouslyquiet,aswell.
Ramonalookslikeshe’sfightingasmileasshepeerspastmyshouldersinthedirectionofthedoor.
Frowning,Ishiftinmychair,turnmyhead—andfindLoganstandingthere.
“Hey,”hesayseasily.
I’msosurprisedtoseehimthatallIcanmanageisadumbfoundedlook.Withmesittingdownandhimloomingoverme,heappearsevenbiggerthanusual.ABriarhockeyjerseystretchesacrosshismassiveshoulders,hisdarkhairwindblownandcheeksflushedwithexertion,asifhewasjustoutforarun.
Ourgazeslockforoneheart-stoppingmoment,andthenhedoestheabsolutelastthingIexpect.
Heleansdownandkissesme.
Onthemouth.Withtongue.
Rightthereinthedininghall.
Whenhepullsback,I’mgratifiedtofindthatRamonaandJessareslack-jawed—andsoarethegirlsatthenexttable.
Notfeelingsochattyanymore,areyou?
I’mstillbaskingintheglowofvictorywhenLoganflashesmethatcrookedgrinIlovesomuch.“Areyoureadytogo,gorgeous?”
Wedidn’thaveplans.HeknowsthatandIknowthat,butI’mnotabouttoletanyoneelseknowit.
SoIplayalongbyanswering,“Yep.”Istarttogetup.“Letmejustbringbackthistray.”
“Don’tworryaboutit—I’lldoit.”Heplucksthetrayoutofmyhands,says,“Nicetoseeyouagain,Ramona,”andthenplantsanotherkissonmylipsbeforestridingtowardthetrayreturncounter.
Everyfemaleintheroomadmiresthewayhisblackcargopantshughisspectacularass.Myselfincluded.
Snappingoutofmybutt-leeringtrance,Iturntomyfriends,whostilllookdazed.“Sorrytoeatandrun,butIhaveplanstonight.”
Logancomesbackamomentlater,andIpasteonthebrightestsmileIcanmusterashetakesmyhandandleadsmeoutofthedininghall.
ThesecondIslideintothepassengerseatofhispickuptruck,thedamI’vestruggledtokeepintactalleveningshatterstopieces.Asthetearsspillover,Imakeafranticattempttowipethemawaywithmysleevesbeforehenotices.
Butit’stoolate.
“Aw,hey,don’tcry.”Hequicklyreachesinsidethecenterconsoleandpullsoutatravelpackoftissues.
Damnit,Ican’tbelieveI’mbawlinginfrontofhim.Isniffleashehandsmethepack.“Thankyou.”
“Noprob.”
“No,notjustforthetissues.Thankyouforshowingupandrescuingme.Thiswholedayhasbeensohumiliating,”Imumble.
Hesighs.“IguessyousawthatTwitterfeed.”
Myembarrassmenttriples.“Justsoyouknow,Ihaven’tbeengoingaroundandtellingeveryoneaboutus.TheonlypersonwhoknowswehookedupisRamona.”
“Obvs.Shewasthereatthemovies.”Hissmileisreassuring.“Don’tworry,youdidn’tstrikemeasthetypetoB&B.”
Iofferablankstare.“Bedandbreakfast?”
Hesnickers.“No.Bagandbrag.”
“Bagandbrag?”I’mlaughingthroughmytears,becausethephraseissoabsurd.“Ididn’trealizethatwasathing.”
“Trustme,itis.Thepuckbunniesexcelatit.”Hisvoicesoftens.“Andjustsoyouknow,thechickwhostartedtheTwitterbullshit?Hugepuckbunny.Andshe’sstillpissedatmebecauseIturnedherdownlastyear.”
“Whydidyoudothat?”I’vemetMaya’ssister,andshe’sbeautiful.
“Becauseshe’spushy.Andkindofannoying,ifI’mbeinghonest.”Heturnsthekeyintheignitionandgivesmeasidelonglook.“Doyouwantmetodriveyouhome?BecauseIwasthinkingoftakingyousomewhereelsefirst,ifyou’reinterested.”
Mycuriosityispiqued.“Where?”
Hisblueeyestwinklemischievously.“It’sasurprise.”
“Agoodsurprise?”
“Isthereanyotherkind?”
“Um,yeah.Icanthinkofahundredbadsurprisesoffthetopofmyhead.”
“Nameone,”hechallenges.
“Okay—you’resetuponablinddate,andyoushowupattherestaurantandTedBundyissittingatthetable.”
Logangrinsatme.“Bundyisyourgo-toanswerforeverything,huh?”
“Itappearsso.”
“Fine.Well,pointtaken.AndIpromise,it’sagoodsurprise.Orintheveryleast,it’sneutral.”
“Allright.Surpriseawaythen.”
Hepullsoutoftheparkinglotandturnsontotheroadthatleadsawayfromcampus.AsIgazeoutthewindowandwatchthetreeswhizby,aheavysighleavesmychest.“Whyarepeoplesuchassholessometimes?”
“Becausetheyare,”hesayssimply.“Honestly,it’snotworthgettingangryover.Myadvice?Don’twasteyourtimeobsessingoverthestupidactionsofstupidpeople.”
“It’skindofhardnottowhenthey’reslanderingmygoodname.”ButIknowhe’sright.WhybotherexpendinganymentalenergyonbullieslikePiperStevens?Threeyearsfromnow,Iwon’tevenrememberhername.
“Seriously,Grace,don’tstress.Youknowwhattheysay—hatersbehating,andbitchesbebitching.”
Ilaughagain.“That’sgoingtobemynewmotto.”
“Good.Itshouldbe.”
Wepassthesky-bluesignwiththewords“WelcometoHastings!”sprawledacrossit,andIpeeroutthewindowagain.“Igrewuparoundthecorner,”Itellhim.
Hesoundssurprised.“You’refromHastings?”
“Yep.Mydad’sbeenaprofessoratBriarfortwentyyears.I’vespentmywholelifehere.”
Ratherthanheadforthedowntowncore,Loganveersoffinthedirectionofthehighway.Wedon’tstayonitforlong,though.AfewexitspassandthenhegetsoffatthesignforMunsen,thenexttownover.
Anuneasyfeelingwashesoverme.It’ssostrangehowaquaint,middle-classtownlikeHastingsisequalindistancetoboththecampusofanIvyLeagueuniversityandatownthatmyfather,amanwhodoesn’tcurseifhecanhelpit,referstoasa“shitbox.”
Munsenconsistsofshabbybuildingsindesperateneedofrepairs,ahandfulofstripmalls,andrundownbungalowswithunkemptlawns.Thegeneralstorewepassboastsaflickeringneonsignwithhalfthelettersburntout,andtheonebuildingIseethatisn’tdilapidatedisasmallbrickchurchwithasignofitsown—hugeblocklettersthatspellout“GODPUNISHESTHESINNERS.”
ThepeopleofMunsenreallyknowhowtorolloutawelcomemat.
“ThisiswhereIgrewup,”Logansaysgruffly.
Myheadswivelstowardhim.“Really?Ididn’tknowyouwerelocal,too.”
“Yup.”Hegivesmeaself-deprecatinglookbeforefocusingonthepothole-riddenroadaheadofus.“It’snotmuchtolookat,isit?Trustme,it’sevenuglierinthedaylight.”
Thepickupbouncesaswedriveoveraparticularlydeeppothole.Loganslowsdown,extendingahandtowardmysideofthewindshield.“Mydad’sshopisonestreetover.He’samechanic.”
“That’scool.Didheteachyoualotaboutcars?”
“Yup.”Hetapsthedashboardinpride.“Youhearthatsexypurrcomingoutofthisbaby?Irebuilttheenginemyselflastsummer.”
I’mgenuinelyimpressed.Andkindaturnedon,becauseIappreciateamanwhoworkswithhishands.No,whoactuallyknowshowtousehishands.Lastweek,theguywholivesdownthehallfrommeknockedonmydoorandaskedmetohelphimchangealightbulb.I’mnotsayingI’mHandyMcHandersonoranything,butI’mcapableofchangingafrickin’lightbulb.
Aswedrivethrougharesidentialarea,aburstofapprehensiongoesoffinsideme.Ishetakingmetohischildhoodhome?BecauseI’mnotsureI’mreadyfor—
Nope,we’reonanotherdirtroadnow,drivingawayfromtown.Anotherfiveminutes,andwereachalargeclearing.There’sawatertowerinthedistance,withthetownnameetchedonitsside,anditseemstoglowinthemoonlight,astarkwhitebeaconstandingoutamidstthedarklandscape.
Loganparksfiftyyardsfromthetower,andmypulsespeedsupwhenIrealizethat’swherewe’regoing.MyhandsshakeasIfollowhimtowardasteelladderthatstartsatthebaseofthetowerandextendsupward,sohighIcan’tseewhereitends.
“Arewegoingupthere?”Iblurtout.“Ifso…nothankyou.I’mterrifiedofheights.”
“Ah,shit.Iforgot.”Hebiteshislipforasecond,beforegivingmeanearnestlook.“Faceyourfearforme?Ipromise,it’llbeworthit.”
Istareattheladder,andIcanfeelallthecolordrainingfrommyface.“Uh…”
“Comeon,”hecoaxes.“Youcanclimbupfirst.I’llstanddownherethewholetimeandcatchyouifyoufall.Scout’shonor.”
“Fall?”Iscreech.“Iwasn’teventhinkingaboutfalling.OhmyGod,whatifIfall?”
Hechucklessoftly.“Youwon’t.ButlikeIsaid,I’llbeheretocatchyouontheoff,offchanceithappens.”Heflexesbotharmsasifhe’sabodybuilderwhojustwonthecrown.“Lookattheseguns,gorgeous.YoureallythinkIcan’tcatchallninetypoundsofyou?”
“Onehundredandtwentypounds,thankyouverymuch.”
“Ha.Iliftthatinmysleep.”
Mygazedriftsbacktotheladder.Someoftherungsarecoveredwithrust,butwhenIstepcloserandcurlmyfingersaroundone,itseemssturdyenough.Itakeacalmingbreath.Okay.It’sawatertower,nottheEmpireStateBuilding.AndIhadpromisedmyselfI’dtrynewthingsbeforemyfreshmanyearwasover.
“Fine,”Imutter.“ButGodhelpme,ifIfallandyoudon’tcatchme,andbysomemiracleIsurviveandstillhavetheuseofmyarms?Iwillbeatyoutodeath.”
Hislipstwitch.“Deal.”
Iinhaleanotherwobblybreath,andthenIstarttoclimb.Onefootaftertheother.Onefootaftertheother.Icantotallydothis.It’sjustateenylittlewatertower.Justa—mystomachdropswhenImakethemistakeofpeeringdownwhenInearthehalfwaymark.Loganwaitspatientlybelow.Ashardofmoonlightemphasizestheencouragementgleaminginhisblueeyes.
“You’vegotthis,Grace.You’redoinggreat.”
Ikeepgoing.Onefootaftertheother,onefootaftertheother.WhenIreachtheplatform,reliefsweepsthroughme.Holyshit.I’mstillalive.
“Yougood?”heshoutsfromtheground.
“Yeah,”Ishoutback.
Unlikeme,Loganscalestheladderinamatterofseconds.Hejoinsmeontheplatform,thentakesmyhandandleadsmefartherdowntowherethemetalwalkwaywidens,offeringanice—andsafe.Safe!—placetosit.Heflopsdownandletshislegsdangleovertheedge,grinningatmyveryobviousreluctancetodothesame.
“Aw,don’tchickenoutnow.You’vealreadycomethisfar…”
Ignoringthequeasychurningofmystomach,Isitbesidehimandgingerlypositionmylegslikehis.Asheslingsanarmaroundmyshoulder,Idesperatelynestleclosertohim,tryingnottolookdown.Orup.Oranywhere,forthatmatter.
“Youokay?”
“Mmm-hmmm.AslongasIkeepstaringatmyhandsthenIdon’thavetothinkaboutplummetingtwohundredfeettomydeath.”
“Thistowerdefinitelyisn’ttwohundredfeettall.”
“Well,it’stallenoughthatmyheadwillcracklikeawatermelonwhenithitstheground.”
“Jeez.Youreallyneedtoworkonyourromancetechnique.”
Igapeathim.“Thisissupposedtoberomantic?Wait,doyouhaveafetishforgirlsthrowinguponyou?”
Heburstsoutlaughing.“You’renotgoingtothrowup.”Butmuchtomyrelief,hetightenshisgriparoundmyshoulder.
Thewarmthofhisbodyisanicedistractionfrommycurrentpredicament.Soishisaftershave.Orisitcologne?Hisnaturalscent?HolyMoses,ifit’shisnaturalscent,thenheneedstobottlethatspicyfragranceup,callitOrgasm,andsellittothemasses.
“Seethatpondoverthere?”heasks.
“No.”I’vesqueezedmyeyesshut,soallIcanseeistheinsideofmyeyelids.
Hepokesmeintheribs.“Itwouldhelpifyouopenedyoureyes.Comeon,look.”
Iprymyeyesopenandfollowthetipofhisfingertowherehe’spointing.“That’sapond?Itlookslikeamudswamp.”
“Yeah,itgetsmuddyinthespring.Butinthesummer,there’sactuallywaterinthere.Andinthewinter,itfreezesoverandeveryonecomesheretoskateonit.”Hepauses.“MyfriendsandIplayedhockeytherewhenIwasakid.”
“Wasitsafetoskateon?”
“Ohyeah,theiceissolid.Nobody’severfallenthroughit,asfarasIknow.”There’sanotherpause,longer,andfraughtwithtension.“Ilovedcominghere.It’sweird,though.ItseemedsomuchbiggerwhenIwasakid.LikeIwasskatingonanocean.ThenwhenIgotolder,Irealizedhowfuckingsmallitactuallyis.Icanskatefromoneendtotheotherinfiveseconds.Itimedit.”
“Thingsalwayslookbiggertoakid.”
“Iguess.”Heshiftssothathecanseemyface.“DidyouhaveaplacelikethatinHastings?Somewhereyouescapedtowhenyouwereyounger?”
“Sure.Doyouknowthatparkbehindthefarmer’smarket?Theonewiththeprettygazebo?”
Henods.
“Iusedtogothereallthetimeandread.Ortotalktopeople,ifanyonewasaround.”
“TheonlypeopleI’veeverseeninthatparkaretheoldfolksfromtheretirementhomearoundthecorner.”
Ilaugh.“Yeah,mostoftheonesImetwereoversixty.Theytoldthecooleststoriesaboutthe‘oldendays.’”Ichewontheinsideofmycheekasafewnot-so-coolstoriescometomind.“Actually,sometimesthestorieswereincrediblysad.Theytalkedalotabouttheirfamiliesnevercomingtovisit.”
“That’sreallydepressing.”
“Yeah,”Imurmur.
Heletsoutaraggedbreath.“I’dbeoneofthem.”
“Youmean,notgettingvisitsfromyourfamily?Aw,Idon’tbelievethat.”
“No,I’dbethefamilymemberwhodoesn’tvisit,”heanswersinastrainedvoice.“Well,that’snotentirelytrue.I’ddefinitelyvisitmymom.Butifmydadwasinahome?Iprobablywouldn’tstepfootinthere.”
Awaveofsadnesswashesoverme.“Youguysdon’tgetalong?”
“Notreally.Hegetsalongbetterwithacaseofbeerorabottleofbourbon.”
Thatonlymakesmesadder.Ican’timaginenotbeingclosewithmyparents.Asdifferentastheirpersonalitiesare,Ihaveastrongbondwitheachofthem.
Logangoesquietagain,andIdon’tfeelcomfortablepushingformoredetails.Ifhewantedtotellmemore,hewouldhavedoneit.
Instead,Ifilltheawkwardvoidbyshiftingthesubjectbacktome.“Iguesstalkingtothoseseniorswasdepressingsometimes,butIdidn’tmindlistening.Ithinkthat’salltheyreallywanted,anyway.Forsomeonetolisten.”Ipursemylips.“ItwasaroundthattimewhenIdecidedIwantedtobeatherapist.IrealizedIhadatalentforreadingpeople.Andlisteningtothemwithoutpassingjudgment.”
“Areyouapsychmajor?”
“Iwillbe.Ididn’tdeclareamajorthisyearbecauseIcouldn’tdecideifIwantedtogothepsychologyrouteorthepsychiatryone.ButIdecidedIdon’twanttogotomedschool.Plus,psychologyopensupalotofdoorsthatpsychiatrydoesn’t.Icouldbeatherapist,socialworker,guidancecounselor.Thatsoundssomuchmorerewardingthanprescribingpills.”
Ileanmyheadonhisshoulderaswegazeoutatthesmalltownthatstretchesbeyondthetower.He’sright—Munsen’snotmuchtolookat.SoIfocusonthepondinstead,andpictureLoganasalittlekid.Hisskatesflyingacrosstheice,hisblueeyesalightwithwonderashebasksinthecertaintythatthepondisanocean.Thattheworldisbigandbrightandteemingwithpossibility.
Histonebecomesthoughtful.“Soyouhaveatalentforreadingpeople,huh?Canyoureadme?”
Ismile.“Ihaven’tquitefiguredyououtyet.”
Hishuskylaughterwarmsmycheek.“Ihaven’tquitefiguredmeoutyeteither.”12
Grace
“Confidence,”Ramonadeclares.
I’msportingadubiouslookasIwatchherrollasheerblackstockingupherthigh.Ihadjustaskedherwhatshethinksthebiggestturn-onforguysiswhenitcomestosex,andratherthanthecruderesponseI’dbeenexpecting,shecaughtmeoff-guardwithhersincerity.
“Really?”
“Ohyeah.”Shenodsrapidly.“Menappreciateawomanwho’sconfidentandsecurewithhersexuality.Andatake-chargeattitudedoesn’thurt,either.Theylikeitwhenyoumakethefirstmove.”
“Isuckatmakingthefirstmove,”Igrumble.
Shegoestoherclosetandrummagesthroughthebottomofit,thenemergeswithapairofblackheels.“Look,youlikehim,right?”
“Ofcourse.”
“Andyouwanttohavesexwithhim?”
ThistimeI’mslowertoanswer.DoIwanttohavesexwithhim?Yes?I’mnotagainsttheidea,andit’snotlikeI’mstillavirginbecauseI’msavingmyselfforthemanI’mgoingtomarry,oreventheloveofmylife.Iknowsexisamonumentalmilestoneforsomegirls,butpersonally,Idon’tthinklosingmyvirginityisgoingtobethemostimportantthingIdoinmylife.
I’mattractedtoLogan,yes,andifweenduphavingsextonight,great.Ifwedon’t,that’sfine,too.Afterthewayweconnectedatthewatertowertheothernight,I’mmoreinterestedindatinghimthangettingnaked.
Thoughgettingnaked,oratleastpartiallynaked,isdefinitelyontheagendafortonight.
Itextedhimanhouragoaskinghimtocomeover,andRamonahasalreadyagreedtoletmehavetheroomforthenight.Despitethefactthatshe’sstillhung-overfromyesterday,she’spromisedtostayoutuntilmidnight.It’sonlysevennow,whichgivesLoganandmeplentyoftimetohangout.Andmaybehavesex.Ormaybenothavesex.I’vedecidedtoplayitbyear.
“Grace?”
Isnapoutofmythoughts.“Yeah,IguessIwanttosleepwithhim.Ifthemomentisright.”
“Thenyou’vegottoseparateyourselffromthecrowd.”
Iwrinklemyforehead.“Meaningwhat?”
“Oh,comeon,doyourealizehowmanygirlshe’ssleptwith?Africkin’harem.Andhe’sJohnLogan,babe—Ibethe’sgotcrazymoves.Youdon’twanttobejustanotherchickhebatsthosebaby-bluesatandscrewssilly.Youwanttobeconfidentandsexyandtakecontrol.Showhimhe’smethismatch.”
Ibitemylip.Confidentandsexyisn’tmystyle.Andtakingcontrol?I’vealwaysbeenmorecomfortablesittinginthepassengersidewhilesomeoneelsetakesthewheel.
“Oh,andyouneedtoshowhimhowkinkyyouare.Thatyou’reupforanything.”
Nervouslaughterticklesmythroat.“Uh-huh.HowamIsupposedtodothat?”
“Idon’tknow.Stickyourfingerinhisasswhenyou’reblowinghim.”
Ialmostchokeonmytongue.“What?”
Ramonaflashesacheekysmile.“OhGod,youreallyareavirgin,huh?Assplaycanbealotoffun.”
“Idon’twantanyonenearmyass,thankyouverymuch.AndI’mprettysurehedoesn’twantmenearhis.”
“Ha.Youhavenoideahowhardaguygetsofffromagoodprostatemassage.Seriously,he’llbecominglikenobody’sbusiness.”
“I’mnotgivinghimaprostatemassage,”Isayprimly.
Westareateachotherforamoment,thenburstoutlaughing,anditfeelsgoodtolaughwithheragain.Idon’tevencareanymorethatsheplantedtheseedthatMayaandPiperthenusedtogrowatreeofbullshit.Ramonaismybestfriend,andI’veknownhersinceweweresixyearsold.Issheselfishsometimes?Yes.Doesshegossiptoomuch?Absolutely.Butshe’salsosweetandloyal,andshe’salwaysthereformewhenIneedher.
“Allright,don’tfingerhisass,”sherelents.“ButI’mseriousabouttheconfidencething.It’lldrivehimwild.”
“I’lldomybest.”
Shenarrowshereyes,givingmyoutfitathoroughonce-over.“You’rechangingbeforehegetshere,right?”
Iglanceatmytightjeansandskimpywhitetanktop.“What’swrongwithwhatI’mwearing?Actually,don’tanswerthat.I’mcomfy,andI’mnotgoingtochangethewayIdressbecauseofaguy.”
“Fine,butditchthebra.”Shewaggleshereyebrows.“Thenhe’llbeabletoseeyournipsthroughyourshirtandhe’llbehotandbotheredfromthewordgo.”
“I’lltakethatintoconsideration.”
Ramonasmacksakissonmycheek,thenletsoutalittlesqueal.“OhmyGod.Ican’tbelieveyou’regoingtohavesexforthefirsttimetonight.”
“Ifthemomentisright,”Iremindher.
“Babe,it’sJohnLogan,”shesayswithagrin.“There’snothingwrongaboutit.”
*
Logan
Comeovertonight?
I’vebeenstaringatGrace’stextmessageeversinceIgotoutoftheshower.Whichwas,oh,thirty-eightminutesago.Wait—Ilookatthealarmclock.Makethatthirty-nineminutes.
Ireallyoughttomessageback.Ihaven’tspokentohersinceThursday.Granted,thatisn’tanobsceneamountoftimeconsideringit’sSaturdayandshehaddinnerplanswithherfatheryesterday.Sotechnically,I’veonlybeenavoidingherforadayandahalf.
Shedoesn’tknowI’mavoidingher,though.Ifshedid,shewouldn’thaveinvitedmeover.
ThewayIseeit,Ihavethreeoptions.
Option1:Ignoretheinvitation.
Andifshetextsagain,ignorethattoo.AndthenkeepignoringheruntilshegetsthemessagethatI’mnotinterested.Whichisawhoppinglie,becauseIaminterested.Ihavefunwithher,andifIweren’tsofuckedintheheadaboutthisHannahthing,I’dabsolutelykeepseeingGrace.
Christ,Ishouldn’thaveallowedThursday’simpromptudatetohappen.It’snotfairtoleadheronlikethis.
Whichbringsmetooption2:Messageback,declinetheinvitation,andtellherIcan’tseeheragainbecauseof(insertbullshitexcusehere).
Except…well,I’vebeenbrushedoffviatextbeforeanditfuckingsucks.
Sothatleavesoption3:Gooverthereandtalktoherinperson.That’sthematurecourseofaction,theoneIshoulddefinitelytake.Butthethoughtofglimpsingevenashredofhurtordisappointmentinhereyesmakesmesicktomystomach.
Manupalready
Fuck.Iguessit’stimetopullupmybigboypants.Beaman,rubsomedirtinitandallthatshit.Afterournightatthewatertower,Gracedeservesahelluvalotmorethanatextbrush-off.
Stiflingasigh,IdropthetowelI’vebeenwearingforthelast…forty-twominutesnow.Igrabapairofcleanboxersandjeans,zipup,andthrowonablacksweatermymomgotmeforChristmas.It’stighterthantheshirtsInormallywear,butit’sthefirstthingIfindinmydresserandI’mintoomuchofahurrytochange.
IswipemyphoneoffthebedandtextGrace.
Me:When?
Her:Now,ifyouwant.
Shepunctuatesthatwithasmileyface.Shit.
Me:omw.
Tenminuteslater,IkilltheengineintheparkinglotbehindthedormsandheadforFairviewHouse.WhenIreachherdoor,I’movercomewithhesitation.Andamajorcaseofnerves.Itakeadeepbreath.Fuck,it’snotlikeI’mbreakingupwithher.We’renotevenacouple.I’msimplylettingherknowthatI’mnotinagoodplacetocontinuethingsatthemoment.Doesn’tmeanit’sforeverover.It’sjust…rightnowover.
Rightnowover?
Brilliant,man.You’regoingtoaweherwithyourlyricalprose
Iknock,armedwithmyveryunimpressivepartingspeech,butwhenthedoorswingsopen,Idon’tgetachancetoopenmymouth.Actually,scratchthat—Idon’tgetachancetovoiceanywords.Mymouthisopen,becauseGraceyanksmeintoherdarkbedroomandkissesme,andifmymouthwasclosed,thenhowishertonguesupposedtogetinsideit?
ThekissiscompletelyunexpectedandhotterthananythingI’veeverexperiencedinmylife.Shewrapsherarmsaroundmyneckandbacksmeintothestill-opendoor.Itcloseswhenmyshouldersbumpintoit,andsuddenlyI’mpinnedbetweenthedoorandGrace’ssoft,warmbody.
HerlipsteasemineuntilIcan’tseestraight,andthensheeasesbackbreathlessly.“I’vewantedtodothatallday.”
Sheleansinagain.
Ohfuck.Don’tletherkissyouagain.Don’t—
Mytonguetangleswithhersinanotherhotduel.Damnit.Iplantmyhandsonherhips,intendingtogentlypushheraway,butInolongerhavecontrolovermyownfingers.Theyslideloweranddigintoherfirmass,pullinghercloserinsteadofaway
Withhermouthstilllockedwithmine,shegrabsthebottomofmysweaterandtugsitup.SomehowIfindthewillpowertobreakthekiss.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Icroak.
“Takingyourclothesoff.”
Ohshit.Shit,shit,shit.
TheonlyreasonIallowhertoremovemysweaterisbecausethematerialisnowcaughtaroundmychinandneck,andIneedmymouthinordertospeaktoher.Inordertostopthis.Butthenshetossesthefabricasideandtouchesmybarechest,andmybrainshort-circuits.Shedelicatelystrokesherfingertipsovermyabdomen,andmakesabreathysound.Half-moan,half-whimper,andsosexyitsendsasizzleoflustrighttomycock.Myballstighten,drawinguppainfullywhenherfingersfindmybeltbuckle.
“Grace,I…”Insteadoffinishingthatsentence,Igroanloudly,becauseholyfuckingshit,shedoesn’tjustslidemypantsoff.
Sheslidestoherkneesasshedoesit.
I’mprettysureI’vejustsecuredmyselfaplaceinhellforthis.Icameovertonighttoendit,andinsteadI’mthrustingmydickintoherwarm,wetmouth.
Goddamnwhoeverinventedblowjobs.Theyfeeltoodamngood,andtheydoterriblethingstoyourmind—AKAdrainitofalllucidthought.Ican’tfocusonanythingotherthanthetightsuctionaroundtheheadofmycock.TheexploratorypathofGrace’stongueasshelicksherwayupanddownmyshaftbeforesuckingonthetipagain.
Onehandinstinctivelytanglesinherhair,tremblingasIcupthebackofherheadtobringhercloser.Shemoans,andthesoundvibratesthroughme,aseductivepromisethatsendsmeteeteringclosertotheedge.
Christ.Ihavenoideahowlongshekneelsthereworkingmeover,butsuddenlyI’mconsumedwiththeneedtotouchher.Torunmyhandsalloverherbodyanddriveherascrazyasshe’sdrivingmerightnow.
Withastranglednoise,Ipulloutofhermouthandhaulhertoherfeet.ThenI’mkissingheragain,franticallyclawingatherclothesuntilshe’snaked.Oh,sweetJesus,she’snaked.Howthehell,inthespanoffiveminutes,didIletthisgetsooutofcontrol?
ButIcan’tfuckingstop.Ican’tstopkissingher.Ican’tstopsqueezinghertits.Ican’tstopmyselffromleadinghertothebedandloweringmybodyontopofher.Mycockispinnedbetweenourbodies,aheavyweightonherflatstomach,andthebaseofitgrindsagainstherclitaswekisssodeeplyit’slikewe’retryingtoswalloweachotherup.
Stopthis,asharpvoicereprimands.
Hell,Ican’t.Iwanthertoomuch.
Stop.This
Yup,thatvoiceismyconscience,tryingtopreventmefrommakingaseriousmistake.Sowhycan’tIlistentoit?Whycan’tI—
Gracebreaksthekissandlooksupatmewithhazybrowneyes,andsuddenlyallherbravadoisgone.Theconfident,sexywomanwhomauledmeatthedoorhastransformedintoashy,blushinggirlwhosays,“Um,so…listen…I’veneverhadsexbefore.”
Ohfuck
Thosefivewordscrackmyheartintwo.
Sonofabitch.Noway.ThereisabsolutelynowayIcandothistoher.
FoolingaroundwithherwhenIknowI’mgoingtoendit?Reprehensible.Buttakinghervirginity?Unforgivable.
Oh,andmyplaceinhell?Stillsolidlysecured.
SilencestretchesbetweenusasIstrugglefortherightwordstosay.Whichisdamndifficultwhenwe’rebothnaked.Whenmydick’ssoharditcouldcutadiamondinhalf.
Sheletsoutashakybreath.“Isthataproblemforyou?”
Iopenmymouth.
Andsay,“Yes.”
Gracelooksstartled.“What?”
“Imean,no.There’snothingwrongwithbeingavirgin.But…wecan’tdothis.”Istumbleoffthebedwithasmuchgraceasanewbornfoal.Seriously,mylegsarewobblingallovertheplaceasIhurriedlyscantheroomformypants.
Icanfeelherwatchingme.Hereyesboringintome.Idon’twanttolookoverbecauseIknowshe’sstillnaked,butIcan’tstopmyselffromsneakingapeek,andherhurtexpressionripsmychestapart.
“I’msorry,”Isayroughly.“Ican’tdothis.Thisisyourfirsttime,andyoudeservesomething—someone—somuchbetterthanmeforyourfirsttime.”
Shedoesn’tutteraword,buteveninthedarkness,Icanseethedeepflushonhercheeks.Andshe’sbitingherlowerlipasifshe’stryingnottocry.
Hersilencedeepenstheguiltcoursingthroughmyveins.“I’minsuchafuckedupplacerightnow.Ihavealotoffunwithyou,but…”Iswallow.“Ican’tgiveyouanythingserious.”
Shefinallyspeaks,hervoicetightandlacedwithembarrassment.“I’mnotaskingyoutomarryme,Logan.”
“Iknow.Butsex…sexisserious,okay?Especiallyforavirgin.”Itripoverthewords,feelinglikeatotalasshole.“Youdon’twanttodothiswithme,Grace.I’mscrewedinthehead,andIguessI’vebeentryingtodistractmyselffromallthebullshitinmylife,andtryingtogetoversomeoneelse,and—”
“Someoneelse?”sheinterrupts,andnowthere’sathreadofangerinhertone.“You’reinterestedinsomeoneelse?”
“Yes.No,”Isayquickly.ThenIgroan.“IthoughtIwas,andmaybeIstillam.Idon’tknow,okay?AllIknowisthatthisgirlhashadmetiedupinknotsformonths,andit’snotfairtoyouifwe…dothis…whenI…”Itrailoff,tooconfusedanduncomfortabletogoon.
Avoidingmyeyes,GraceboltsoffthebedandgrabsaT-shirtfromthebackofthedeskchair.“Youwereusingmetogetoversomeoneelse?”Sheyankstheshirtoverherhead.“Iwasyourdistraction?”
“No.Ipromise,Ilikeyoualot.”Icringeatthepleadingnoteinmyvoice.“Iwasn’tintentionallyusingyou.You’resofuckingamazing,butI—”
“OhmyGod,no,”shecutsin.“Please…justshutup,Logan.Ican’thandletheit’snotyou,it’smespeechrightnow.”Sherakesbothhandsthroughherhair,herbreathingbecomingshallow.“OhGod.Thiswassuchamistake.”
“Grace—”
Sheinterruptsagain.“Willyoudomeafavor?”
It’sdifficulttospeakpastthemassivelumplodgedinmythroat.“Anything.”
“Leave.”
Thelumpdamnnearchokesme.Iinhaledeeply,ignoringtheburningsensationinmythroat,theacheinmychest.
“Imeanit,justleave,okay?”Shemeetsmygazehead-on.“Ireally,reallywantyoutogorightnow.”
Ishouldsaysomethingelse.Apologizeagain.Reassureher.Comforther.ButI’mterrifiedshemightslapme—orworse,breakdown—ifIapproachher.
Besides,she’salreadywalkingtothedoorandthrowingitopen.Shedoesn’tlookatmeasshewaits.
Waitsformetoleave
Fuck.Iscrewedupsobadly.MyheartphysicallyhurtsasIstaggertothedoor.Ipauseinthethreshold,findingthecouragetomeethereyesagain.“I’msorry.”
“Yeah,youshouldbe.”
ThelastthingIhearasIstepoutintothehallisthesoundofthedoorslammingbehindme.13
Logan
I’vealwaysrefusedtousealcoholasacrutch.IfI’msadorupsetorhurting,IavoiditatallcostsbecauseI’mterrifiedImightrelytooheavilyonitoneday.ThatImightbecomeaddicted.
Butgoddamn,Icouldreallyuseadrinkrightnow.
Fightingtheurge,Ibypasstheliquorcabinetinthelivingroomandsprinttotheslidingdoorinthekitchen.Cigarettes.Equallydestructivehabit,butit’sthelesseroftwoevilsatthemoment.I’lljustfloodmyveinswithnicotine—maybethat’llhelpwiththehugeballofguilttakingupresidenceinthepitofmystomach.
“Everythingokay?”
BigtoughhockeyplayerthatIam,IjumpthreefeetintheairatthesoundofHannah’svoice.
Ispinaroundandnoticeherstandingatthesink,anemptyglassinherhand.IwassooutofitImusthaveflownrightpastherduringmysprinttothedoor.
Christ,she’sthelastpersonIwanttoseeatthemoment.
Andlookatthat?she’swearingGarrett’sjerseyagain.Justflauntingitinmyfacenow,isn’tshe?
“Yeah,everything’sfine,”Imumble,steppingawayfromthedoor.Changeofplans.Nicotineoverdose—nolongerneeded.Hidinginmybedroom—mustgetonthat.
“Logan.”Sheapproachesmewithwarystrides.“What’sgoingon?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.Youlookupset.Areyouokay?”
Iflinchwhenshetouchesmyarm.“Idon’twanttotalkaboutit,Wellsy.Ireallydon’t.”
Hergreeneyessearchmyface.ForsolongthatIshiftindiscomfortandbreaktheeyecontact.Itrytotakeanotherstep,butshestopsmeagain,blockingmypathasshereleasesagroanoffrustration.
“Youknowwhat?”sheannounces.“Ican’tfuckingtakethisanymore.”
Iblinkinsurprise.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
Ratherthananswer,shegrabsmyarmsohardit’samiracleitstaysinitssocket.Thenshedragsmetothekitchentableandforciblypushesmeintoachair.Jeez.She’sfreakishlystrongforsomeonesotiny.
“Hannah…”Istartuneasily.
“No.I’mdonetiptoeingaroundthis.”Sheyanksoutachairandsitsbesideme.“Garrettkeepstellingmeyou’llgetoverit,butit’sonlygettingworse,andIhatethisawkwardnessbetweenus.YouusedtohangoutwithusandcometoMalone’sandwatchmovies,andnowyoudon’t,andImisshangingoutwithyou,okay?”She’ssoupsetthathershouldersarevisiblyshaking.“Solet’scleartheair,allright?Let’sdealwithithead-on.”
Shetakesadeepbreath,thenlooksmesquareintheeyeandasks,“Doyouhaveathingforme?”
Aw,hell.
Why,whydidn’tIgostraightuptomyroom?
Clenchingmyteeth,Iscrapebackmychair.“Well,thishasbeenfun,butIthinkI’llgoupstairsandkillmyselfnow.”
“Sitdown,”shesayssternly.
Myasshoversoverthechair,butthesharpnessofhertoneremindsmetoomuchofCoachJensenwhenhe’sreamingusoutatpractice,andmyfearofauthoritywinsout.Idropbackdownandblowoutatiredbreath.
“What’sthepointoftalkingaboutthis,Wellsy?Webothknowtheanswertothatquestion.”
“Maybe,butIstillwanttohearyousayit.”
Annoyancetightensmythroat.“Fine,youwanttohearit?DoIhaveathingforyou?Yes,IthinkIdo.”
Shockfillsherexpression,asifshetrulydidn’texpectmetoreply.
Cue:thelongestsilenceever.Like,findaropeandtieitaroundyourneckandhangyourfuckingselfsilence,becausethelongersheremainsquiet,themorepatheticIfeel.
Whenshefinallyspeaks,shethrowsmeforaloop.“Why?”
Myforeheadcreases.“Whywhat?”
“Whyareyouintome?”
Ifshethoughtshewasclarifying,she’sdeadwrong,becauseI’mstillbaffled.Whatkindofquestionisthat?
Hannahshakesherheadasifshe’salsotryingtomakesenseofit.“Dude,I’veseenthegirlsyoubringhomeorflirtwithatthebar.Youhaveatype.Tall,skinny,usuallyblonde.Andthey’realwayshangingalloveryouandshoweringyouwithcompliments.”Shesnorts.“WhereasIjustinsultyouallthetime.”
Ican’thelpbutgrin.Hersarcasmdoesveerintoinsultterritorymoreoftenthannot.
“Andyougravitatetotheoneswhoarelookingforsomethingtemporary.Youknow,afuntime.I’mnotafun-timegirl.Ilikeseriousrelationships.”Shepursesherlipsthoughtfully.“Inevergotthesensethatyouwereinterestedinrelationships.”
Theaccusationraisesmyhackles.“Why?BecauseI’maplayer?”IndignationmakesmytoneharsherthanIintendforittobe.“Haveyoueverthoughtthatmaybeit’sbecauseIhaven’tmettherightgirlyet?Butno,Icouldn’tpossiblywantsomeonetocuddlewithandwatchmovieswith,someonewhowearsmyjerseyandcheersformeatgames,andcooksdinnerwithmethewayyouandGarrett—”
Hersnortoflaughtermakesmestopshort.
Inarrowmyeyes.“Whatareyoulaughingabout?”
Inaheartbeat,thelaughterdiesandhertonegrowsserious.“Logan…duringthatwholespeech?Youdidn’toncesayyouwantedtodothatstuffwithme.Yousaidsomeone.”Shebeams.“Ijustgotit.”
Well,goodforher,becauseIhavenofuckingideawhatshe’sbabblingabout.
“Thisentiretime,Ithoughtyouwerelookingatmealllonging-like.Butyouwerelookingatus.”Shelaughsagain.“Andallthosethingsyoulistedrightnow,they’rethingsGarrettandIdotogether.Dude,youdon’twantme.YouwantmeandGarrett.”
Alarmflitsthroughme.“Ifyou’reimplyingIwanttohaveathreesomewithyouandmybestfriend,thenIcanassureyou,Idon’t.”
“No,youjustwantwhatwehave.Youwanttheconnectionandtheclosenessandallthegooeyrelationshipstuff.”
Mymouthsnapsshut.
Issheright?
Asherwordssinkin,mymuddledbrainquicklyrunsthroughthefantasiesI’vehadaboutHannahthesepastfewmonths,and…well,ifI’mbeinghonest,mostofthemhaven’tbeensexual.Imean,afewhave,becauseI’maguyandshe’shot.Andshe’salsoaroundallthetime,thereforeprovidingmewithreadilyavailableimagesformyspankbank.Butasidefromafewnakedfantasies,IusuallypicturePGscenarios.LikeI’llseeherandGarrettsnugglingonthecouchandwishIwasinhisplace.
But…amIwishingI’minhisplacewithher,orinhisplaceingeneral?
“Look,Ilikeyou,Logan.Ireallydo.You’refunnyandsweet,andyou’reasarcasticjackass,whichisaqualityIhappentoloveinaguy.Butyoudon’t…”Shelooksuncomfortable.“…makemyheartpound—Iguessthat’sthebestwaytoputit.No,noteventhat.”Hervoicetakesonafarawaynote.“WhenI’mwithGarrett,mywholeworldcomesalive.I’msofullofemotionIfeellikemyheartwilloverflow,andIknowthisisgoingtosoundlikeanexaggerationormaybekindofobsessive,butsometimesIthinkIneedhimmorethanIneedfoodoroxygen.”Shegazesintomyeyes.“Doyouneedmemorethanoxygen,Logan?”
Igulp.
“AmIthelastpersonyouthinkaboutwhenyougotobedandthefirstoneyouthinkaboutwhenyouwakeup?”
Idon’tanswer.
“AmI?”shepushes.
“No.”Myvoicecomesouthoarse.“You’renot.”
Fuckinghell.
Shemightberight.AllthistimeI’vebeenfeelingguiltyaboutwantingmybestfriend’sgirl,butIthinkwhatIreallywantedwasmybestfriend’srelationship.Someonetospendtimewith.Someonewhoturnsmeonandmakesmelaugh.Someonewhomakesme…happy.
LikeGrace?
Themockingthoughtslicesintomymindlikeadamnlightsaber.
Shit.
Yeah,someonelikeGrace.SomeoneexactlylikeGrace,withherTedBundyrantsandhercalmingpresenceand—hello,irony
Ibrokeupwithhertoavoidgettingintoaseriousrelationshipwithher,andnowitturnsoutthat’swhatIwantedallalong.
“Damnit.I…screwedup.”Irubmyeyes,groaningsoftly.
“That’snottrue.We’regood,Logan.Ipromise.”
“No,Ididn’tscrewupwithus.IendeditwithareallygreatgirltonightbecauseIwassomessedupintheheadaboutallthis.”
“Aw,shit.”Sheeyesmesympathetically.“Whydon’tyoucallherandtellheryouchangedyourmind?”
“Shekickedmeout.”Igroanagain.“There’snowayshe’llpickupthephoneifIcall.”
We’reinterruptedbyGarrett’svoicefromthehall.“Seriously,Wellsy,howlongdoesittakeyoutogetaglassofwater?DoIneedtoshowyouhowtousethesink,becauseifso,that’sjustsad—”Hequitstalkingthesecondhespotsme.“Ohhey,man.Ididn’tknowyouwerehome.”
Ihastilyslideoffthechairandhoptomyfeet,butitdoesnothingtoeasethesuspicioninGarrett’seyes.Whichtriggersafreshrushofguilt.Jesus,doeshethinksomethinghappenedbetweenus?DoeshehonestlybelieveI’dever,evermakeamoveonhisgirl?
ThefactthatI’mevenwonderingthattellsmethestateofourfriendshipisevenmoreprecariousthanI’dthought.
Swallowinghard,Ishuffleovertohim.“Listen…I’msorryI’vebeensuchadicklately.Iwas…distracted.”
“Distracted,”heechoesskeptically.
Inod.
Hekeepsstaringatme.
“Myhead’sonstraightnow.Honest.”
Garrettpeerspastme,andalthoughIcan’tseeHannah’sface,whateverpassesbetweenthemcauseshisbroadshoulderstorelax.Thenhegrinsandslapsmeonthearm.“Well,thankGod.BecauseIwasseriouslyconsideringpromotingTucktothenumberonebestfriendslot.”
“Areyoukidding?Bigmistake,G.He’saterriblewingman.Haveyouseenhisbeard?”
“Iknow,right?”
Andjustlikethat,we’regoodagain.Seriously,chicksneedtotakealessonfromdudeswhenitcomestoburyingthehatchet.Weknowourshit.
“Anyway,Ineedtomakeacall,”Itellhim.“Night,guys.”
I’malreadypullingupGrace’snumberasIdartoutofthekitchenandheadforthestairs.Textingisn’tanoption.Iwanthertohearmyvoice.IwanthertohearhowagonizedIamabouteverythingthatwentdowntonight.
Tomyfrustration,thedialtoneringsandringsandringsbeforeswitchingovertovoicemail.
ThesecondtimeIcall,itgoesstraighttovoicemail,whichtellsmeshemostlikelypressedtheignorebutton.
Crap.
Withacrushingsenseofdefeat,Iopenanewmessageandshootheratextaskingifwecouldtalk.
ThenIgoupstairsandwait.14
Logan
It’spastmidnight,andstillnowordfromGrace.I’vesentherthreetextsalready,andnowI’mlyingontopofmybedspread,staringupattheceilingandvaliantlyfightingtheurgetosendafourth.
Threemessagesbordersondesperation.
Fourwouldjustbepathetic.
Fuck,Iwishshewouldtextback.Orcall.Oranything.Atthispoint,I’dbethrilledifacarrierpigeontappeditsbeakonmywindowanddeliveredahandwrittenletterdoneinperfectcalligraphy.
She’snotcallingyou,man.Dealwithit.
Yeah,Iguesssheisn’t.IguessIreallydidblowit.AndIguessIfuckingdeserveit.
Ididn’tjustleadheron—Iledherrightuptothepointwhereshewantedtolosehervirginitytome,andthenIthrewtheofferbackinherfaceandtoldherIwasinterestedinsomeoneelse.Hell,I’msurprisedI’mnotexperiencingrandomachesandpainsinmybodyrightnow.Youknow,fromthesharpneedlesGraceispokingintohervoodoodoll.
Myphonebuzzes,andIhurlmyselfatthenighttablelikeanOlympichighjumper.Shetextedback.Oh,thankfuck.Thatmeansshedoesn’tviewmeastheantichrist—
Themessageisn’tfromGrace.
Itcomesfromanunfamiliarnumber,andittakesmeasolidtensecondsbeforeI’mabletoregisterwhatI’mreading.No,whatI’mseethingover.
Hey,thisisRamona.JustheardwhathappenedwithyouandGrace.Needmetocomeoverandcomfortyou? ;)
Winkyface.Sheactuallyfuckingwinky-facedme.
Idropthephoneasifit’sahotcoal.Asifthemessageiscontagiousandthemereactoftouchingthedeviceitcameonwillturnmeintoapersonascontemptibleastheonewhowrotethosewords.
WhythehellisGrace’sbestfriendhittingonme?Whodoesthat?
I’msopissedoffthatIgrabthephoneandforwardthemessagetoGracewithoutstoppingtoquestionmyactions.Iaddacaption—thoughtyoushouldseethis.
Andthen,sinceI’malreadyinthisdeep,Isendanotheronethatsays,Canwepleasetalk?
Shedoesn’trespondtoeither.Notnow,andnotbythetimethreeinthemorningrollsaround,whichiswhenIfinallydragmypatheticassunderthecoversandfallintoarestlesssleep.
*
Grace
Iwakeupatfive-thirtyinthemorning.Notbychoice,butbecausemytraitorousminddecidesit’stimeformetowallowinmiserysomemoreandforcesmeintoconsciousness.
ThehumiliationoflastnightslapsmeinthefacethemomentIopenmyeyes.TheclothesIwaswearingarestillstrewnonthefloor.Ihadn’tbotheredtopickthemup,andneitherhadRamona,who’dcomehomearoundmidnight.
“Didn’thappen.He’sintosomeoneelse.”
ThatwasalltheinformationIgaveherlastnight,andshemusthaveseenthedevastationonmyface,becauseforonceinherlife,shedidn’tnagmefordetails.Shesimplygavemeahug,asympatheticsqueezeonthearm,andclimbedintobed.
Nowshe’ssleepingpeacefully,hercheekpressedagainstherpillow,onearmflungacrossthemattress.Well,atleastoneofusisgoingtofeelrestedtoday.
Despitemybetterjudgment,Icheckmyphone.Sureenough,therearetwounreadmessagesflashingonthescreen.Whichbringsthefinaltallytofive.
Loganmustreallywanttotalktome.
Iguessguiltturnssomeguysintorealchatterboxes.
Asmartpersonwoulddeletethemessageswithoutreadingthem.No,deletehisnumberfromthecontactlist.ButI’mnotfeelingtoosmartrightnow.Ifeelstupid.Sofuckingstupid.Forinvitinghimoverlastnight.Fordevelopingfeelingsforhim.
Forreadingthemessageshekeepssendi—whatthehell?
Iblink.Once.Twice.Threeandfourandfivetimes,butitdoesn’tbringclaritytowhatI’mseeing.
Hey,thisisRamona.JustheardwhathappenedwithyouandGrace.Needmetocomeoverandcomfortyou? ;)
MyheadswingstowardRamona’sbed.She’sstilloutlikealight.Butthatisunarguablyherphonenumbernexttothetimestampofthetext.Twelve-sixteena.m.Approximatelytwentyminutesaftershe’dgottenhomelastnight.
Istareathersleepingform,waitingforthefurytocome.Formyinsidestoclenchandmybloodtoboilwithasenseofwhite-hotbetrayal.
Butnothinghappens.I’m…cold.Andnumb.Andsofrickin’exhausteditfeelslikesomeonestuffedsandinmyeyes.
MyfingerstrembleasIbringupthenextmessage—Canwepleasetalk?
No,wecan’t.Infact,Idon’twanttotalktoanyonerightnow.NotLogan,andcertainlynotRamona.
Isuckanunsteadybreathintomylungs.ThenIstandupandcreeptowardthedoor.Steppingintothehall,Isagagainstthewallbeforeslidingdowntotheflooranddrawingmykneesup.Myphonerestsonmyknee,andIstareatitforseveralsecondsbeforeturningitoverandaccessingmycontactlist.
Itmightbetooearlytocallmydad,butinParis,mymomwillbewide-awakeandprobablyfixinglunchrightnow.
Thenumbnessdoesn’tgoawayasIdialhernumber.Ifanything,itgetsworse.Ican’tevenfeelmyheartbeating.Maybeit’snot.Maybeeverygoddamnpartofmehasshutdown.
“Sweetie!”Mymother’soverjoyedvoicefillsmyear.“Whatareyoudoingupsoearly?”
Iswallow.“Hey,Mom.I…uh,haveanearlyclass.”
“YouhaveclassonSundays?”Shesoundsconfused.
“Oh.No,Idon’t.ImeantIhaveastudygroup.”
Crap,myeyesarestartingtosting,andnotbecauseI’mtired.Damnit.Somuchforbeingnumb—I’msecondsawayfromburstingintotears.
“Listen,Iwantedtotalktoyouaboutmyvisit.”Mythroatclosesup,andItakeanotherbreathhopingtoloosenit.“Ichangedmymindaboutthedates.Iwanttocomeearlier.”
“Youdo?”shesaysindelight.“Ohyay!I’msohappy!Butareyousure?Yousaidyoumighthaveplanswithyourfriends.Idon’twantyoutocomeearlyonmyaccount.”
“Theplansgotcanceled.AndIwanttocomesooner,Ireallydo.”Iblinkinrapidsuccession,tryingtostopthetearsfromspillingover.“Thesoonerthebetter.”15
Grace
May
PeoplesayspringtimeinParisismagical.
They’reright.
Thecityhasbeenmyhomeforthepasttwoweeks,andapartofmewishesIcouldstayhereforever.Mom’sapartmentisinanareareferredtoas“OldParis.”Theneighborhoodisgorgeous—narrow,windingroads,oldbuildings,cuteshopsandbakeriesateverycorner.It’salsoknownasthecity’sgaydistrict,andherupstairsanddownstairsneighborsarebothgaycouples,who’vealreadytakenusoutfordinnertwicesinceIgothere.
Theapartmentonlyhasonebedroom,butthepulloutcouchinthelivingroomisprettycomfortable.IlovewakinguptothesunlightstreaminginfromtheFrenchdoorsofthesmallbalconyoverlookingthebuilding’sinnercourtyard.Thefainttracesofoilpaintlingeringintheroomremindmeofmychildhood,backwhenmymotherspenthoursworkinginherstudio.Overtheyears,shepaintedlessandless,andshe’sadmittedonmorethanoneoccasionthatthelossofherartwasoneofthereasonsshedivorcedmyfather.
Shefeltlikeshe’dlosttouchwithwhoshewas.Thatbeingahousewifeinsmall-townMassachusettswasn’twhatshe’dbeendestinedfor.AfewmonthsafterIturnedsixteen,shesatmedownandposedaseriousquestion—wouldIratherhaveamotherwhowasmiserablebutcloseby,orhappyandfaraway?
ItoldherIwantedhertobehappy.
She’shappyinParis,there’snodenyingthat.Shelaughsallthetime,hersmilesactuallyreachhereyes,andthedozensofbrightcanvasesoverflowingfromthecornernookshe’susingasherstudioprovethatshe’sdoingwhatshelovesagain.
“Morning!”MomwaltzesoutofherbedroomandgreetsmeinavoicethatcontainsthejoyoustrillofaDisneyprincess.
“Morning,”Isaygroggily.
Theroomhasanopenfloorplan,soIcanseehereverymoveasshewandersovertothekitchencounter.“Coffee?”shecallsout.
“Yes,please.”
Isitupandstretch,yawningasIgrabmyphonefromthecoffeetabletocheckthetime.Momdoesn’tkeepclocksinthehousebecausesheclaimstimeweighstheminddown,butmyOCDdoesn’tallowmetoeverrelaxunlessIknowwhattimeitis.
Nine-thirty.Ihavenoideawhatshehasplannedforustoday,butIhopeitdoesn’tinvolvetoomuchwalkingbecausemyfeetarestillsorefromyesterday’sfive-hourvisittotheLouvre.
I’mabouttosetdownthephonewhenitringsinmyhand,andI’mannoyedtoseeRamona’snameonthescreen.It’stwo-thirtyinthemorninginMassachusetts—doesn’tshehaveanythingbettertodothankeepharassingme?Youknow,likesleeping
Grittingmyteeth,Idropthecellphoneonthebedandletitring.
Momeyesmefromthecounter.“Whichone?Theboyfriendorthebestfriend?”
“Ramona,”Imutter.“Who,bytheway,Idon’tcaretodiscuss,seeingasshe’snolongermybestfriend,samewayLoganisn’tmyboyfriend.”
“Andyettheykeepcallingandtexting,whichmeanstheybothstillcareaboutyou.”
Yeah,well,Idon’tcarethattheycare.IgnoringLoganisaloteasierthanignoringRamona,though.Iknewhimforawhoppingtotalofeightdays.I’veknownherforthirteenyears.
It’salmostpatheticthewayeverythingwentdown.You’dthinkadecade-pluslongfriendshipwouldendwithabang,butmyshowdownwithRamonawasnothingmorethanawhimperingfizzle.Ramonahadwokenup,seenmyface,andrealizedthatLoganhadforwardedmehermessage.Thenshe’dsnappedintodamagecontrolmode,butnoneofherusualtrickshadworkedonme.
TheForgiveMehug?Thecrocodiletears?Shemayaswellhavebeentuggingontheemotionalheartstringsofarobot.Ijuststoodtherelikeastatueuntilshe’dfinallygraspedthatIwasn’tbuyingtheshitshewastryingtosell.Andthenextday,Imovedbackhome,tellingmydadthatthedormwastooloudandIneededsomewherequiettostudyforexams.
Ihaven’tseenRamonasince.
“Whydon’tyouhearherout?”Mom’stoneiscautious.“Iknowyousaidshedidn’thaveagoodexplanationbefore,butmaybethat’schanged.”
Anexplanation?Gee,howdoesoneexplainthebetrayaloftheirclosestfriend?
Oddlyenough,Ramonahadn’tevenofferedanexcuse.NoIwasjealous,noIwasdrunkandwasn’tthinking.Allshe’ddonewassitontheedgeofthebedandwhisper,“Idon’tknowwhyIdidit,Gracie.”
Well,itwasn’tgoodenoughformethen,anditsureashellisn’tgoodenoughnow.
“Ialreadytoldyou,I’mnotinterestedinhearingherout.Notyetanyway.”Islideoffthepulloutandwalktothecounter,reachingfortheceramicmugshehandsme.“Idon’tknowifI’lleverbereadytotalktoheragain.”
“Aw,sweetie.Areyoureallygoingtothrowawaysomanyyearsoffriendshipoveraboy?”
“It’snotaboutLogan.It’saboutthefactthatsheknewIwashurting.SheknewIwashumiliatedoverwhathappenedwithhim,andinsteadofsupportingme,shewaiteduntilIwasasleepandthenpropositionedhim.It’sprettyclearshedoesn’tgiveacrapaboutmeormyfeelings.”
Momsighs.“Ican’tdenythatRamonahasalwaysbeenabit…self-absorbed.”
Isnort.“Abit?”
“Butshe’salsobeenyourbiggestsupporter,”Momremindsme.“She’salwaysbeenthereforyouwhenyouneededher.Rememberwhenthatnastygirlwasbullyingyouinfifthgrade?Whatwashernameagain—Brenda?Brynn?”
“Bryndan.”
“Bryndan?Lord,whatisthematterwithparentsthesedays?”Momshakesherheadinamazement.“Anyway,rememberwhenBryn—nope,Ican’tevensayit,it’sthatstupid.Whenthatgirlwasbullyingyou?Ramonawaslikeapitbull,snarlingandspittingandreadytoprotectyoutoherdyingbreath.”
It’smyturntosigh.“Iknowyou’retryingtobehelpful,butcanwepleasenottalkaboutRamonaanymore?”
“Okay,let’stalkabouttheboythen.BecauseIthinkyoushouldcallhimback,too.”
“Agreetodisagree.”
“Sweetie,heobviouslyfeelsbadaboutwhathappened,otherwisehewouldn’tbetryingtocontactyou.And…well,youweregoingto,ah…givehimyourflower—”
Idoaliteralspittake.Coffeedrizzlesdownmychinandneck,andIquicklygrabanapkintowipeitawaybeforeitstainsmypajamatop.“OhmyGod.Mom.Don’teversaythatagain.Ibegofyou.”
“Iwastryingtobeparental,”shesaysprimly.
“There’sparental,andthenthere’sVictorianEngland.”
“Allright.Youweregoingtofuckhim—”
“That’snotparentaleither!”Agaleoflaughterfliesout,andittakesasecondbeforeI’mabletospeakwithoutgiggling.“Again,Iknowyou’retryingtohelp,butLogan’soffthetabletoo.Yes,Iwasconsideringhavingsexwithhim.No,itdidn’thappen.Andthat’sallshewrote.”
Distresscloudsherexpression.“Fine,Iwon’tbugyouaboutitanymore.Butwiththatsaid,Irefusetoletyouspendtherestofthesummersulking.”
“Ihaven’tbeensulking,”Iprotest.
“Notontheoutside.ButIcanseerightthroughyou,GraceElizabethIvers.Iknowwhenyou’resmilingforreal,andwhenyou’resmilingforshow,andsofaryou’vegivenmetwoweeksofshowsmiles.”Shestraightensup,adeterminedsettohershoulders.“Ithinkit’stimewemakeyousmileforreal.Iwantedustogodowntothecanaltodayandwalkalongtheriver,butyouknowwhat?Emergencyitinerarychange.”Sheclapsherhands.“Weneedtodosomethingdrastic.”
Crap.Thelasttimesheusedtheword“drastic”inconjunctionwithanouting,wewenttoasaloninBostonandshedyedherhairpink.
“Likewhat?”Iaskwarily.
“We’repayingavisittoClaudette.”
“Who’sClaudette?”
“Myhairdresser.”
OhGod.I’mgoingtohavepinkhair.Ijustknowit.
Mombeamsatme.“Trustme,there’snothinglikeagoodmakeovertocheeragirlrightup.”Shegrabsthemugfrommyhandandsetsitonthecounter.“GetdressedwhileImaketheappointment.Wearegoingtohavesomuchfuntoday!”16
Logan
June
I’mthirty-threedaysintomytorturestintatLoganandSonswhenIhavemyfirstrun-inwithmyfather.I’vebeenwaitingforit,insomesickwayevenlookingforwardtoit,butforthemostpart,DadhasleftmealonesinceImovedbackhome.
Hehasn’taskedmeaboutschoolorhockey.Hasn’tgivenmetheusualguilttripsabouthowIdon’tcareenoughtovisit.Allhe’sdoneiscomplainabouthislegpainandthrustbeersinmydirectionwhilepleading,“Haveabrewskywithyouroldman,Johnny.”
Right.Likethat’lleverhappen.
Iappreciatethathehasn’tbeenonmycase,though.Truthis,I’mtooexhaustedtofightwithhimrightnow.I’vebeenfollowingtherigidoff-seasontrainingprogramthecoachesdesignedforus,whichmeansgettingupatthecrackofdawntoworkout,toilinginthegarageuntileightp.m.,workingoutagainbeforebed,andthencrashingforthenightanddoingitalloveragainthenextday.
OnceaweekIgotoMunsen’scrappyarenatoworkonshootingandskatingdrillswithVic,oneofourassistantcoacheswhodrivesoverfromBriartomakesureIstaysharp.Ilovehimforit,andIlookforwardtotheicetime,butunfortunately,today’snotarinkday.
ThecustomerI’mdealingwithatthemomentistheforemanofthesoleconstructioncrewintown.Hisname’sBernie,andhe’sadecentguy—well,ifyouoverlookhisconstantattemptstopersuademetojoinMunsen’ssummerhockeyleague,whichIhavenodesiretodo
Bernieshowedupfiveminutesagowithatwo-inchnailjammedinthefronttireofhispickup,gavemetheusualspielabouthowIneedtojointheleague,andnowwe’rediscussingtheoptionsforhisrepairs.
“Look,Icaneasilypatchyouup,”Itellhim.“I’llpullthenailout,plugitup,andfillupthetire.Whichisdefinitelythecheaperandquickeroption.Butyourtiresaren’tinthegreatestshape,Bern.Whenwasthelasttimeyoureplacedthem?”
Herubshisbushysalt-and-pepperbeard.“Fiveyearsago?Maybesix?”
Ikneelnexttotheleftfronttireandgiveitanotherquickexamination.“Thetreadonallfourtiresisstartingtowear.You’renotdowntoonesixteenthofaninchyet,butit’sgettingdamnclose.Afewmoremonthsandtheymightnotbesafetodriveonanymore.”
“Aw,kid,Idon’thavethemoneytoreplacethemrightnow.Besides,thecrew’sworkingabigjoboverinBrockton.”Hegivesthehoodaheartythump.“Ineedthisbabywithmeeverydaythisweek.Justdothepatchfornow.”
“Yousure?Becauseyou’llhavetocomebackagainwhenthetreadisgone.Irecommenddoingitnow.”
Hedismissesthesuggestionbywavingonemeatyhand.“We’lldoitnexttime.”
Inodwithoutargument.Firstruleofservice?Thecustomer’salwaysright.Besides,it’snotlikehistiresaregoingtoexplodeinthenextfewhours.It’llstillbealongwhilebeforethetreadiscompletelyworn.
“Allright.I’lldoitnow.Itshouldonlytakeabouttenminutes,butI’vegottafinishthealignmentonthisJettafirst.Somorelikethirty.Youwannawaitintheoffice?”
“Naw,I’llwalkaroundandsmoke.Ihavesomephonecallstomake.”Heglaresatme.“AndfortheloveofGod,weneedyouontheiceThursdaynights,kid.Thinkaboutit,okay?”
Inodagain,butwebothknowwhatmyanswerwillbe.Everyyear,theMunsenMinersextendaninvitation,andeveryyearIturnthemdown.Honestly,it’stoodepressingtoevenconsider.It’sjustareminderthatnextyearI’llbegoingfromaDivisionIteamtotheMunsenMiners.Yup,I’llbethestarplayerofanamateurleague,onateamthat’snamedafteranactivitythistownisn’tevenknownfor.TherearenominesinMunsenandneverhavebeen.
LessthanaminuteafterBerniewandersoutside,myfatheremergesfromtheofficeandlimpsovertome.Hishandsareblessedlydevoidofanyalcoholiccontainers.Atleasthehasbettersensethantodrinkinfrontofourcustomers.
“Thefuckwasthat?”hedemands.
Somuchforshieldingthecustomers—he’sslurringlikecrazyandswayingonhiscane,andsuddenlyI’mgladhe’sbeenholedupintheofficeallday,outofsight.
Istifleasigh.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
“Wherewastheupsell?”Hischeeksareflushedinoutrage,andeventhoughI’vebeenbackhomeformorethanamonth,I’mstillstartledbyhowgaunthelooks.It’sasifalltheskinfromhisface,armsandtorsodecidedtomovetohisgut,forminganincrediblyunflatteringbeerbellythatprotrudesbeneathhisthreadbareT-shirt.Otherthanthepaunch,he’sskinnyasarail,anditmakesmesadtoseehimthisway
I’veseenpicturesofhimwhenhewasyounger,andIcan’tdenyheusedtobehandsome.AndIhavememoriesofhimwhenhewassober.Whenhewasquicktosmile,alwaysarmedwithajokeoralaugh.Imissthatman.Christ,Ireallyfuckingmisshimsometimes.
“Athirty-buckpatchjobinsteadoffournewtires?”hefumes.“Whathahelliswrongwithyou?”
Istruggletocontrolmytemper.“Irecommendednewtires.Hedidn’twantthem.”
“Youdon’trecommend.Youpushitonthem.Youshoveitdowntheirfuckin’throats.”
IsneakaworriedpeekinBernie’sdirection,butfortunatelyhe’sallthewayatthefrontofthedriveway,suckingonacigaretteashetalksintohisphone.Jesus.Whatifhe’dbeeninearshot?Wouldmyfatherhavebeenabletorestrainhimselffromsayingthiskindofshitinfrontofaloyalcustomer?Ihonestlydon’tknow.
It’sonlyone-thirtyintheafternoonandhe’sstaggeringonhisfeetasifhe’sconsumedtheentirestockofaliquorstore.“Whydon’tyougobacktothehouse?”Isaysoftly.“You’restumblingalittle.Doyourlegshurt?”
“I’mnothurt.I’mpissed!”
Hesaysitlike“pithed.”Awesome.He’ssodrunkhe’slispingnow.
“Whatchaevendoinghereifyou’regonnathrowmoneyawaylikeitgrowsontrees?Youtell’emthetiresareunsafe.Youdon’tstandaroundandtalkaboutyourfuckin’hockeyteam!”
“Weweren’ttalkingabouthockey,Dad.”
“Bullshit.Iheardya.”Themanwhousedtocometoallmyninth-gradehockeygamesandsitbehindthehomebenchcheeringhislungsout…henowsmirksatme.“Thinkyou’reabighockeystar,doncha,Johnny?Butnaah,youain’t.Ifyou’resogood,whydidn’tanyonedraftyou?”
Mychesttightens.
“Dad…”ThequietwarningcomesfromJeff,whowipeshisgrease-coveredhandswitharagandmarchesuptous.
“Stayouttathis,Jeffy!I’mtalkingtoyourbigbrother.”Dadblinks.“L’ilbrother,Imean.He’stheyoungerone,right?”
JeffandIexchangealook.Shit.He’sreallyoutofit.
Usuallyoneofusmonitorshimthroughouttheday,butwe’vebeenswampedsincethesecondweopenedupshopthismorning.Ihadn’tbeentooworriedbecauseDadwasintheoffice,butnowIcursemyselfforforgettinganimportantruleinthealcoholichandbook:alwayshaveboozeonhand.
Hemustkeepastashhiddenintheoffice.SamewayhehidhisalcoholwhenheandMomwerestilltogether.OnetimewhenIwastwelve,thetoiletwasrunningsoIwentupstairstofixit,andwhenIliftedthelid,Ifoundamickeyofvodkafloatingaroundinthetank.
JustanotherdayintheLoganhousehold.
“Youlooktired,”Jeffsays,firmlygraspingourfather’sarm.“Whydon’tyougobacktothehouseandtakeanap?”
Heblinksagain,confusioneclipsingtheanger.Foramoment,helookslikealostlittleboy,andsuddenlyIfeellikebawling.It’stimeslikethesewhenIwanttograbhisshouldersandshakehim,beghimtomakemeunderstandwhyhedrinks.Mymomsaysit’sgenetic,andIknowDad’ssideofthefamilyhasahistoryofdepressionaswellasalcoholism.Andfuck,maybethat’sit.Maybethosereallyarethereasonshecan’tstopdrinking.Butapartofmestillcan’tfullyacceptthat.Hehadagoodchildhood,damnit.Hehadawifewholovedhim,twosonswhodidwhatevertheycouldtopleasehim.Whycouldn’tthatbeenoughforhim?
Iknowhe’sanaddict.Iknowhe’ssick.It’sjustsohardtoputmyselfinthatmindframe,inthatplacewhereabottleofboozeisthemostimportantthinginyourlife,somuchsothatyou’rewillingtothrowawayeverythingelseforit.
“IguessI’mal’iltired,”Dadmumbles,hisblueeyesstillcloudywithconfusion.“I’ll,ah…gotosleepnow.”
MybrotherandIwatchashehobblesoff,andthenJeffturnstomewithasadlook.“Don’tlistentohim.Youaregood.”
“Yeah,sure.”Iclenchmyjawandstalkbacktothelift,wherethesportyJettaI’vebeenworkingonawaitsme.“Ineedtofinishup.”
“John,hedoesn’tknowwhathe’stalkingabout—”
“Forgetit,”Imutter.“Ialreadyhave.”
Icloseuplaterthanusual.Muchlaterthanusual,becausewheneighto’clockrolledaround,Icouldn’tstomachthethoughtofgoingtothehousefordinner.Jeffpoppedinaroundninetobringmesomeleftovermeatloaf,andquietlyinformedmethatDadhad“soberedupabit.”Whichislaughable,becauseevenifhequitcoldturkeythisverysecond,there’ssomuchalcoholflowingthroughhisveinsthatitwouldtakedaysforittoexithissystem.
Nowit’sten-fifteen,andI’mhopingDadwillbeasleepwhenIwalkthroughthatdoor.No,I’mpraying.Idon’thavetheenergytodealwithhimrightnow.
Ileavetheshopthroughthesidedoor,stoppingtodropthekeysoftheJettaintothelittlemailboxnailedtothewall.Itsowner,acutebrunettewhoteachesatMunsenElementary,issupposedtopickupthecartonight,andIalreadyparkeditoutsideforherinthedesignatedarea.
Idouble-checkthepadlockonthegaragedoor,thenturntowardthepathtothehousejustasheadlightsslicethroughthetreesandataxispeedsupthedriveway.Anoldermansitsbehindthewheel,eyeingmewarilyasthebackdoorofthecabopensandToriHowardhopsout,herhigh-heeledbootsraisingacloudofdustwhentheymeetthedirt.
Shewaveswhenshespotsme,thengesturestothedriverthatit’sokaytogo.Asecondlater,sheswayshercurvyhipsmyway.
Toriisinhermid-twentiesandabsolutelygorgeous.ShemovedtoMunsenacoupleofyearsagoandbringshercartobeservicedafewtimesayear,andbelieveme,thatcarisnottheonlythingshewantsserviced.ShehitsonmeeverytimeIseeher,butIhaven’ttakenheruponherveryblatantoffersbecauseJeffisusuallyaroundwhensheshowsupandIdon’twanthimtothinkI’msleepingwiththecustomers.
Buttonightit’sjustthetwoofus,withnoJeffinsight.
Asmileliftsthecornersofhermouthassheapproachesme.“Hey.”
“Hey.”Inodattheretreatingtaillightsofthecab.“Youshould’vetoldmeyoudidn’thavearide.JefforIcould’vepickedyouup.”
“Oh,really?Ihadnoideathiswasafullservicejoint,”sheteases.
Ishrug.“Weaimtoplease.”
Hersmilewidens,andIrealizehowsleazythatlight-heartedcommenthadsounded.Ihadn’tbeentryingtoflirt,buthereyesaregleamingseductivelynow.
Isuddenlynoticethey’realmostthesameshadeofbrownasGrace’seyes.ExceptGraceneverlookedatmelikeshewantedtogobblemeupandaskforseconds.There’dbeensomethingearnestabouthergaze.Therewasheat,sure,butitwasn’tascalculatedandovertasthewayToriisgazingatmerightnow.
Andshit,IreallyneedtoquitthinkingaboutGrace.Ican’tevencounthowmanytimesI’vecalledherthissummer,buthercontinuedsilencetellsmeeverythingIneedtoknow.Shedoesn’twanttohearmyapologies.Shedoesn’twanttoseemeagain.
YetIcan’tfightthehopethatmaybeshe’llchangehermind.
“Youknow,yougetbetterlookingeverytimeIseeyou,”Toridrawls.
Idoubtit.Ifanything,Ijustgetmoretired.AndI’mprettysurethere’sastreakofoilonmycheekatthemoment,butToridoesn’tseemtomind.
Shepouts.“What,you’renotgoingtoreturnthecompliment?”
Ican’thelpbutgrin.“Tori,you’regorgeousandyouknowit.Youdon’tneedmetotellyouthat.”
“No,butsometimesit’snicetohearit.”
I’mnotsurehowIfeelaboutthedirectionthisconversationisgoing,soIchangethesubject.“Yougotmymessage,right?Iexplainedeverythingwedidtothecar,butIcanrunthroughitwithyouagain,ifyouwant.”
“Noneed.Itsoundslikeyouwereverythorough.”Sheslantsherhead.“So.Doyouhavebigplanstonight?”
“Nope.Gonnatakeashowerandcrash.It’sbeenalongday,andit’llbeanevenlongeronetomorrow.”
“Ashower,huh?Youknow,”shesayscasually,“Ijustgotasecondshowerheadinstalledinmyshower.”—andthere’snothingcasualabouttheendofthatsentence—“Ialwaysseeitinthemovies,theseincredible-lookingshowerswithamillionshowerheads,andIwaslike,whycan’tIhavethat?AndthenIrealized,Iabsolutelycan.”Shegrins.“SoIcalledaplumberandhecamebylastweekandinstalledit.Ican’tevendescribehowamazingitis.Watersprayingyoufrontandback?It’sglorious.”
Annnnndmydickissemi-hardnow.
I’mnotabouttogetallself-judgy,though,becauseone,Ihaven’thadsexinalmostthreemonths,andtwo,whenabeautifulwomanistalkingabouthershower,there’ssomethingwrongwithyouifyourbraindoesn’tconjureuptheimageofherinthatshower.Naked.Withwatersprayingher—frontandback
“Youshouldcomeoverandcheckitoutsometime,”shesays,andherwinkisaboutassubtleasaslapontheass
Hesitationrisesinmychest.Anyothertime,I’dinvitemyselfintohershowerinaheartbeat.ButI’mstillholdingontohopethatGracemight…mightwhat?Textme?Acceptmyapology?Evenifshedoes,thatdoesn’tmeanshe’llwanttogooutwithme.Hell,whywouldshe?ShewantedtofuckmeandIrejectedher.
Asmysilencedrags,Toriletsoutasigh.“I’veheardtherumorsaboutyou,Logan,andI’vegottasay,I’mdisappointedthatthey’renottrue.”
Inarrowmyeyes.“Whatrumors?”
“Youknow,thatyou’resexonastick.Upforanything.Goodinbed.”Shegivesmeasassygrin.“Ormaybeallofitistrue,andyou’rejustnotintoolderwomen.ButI’llhaveyouknow,Ipolledsomefriendsandtheyallconcurredthatasix-yearagedifferencedoesnotmakemeacougar.”
Alaughpopsout.“You’redefinitelynotacougar,Tori.”
“ThenIguessI’mnotyourtype.”
Mygazewandersovertheperkytitsbeneathhertightshirtandtheshapelylegsthatgoonforever.Notmytype?Yeahright.She’sexactlythekindofwomanI’mnormallyattractedto.
Sowhatthehellisstoppingme?Grace?Becauseaftermonthsofradiosilence,maybeit’stimeformetofinallytakethehint.
“Naah,that’snottrue,”Isaynonchalantly.“YouusuallycatchmewhenI’mdistracted.”
“Hmmm.Well,areyoudistractednow?”
“Nope.Infact…”Mygazelingersonherchestagainbeforemeetinghereyes.“Icouldreallygoforashower.”17
Logan
July
GarrettsurprisesmebyshowingupatthegarageonaThursdaynightwithpizzaandasix-pack.Idon’tseemuchofhimduringthesummer,whatwithmelivingathomeandhimworkingsixty-hourweeksataconstructioncompanyinBoston.Wetexthereandthere,usuallyabouttheNHLplayoffs.WegettogethertowatchtheStanleyCupgameeveryyear,whichwedidlastmonth.Butforthemostpart,ourfriendshipgoesonhiatusuntilIheadbacktoHastingsinSeptember.
I’mhappytoseehim,though.I’dprobablybehappierifhehadn’tbroughtbeer,buthey,howisGarrettsupposedtoknowthatmyfatherwhippedabeercanatmyheadthismorning?
Yup,shitgotrealtoday.Dadthrewacanandatantrum,whichresultedinmenearlytakingaswingathim.Jeff,ofcourse,brokeitupandplayedpeacekeeper,beforedraggingDad’sdrunkenasshome.WhenIpoppedinforlunch,theoldmanwasdrinkingBudLightsinthelivingroomandwatchinginfomercials,greetingmewithasmilethattoldmehe’dalreadyforgottenwhathadhappened.
“Hey.”GarrettstridesuptotheHyundaiwhosebrakepadsIjustreplacedandgivesmeamachoman-hugthatinvolvesmanyabackslap.Thenheglancesacrosstheroomatmybrother.“Jeff,myman.Longtime.”
“G!”JeffsetsdownhissocketwrenchandwandersovertoshakeGarrett’shand.“Wherethehellhaveyoubeenhidingthissummer?”
“Boston.I’vespentthepasttwoweeksslavingawayonaroofwiththesunbeatingdownonmyhead.”
IgrinwhenInoticethesunburnonhisnose,neckandshoulders.AndbecauseI’manass,Ileaninandflicktheredpatchofhisskinonhisleftshoulder.
Hewinces.“Fuckyou.Thathurt.”
“Poorbaby.YoushouldaskWellsytorubaloeonyourbooboos.”
Hegivesawolfishsmile.“Oh,trustme,shehas.Whichalreadymakesherawaybetterroommatethanyou.”
Roommate?Oh,right.ItotallyforgotthatHannah’sbeenstayingatourplaceforthesummer.WhichremindsmethattheguysandIshouldprobablytalkaboutwhat’sgoingtohappeninthefall.IfHannah’splanningonmovinginofficially.I’mtotallyoverher,andyeah,Ilovehercompany,butIalsolovethedynamicwehavegoing,justusguys.Injectingadoseofestrogenintothesystemmightshort-circuititorsomething.
“Canyoutakeabreak?”Garrettasks.“Youtoo,Jeff.There’senoughpizzaforthree.”
Ihesitate,picturingmydad’sreactionifhewandersoutsideandseesmechillingwithmybuddyinsteadofworking.Fuck.I’mnotinthemoodtothrowdownwithhimagain.
Jeff,however,answersbeforeIcan.“Don’tworry.John’sdoneforthenight.”
Ilookoverinsurprise.
“Seriously,I’vegotthis,”mybrothertellsme.“I’llfinishuphere.YoutakeGaroundbackandrelax.”
“Yousure?”
Jeffrepeatshimself,histonefirm.“I’vegotthis.”
Inodinthanks,thenstripoffmycoverallsandleavethegaragewithGarrettonmytail.Wewalkdownthepathleadingtothehouse,butrightbeforewereachthesprawlingbungalow,Iveerofftowardthegrassyclearingatthefaredgeoftheproperty.Yearsago,JeffandIhadsetupafirepitoutthereandsurroundeditwithasemi-circleofAdirondackchairs.Andinthewoodsbeyondtheclearing,there’satreehousewebuiltwhenwewerekids,whichanyhousinginspectorworthhissaltwouldcondemnthankstoitsshoddyworkmanshipandunstablefacade.
Garrettsetsthepizzaboxonthericketywoodtablebetweentwoofthechairs,thenpicksupthesix-pack,tugsacanofftheplasticring,andtossesitatme.
Icatchit,butdon’topenit.
“Right,Iforgot,”Garrettsaysdryly.“Beerisforpussies.”Herollshiseyes.“Therearenochicksaround,man.Youdon’thavetopretendtobeallsophisticated.”
Sophisticated?Ha.MyfriendsknowIdon’tdrinkbeerunlessit’stheonlyoptionavailable,butI’vealwaysclaimedmydislikeforitstemsfromthefactthatbeerisweakandtasteslikeshit.
Thetruth?Thesmellservesasadepressingreminderofmychildhood.Sodoesthetasteofbourbon,Dad’sbackupbeverageonceherunsoutofbeer.
“Justdon’tfeellikedrinkingrightnow.”Iplacethecanonthedirtandacceptthebacon-loadedpizzaslicehehandsme.“Thanks.”
Garrettflopsinthechairandreachesforaslice.“SohowcrazyisitaboutConnor?Firstroundpick—that’sgottabegoodforhisego.”
Abittersweetfeelingwashesoverme.TheNHLentrydrafttookplaceacoupleofweeksago,andIwasthrilledtohearthattwoBriarplayersmadethecut.TheKingssnappedupConnorTraynerinthefirstround,whiletheBlackhawksdraftedoneofourD-men,JoeRogers,inthefourth.I’mdamnproudofmyguys.They’rebothsophomores,bothtalentedplayerswhodeservetobeintheleague.
Butatthesametime,it’syetanotherreminderthatIwon’tbeintheleague.
“Connorearnedthatfirst-roundpick.Thekidisfasterthanlightning.”
Garrettchewsslowly,athoughtfulglimmerinhiseyes.“WhataboutRogers?Thinkhe’llmaketheHawksroster?Orgetsentdowntothefarmteam?”
Imullitover.“Farmteam,”Ianswer,albeitreluctantly.“Ithinkthey’llwanttodevelophimmorebeforetheysethimlooseontheworld.”
“Yeah,metoo.He’snotthebeststickhandler.Andtoomanyofhispassesdon’tconnect.”
Wecontinuetalkinghockeyaswedevourtheentirepizza,andeventuallyIcrankopenthebeer,thoughIonlytakeasiportwo.I’mnotlookingforabuzztonight.Actually,Ihaven’tfeltlikepartyingatalllately.IfI’mbeinghonest,mymood’sbeeninthedumpstersincethatnightwithTorilastmonth.
“Sowhat’sWellsyplanningtodointhefall?”Iaskhim.“Isshemovinginorwhat?”
Garrettisquicktoshakehishead.“Nope.Firstoff,Iwould’veaskedyouguysifitwascoolbeforemakingthatkindofdecision.Butshedoesn’twantto,anyway.Itmadesenseforthesummerbecauseourplaceissoclosetoherwork,butsheandAlliearedefinitelyroomingtogetheragainwhenthesemesterstarts.”
“Doessheknowyetwhatshewantstodoaftergraduation?”
“Noclue.She’sgotawholeyeartofigureitout,though.”Garrettgoesquietforabeat.“Hey,youknowWellsy’sfriendMeg?”
Inod,picturingtheprettydramamajor,who,lastIremember,hasaboyfriendwho’skindofadouche.“Yeah.She’sgoingoutwiththatJimmyguy,right?”
“Jeremy.Andtheybrokeup.”Garretthesitatesagain.“Hannahaskedifmaybeyouwantedhertosetyoutwoup.Meg’sfun.Youmightlikeher.”
Ishiftinmychair,uncomfortable.“Thanksfortheoffer,butI’mnotinterestedinaset-up.”
Hebrightens.“Doesthatmeanthefreshmanyou’vebeenobsessingoverfinallydecidedtoforgiveyou?”
AftertheStanleyCupgame,IhadconfessedtoGarrettaboutthewholeGracesituation,thewhiskeyI’dconsumedlooseningmytongueandcausingmetogivehimasordidplay-by-playofV-Night,whichiswhatI’mcallingthatfinalhook-up.NowIregrettellinghim,becausetalkingaboutherbringsanachetomychest.
“Shestillwon’ttalktome,”Iadmit.“It’sover,man.”
“Shit.Thatsucks.SoIassumeyou’rebacktodrillinganythinginaskirt?”
“No.”Myturntopause.“Ialmostsleptwiththisolderchickafewweeksago.”
Hegrins.“Howmucholder?”
“She’s…twenty-seven,Ithink?She’sateacherhereintown.Smokinghot.”
“Nice.Areyou—wait,whatdoyoumean,almost?”
Iawkwardlysipmybeer.“Couldn’tgothroughwithit.”
Helooksstartled.“Whynot?”
“Because…itwas…”IstruggletofindtherightadjectivetodescribethatdisastrousnightwithTori.“Idon’tknow.Iwentbacktoherplace,fullyintendingtofuckherbrainsout,butwhenshetriedtokissme,Ijustbailed.Itfelt…empty,Iguess.”
“Empty,”heechoes,soundingbewildered.“Whatdoesthatmean?”
FuckifIcanexplainit.SinceIstartedcollege,Ihaven’tpassedupmanyopportunitiestogetlaid.ThewayIsawit,ImightaswellliveinthemomentandtakeallthepleasureIcanget,becausetomorrowI’mgoingtobeagoddamnmechanic,livingahollowexistenceintheshitholethatisMunsen.ButthenightIwenttoTori’swas…equallyhollow.
Iraisethebeertomylipsagain,butthistimeIdownhalfthecan.Christ,everythingaboutmylifedepressestheshitoutofme.
Garrettwatchesme,deepconcernetchedintohisface.“What’sgoingon,man?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.Youlooklikeyourdogjustdied.”Heabruptlyglancesaroundtheclearing.“Ohshit,didyourdogdie?Doyouhaveadog?IsuddenlyrealizedIknownothingaboutyourlifehere.”
He’sright.Thisisonlythesecondtimehe’sbeenhereinthethreeyearsI’veknownhim.I’vealwaysmadesuretokeepmyhomelifeseparatefrommyschoolone.
NotthatGarrettwouldn’tbeabletorelate.Imean,hisfatherisn’texactlyaprince,either.ApartofmeisstillshockedthatGarrett’sfatherusedtohithim.PhilGrahamishockeyroyaltyaroundtheseparts,andIusedtoidolizehimwhenIwasgrowingup,buteversinceGarretttoldmeabouttheabuse,Ican’tevenheartheman’snamewithoutwantingtoshoveaskateinhischestandtwist.Hard.
Soyeah,IguessIcouldhavesharedmyowncrappyupbringingwhenGarrettsharedhis.Icouldhavetoldhimaboutmyfather’sdrinking.ButIhadn’t,becauseit’snotsomethingIliketotalkabout.
Butrightnow?I’mtiredofkeepingitallinside.
“Youwanttoknowaboutmylifehere?”Isayflatly.“Twowords—itsucks.”
Garrettrestshisbeeronhiskneeandmeetsmyeyes.“Howso?”
“Mydad’saragingalcoholic,G.”
Hehissesoutabreath.“Areyouserious?”
Inod.
“Whydidn’tyoutellmethisbefore?”Heshakeshishead,lookingupset.
“Becauseit’snotabigdeal.”Ishrug.“It’sthewaythingsare.Hefallsonandoffthewagon.Hemakesmessesandwecleanthemup.”
“IsthatwhyyouandJeffarepracticallyrunninghisbusinessforhim?”
“Yup.”Itakeabreath.Screwit.Ifit’sconfessiontime,thenthere’snopointhalf-assingit.“I’llbeworkingherefull-timenextyear.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”Garrett’smouthpuckersinafrown.“Wait,becauseofthedraft?Ialreadytoldyou—”
Iinterrupthim.“Ididn’tmakemyselfeligible.”
Shockandhurtmingleinhiseyestocreateadarkcloud.“Areyoufuckingserious?”
Inod.
“Whythehelldidn’tyousayanything?”
“BecauseIdidn’twantyoutryingtochangemymind.IknewthedayIacceptedthescholarshiptoBriarthatIwouldn’tbegoingpro.”
“But…”He’ssputteringnow.“WhataboutallthattalkaboutyouandmeinBruinsjerseys?”
“Justtalk,G.”Mytoneisasmiserableasmyfuture.“JeffandImadeadeal.HeworksherewhileI’matschool,andthenweswitchoff.”
“That’sbullshit,”Garrettsaysagain.Vehementlythistime.
“No,it’slife.Jeffdidhistime,nowit’smyturn.Someonehasto,orelsemydadwilllosehisbusiness,andthehouse,and—”
“Andthat’shisproblem,”Garrettinterjects,hisgrayeyesblazing.“Idon’tmeantosoundinsensitive,butit’strue.It’snotyourresponsibilitytotakecareofhim.”
“Yes,itis.He’smydad.”Regretseizesmythroat.“Hemightbeadrunk,andatotalassholesometimes,buthe’ssick,G.Andhegotinacaraccidentafewyearsbackandfuckeduphislegsprettybad,sonowhehaschronicpainandcanbarelywalk.”Iswallow,tryingtotampdownthesorrow.“Maybewe’llbeabletogethimbacktorehaboneday.Maybenot.Eitherway,Ineedtostepupandtakecareofhim.Itwon’tbeforever.”
“Howlongthen?”
“UntilJeffgetsthetravelbugoutofhissystem,”Isayweakly.“HeandhisgirlfriendaregoingtospendafewyearstrekkingthroughEurope,andthenthey’recomingbackandsettlinginHastings.Jeffwillrunthegarageagain,andI’llbefree.”
DisbeliefdripsfromGarrett’svoice.“Soyou’reputtingyourlifeonhold?Foryears?”
“Yes.”
Thesilencethatfollowsonlyheightensmydiscomfort.IknowGarrettdisapprovesofmyplans,butthere’snothingIcandoaboutthat.JeffandIhadadeal,andIhavenochoicebuttosticktoit.
“Youneverhadanyintentionofcallingthatagent.”
“No,”Iconfess.
Hisjawtightens.Thenheletsoutaheavybreaththathashimsaggingforward.Herakesonehandoverhisscalp.“Iwishyoutoldmeallthisbefore.IfI’dknown,Iwouldn’thaveharassedyouabouttheprosallyear.”
“Tellyouthatmyfutureisasbleakasaprisonsentence?No,thatitprettymuchisaprisonsentence?Idon’tevenliketothinkaboutit,G.”
Istarestraightaheadatnothinginparticular.Thesunhasalreadyset,butthere’sstillsomelightinthesky,givingmeaperfectviewoftheproperty.Theoutdatedbungalowanddandelion-riddledlawn.
ThebackdroptothelifeI’mgoingtoleadafterIgraduate.
“Isthiswhyyou’vebeenpartyinglikethere’snotomorrow?”Garrettdemands.“Becauseyoubelievethereliterallyisn’tatomorrow?”
“Lookaround,man.”Igesturetothesun-brownedgrassandoldtiresstrewnonthedirt.“Thisismytomorrow.”
Hesighs.“So,what,youknewyouweren’tgoingtohavetheNHLexperiencesoyoufigured,hey,mightaswelltakeadvantageoftheminorcelebritycollegestatusandenjoythisconstantstreamofeasypussy?”Garrettlookslikehe’stryingnottolaugh.“Pleasedon’ttellmeyou’vebeenplayinghockeysinceyoucouldwalkforthesolepurposeofgettinglaid.”
Iscowlathim.“Ofcoursenot.That’sjustaperk.”
“Aperk,huh?Thenwhatareyoudoinglustingoverarelationship?”Hearchesabrow.“Yeah,shetoldme.”
“Whatexactlyarewediscussinghere,G?Mysexlife?BecauseIthoughtweweretalkingaboutmyfuture.Which,bytheway,isafuckingjoke,okay?Idon’thaveadamnthingtolookforwardto.Nohockey,nogirls,nochoices.”
“That’snottrue.”Hepauses.“You’vegotayear.”
Acreasedigsintomyforehead.“What?”
“You’vegotawholeyear,John.Yoursenioryear.Foronemoreyear,youdohavechoices.Youhavehockey,andyourfriends,andifyouwantagirlfriend,youcanhavethattoo.”Hesnorts.“ButthatmeanskeepingyourdickoutofpartygirlswhohavetheIQofahockeystick.”
Ibitetheinsideofmycheek.
“Youwantmyadvice?”Sincerityshinesinhiseyes.“IfIknewIhadoneyearleftbeforeI—Iwasabouttosayhadto,butImaintainthatyoudon’thavetodoanything.Youchooseto,butwhatever,you’vemadeyourchoice.ButifIknewIhadtoputmylifeonholdstartingnextyear,I’dmakethemostofthetimeIhadleft.Stopdoingthingsthatmakeyoufeelempty.Havefun.Makethingsrightwiththatgirl,ifthat’swhat’llmakeyouhappy.Quitsulkingandmakethemostofyoursenioryear.”
“I’mnotsulking.”
“Yeah,well,you’renotdoinganythingproductive,either.”
IchewonmycheekuntilI’vedrawnblood,butIbarelynoticethecopperyflavorthatfillsmymouth.I’vebeentreatingthisupcomingyearlikeadeathsentence,butmaybeGarrett’sright.MaybeIneedtostartviewingitasanopportunity.Onemoreyeartoenjoymyfreedom.ToplaythegameIlove.TohangoutwithfriendsI’mluckytohaveandprobablydon’tdeserve.
Freedom,hockey,andfriends.Yup,allthosethingsmakethelist.
Butthenumberoneslot?That’sano-brainer.
IneedtomakethingsrightwithGrace.18
Logan
August
There’sonemoreweekbeforethenewsemesterstarts,andI’mfinallyseeingthelightattheendofthetunnel.ThoughifI’mbeinghonest,thetailendofthesummerwasn’tallthatshitty.IspentaweekinBostonvisitingmymom,didn’thaveanymajorrun-inswithmydad,andIevenendedupcallingBernieandplayingafewgameswiththeMiners.Turnsouttheplayersareactuallyprettydecent.Mostofthemareintheirthirties,afewareintheirforties,andI,beingtheonlytwenty-one-year-old,schooledeachandeveryoneofthemontheice.Butitfeltgoodtobepartofateamagain.
Theonedarkspotonanotherwisemostly-painlesssummerrecordisthatGracehadn’tcalled.AftermytalkwithGarrett,Ileftheralongvoicemailapologizingagainandaskingforanotherchance.Noresponse.
Still,shecan’tavoidmeforever.I’mboundtorunintoheroncampus,or…IcanalwaysspeeduptheprocessbyflirtingwiththehotgradstudentinthehousingofficetofindoutwhichdormGracewillbein.Mylastresortwouldbecallingher“friend”Ramona,butIrefusetodothatunlessIabsolutelyhaveto.
Butallthatcanwait.Ihavetheafternoonofftoday,andmyspiritsarehighasIdrivetoHastings.Mystrengthandconditioningprogramrequiresincreasedweighttrainingnow,butsinceIhavetheworstselectionofweightsathome,JeffagreedtocoverformetwiceaweeksoIcanusethestate-of-the-artweightroominourteamfacilitiesoncampus.
Deanhasbeentaggingalongwithme,andwhenIpullupinfrontofourtownhouse,he’swaitingformeinthedriveway.Mr.GQisshirtless,wearinglow-ridingAdidastearawaypantsandjogginginplacelikeamoron.
Grinning,Ihopoutofthetruckandwalkovertohim.
“Hey.Changeofplans,”hesays.“Wellsygotoffworkearly,sowe’regoingrunninginstead.”
Iwrinklemynose.“Youandme?”
“You,meandWellsy,”heclarifies.“SheandIhavebeenrunningeverynight.SometimesGcomesifhe’snottoobeat.Butshehasplanswithherfolkstonight.”
“Nice.Herparentsareintown?”IknowHannahdoesn’tgettoseethemasoftenasshe’dlike,soIimagineshemustbethrilled.Ialsoknowthatthereasonshedoesn’tseethemis…herowndamnbusiness.EventhoughshetoldGarrettitwasokaytoconfideinmeaboutthesexualassaultinherpast,itfeelsinappropriatetobringitup.Ifshewantedtotalkaboutitwithme,shewould.
“They’restayingattheinnonMain,”Deananswers.“Anyway,thisistheonlytimeshecanruntoday.”
Asifoncue,Hannahappearsonthefrontstoop,deckedoutinabaggyT-shirtandspandexpantsthatgotoherknees.Herponytailflopsaroundasshehurriesovertogivemeahug.“Logan!IfeellikeIhaven’tseenyouinmonths!”
“That’sbecauseyouhaven’t.”Itweaktheendofherponytail.“How’syoursummergoing?”
“Good.You?”
Ishrug.“Allright,Iguess.”
“Soyou’recomingrunningwithus?”
“ApparentlyIdon’thaveachoiceinthematter.”I’malreadywearingsneakers,trackpantsandanoldT-shirt,soIdon’tneedtochange,butIpopintothehousetostashmywalletandkeysbeforejoiningthemoutsideagain.JustintimetohearHannahscoldingDeanabouthisrunningattire.
“Seriously,dude,putonashirt.”
“Hey,youknowwhattheysay,”Deandrawls.“Ifyou’vegotit,flauntit.”
“No,I’mprettysuretheysayputonashirtwhenyougoforarun,youcockynarcissist.”
Hisjawdrops.“Narcissist?Morelikerealist.Lookattheseabs,Wellsy.Actually,touchthem.Seriously.Itwillchangeyourlife.”
Shesnorts.
“What,you’retoointimidatedbyallthismasculinebeauty?”Heslapsahandoverhistightsix-pack.
“Youknowwhat?”shesayssweetly.“Iwouldlovetotouchyourabs.”
Intheblinkofaneye,Hannahscootsdownandgrabssomethingfromtheplanternexttothegarage.Ahandfulofdirt.Whichsheproceedstosmearonhim,leavingalinefromhisbellybuttontothetopofhiswaistband.Andsinceit’shotashelloutsideandDeanisalreadysweaty,thedirtcakestohisskinlikeamudmask.
“Ready?”shechirps.
Deanglowersather.“IknowyouthinkI’llgoinsideandwipethatoff.Butguesswhat—Iwon’t.”
“Ohreally?You’regoingtorunthroughtownlookinglikethat?”Shetipsherheadinchallenge.“Noway.You’refartoovain.”
Isnicker,butIhappentoknowshe’snotgivingDeanenoughcredit.Asmuchashisegoprobablyhatesthathispristineabshavebeensoiled,Deanalsohappenstobeastubborn-as-fuckhockeyplayerwho’snotgoingtoallowatinyballbusterlikeHannahgettohim.
“Nuh-uh,babydoll.I’mwearingthisdirtasabadgeofhonor.”
Hestaresather.Gloating.
Shestaresback.Annoyed.
Iclearmythroat.“Arewerunningorwhat?”
Theysnapoutoftheirstare-downandthethreeofustakeoffinabriskpacedownthesidewalk.“Weusuallyrunthesameroute,”Deantellsme.“Downtothepark,hitthetrailthere,thencomebacktheotherway.”
Knowingthey’vebeenrunningtogetheroftenenoughtohavea“route”bringsastrangepangofjealousy.Imissmyfriends,damnit.IhatehowisolatedI’vebeeninMunsen,withnobodytotalktobutJeffandmyperpetuallyinebriatedfather.
We’veonlybeenrunningforafewminuteswhenHannahstartshumming.Softlyatfirst,buteventuallyitturnsintofull-onsinging.Hervoiceisbeautiful,sweetandmelodicwithathroatypitchthatGarrettsaysgiveshimgoosebumps.AsshesingsHozier’s“TakeMetoChurch”,Ican’thelpbutturntogrinatDean.
“Shesingswhenshe’srunning,”hesayswithasigh.“Seriously.Shedoesitthewholetime.GarrettandItriedexplainingthatitmesseswithyourbreathcontrol,but—”
“IsweartoGod,”sheinterrupts,“ifIhavetohearonemorelectureaboutmybreathcontrol,Iwillpunchyou.Allofyou.IliketosingwhenIrun.Dealwithit.”
Iactuallydon’tmindit.Hervoiceisanicesoundtracktothethudsofoursneakerspoundingthepavement,evenifherchoiceofsongsisslightlydepressing.
Whenwereachtheentranceofthepark,Inoticetheroofofthegazebopeekingthroughthetrees,andI’msuddenlyremindedofthenightatthewatertowerwithGrace.She’dtoldmethiswasherchildhoodspot.
Myshoulderstense,almostasifI’manticipatingtofindGraceinthegazebo.Whichisstupid,becauseofcourseshe’snot—
Holyshit,sheis.Iseeagirlonthesteps.Alongbraidand…disappointmentsurgesthroughme.Wait.It’snotGrace.It’sablondeinagreensundress,andtheafternoonsunlightcatchesinhergoldenbraidasshebendsherheadtoreadthebookinherlap.
Thenherheadlifts,andholyshitagain,becauseIwasrightthefirsttime—itisher.
Istumbletoastop,completelyforgettingaboutDeanandHannah,whokeeprunning.Fromherperchonthesteps,Gracelooksinmydirection,andalthoughthirtyorsoyardsseparateus,Iknowsherecognizesme.
Ourgazeslock,andafrownmarsherlips.
Shit,maybeDean’sontosomething.MaybeIshouldn’tbewearingashirtrightnow.Chicksaremuchmoreamenablewhenthey’relookingatarippedchest,right?
Jesus,andthat’sjustsad,thinkingthesightofmybarechestwillmakeherforgeteverythingthatwentdownbetweenus.
“Logan.Yo,whatthehell?Keepup,bro.”
MyfriendshavefinallynoticedI’mnotwiththem,andtheycomejoggingback.Hannahfollowsmygaze,thengasps.“Oh.IsthatGrace?”
Forasecond,I’msurprisedsheknowshername,untilIrealizethatGarrettmusthavetoldher.Shocker.
Besideme,Deansquintsatthegazebotogetabetterlook.“Naah,that’snother.Yourfreshmanisabrunette.Andshedoesn’thavelegsthatgoonandonand—fuck,thoselegsarehot.’Scuseme,IthinkI’llgooverthereandintroducemyself.”
Igrabhisarmbeforehecantakeanotherstep.“It’sGrace,dumbass.Sheobviouslydyedherhair.Andifyoulookedatherfaceandnotherlegs,you’dseeit.”
Hesquintsagain,andthenhisjawdrops.“Shit.You’reright.”
Gracelowershergazebacktoherbook,butIknowshe’sawareofmypresencebecausehershouldersarestifferthanthepostsatthegazebo’sentrance.She’sprobablywaitingformetorunoff,butthat’snotgoingtohappen.I’mnotrunningaway,notthistime.
“Youguysgoonahead,”Isaygruffly.“I’llcatchup.OrImightjustmeetyoubackatthehouse.”
DeancontinuestoleeratGrace,untilHannahfinallyshoveshimtoforcehimtofollowher.Astheyheadforthepath,Imoveintheotherdirection,myheartbeatingfasterandfasterthecloserIget.
It’snotonlyherhaircolorthat’sdifferent,Irealize.She’salsowearingmoremakeupthanI’veseenherwearbefore,smokygreeneyeshadowthatmakeshereyeslookbigger.Fuck,it’ssexy.Especiallycombinedwiththefrecklesthatnoamountofmakeupcancoverup.
Mychestclenchesassomethingoccurstome.She’swearingadress.Andmakeup.OnaThursdayafternoon.
Isshewaitingforsomeone?
MypalmsareclammyasIapproachher.Ican’ttakemyeyesoffher.Jesus.Herlegsreallyarephenomenal.Smoothandtannedand…crap,I’mimaginingthemwrappedaroundmywaist.HerheelsdiggingintomyassasIfuckthehelloutofher.
Iclearmythroat.“Hi.”
“Hi,”sheanswers.
Ican’tforthelifeofmereadhertone.It’snotcasual.Notrude.It’s…neutral.IguessIcanworkwiththat.
“I…”Thenervesgetthebestofme,andIendupblurtingthefirstthingthatcomestomind.“Youdidn’tcallmeback.”
Shemeetsmyeyes.“No.Ididn’t.”
“Yeah…Idon’tblameyou.”Iwishmygoddamntrackpantshadpockets,becauseI’mexperiencingthatage-oldproblemactorshave—whatthefuckdoIdowithmyhands?They’redanglingatmysides,andI’mfightinghardnottofidget.“Look,Iknowyouprobablydon’twanttohearawordIhavetosay,butcanwetalk?Please?”
Gracesighs.“What’sthepoint?IsaideverythingIneededtosaythatnight.Itwasamistake.”
Inodinagreement.“Yes,itwas.Itwasahugemistake,butnotforthereasonyouthink.”
Irritationcloudsherfeatures.Sheclosesherbookandstandsup.“Ihavetogo.”
“Fiveminutes,”Ibeg.“Justgivemefiveminutes.”
Despitehervisiblereluctance,shedoesn’twalkaway.Doesn’tsitdowneither,butshe’sstillstandinginfrontofme,andfiveminutesinthelifeofahockeyplayer?Morethanenoughtimetoscoreafewpoints.
“I’msorryabouthoweverythingwentdown,”Isayquietly.“Ishouldn’thaveendeditlikethat,andIdefinitelyshouldn’thaveletusgetthatclosetohavingsexwhenIwassoscrewedupevenbeforeIcameover.ButallthatstuffIsaidaboutwantingsomeoneelse?Iwaswrong.Ididn’trealizeuntilIgothomethatIwasalreadywiththepersonIwantedtobewith.”
Zeroreactiononherface.Zip.Nada.Apartofmewondersifshe’sevenlisteningtome,butIforcemyselftocontinue.“ThegirlItoldyouabout…she’smybestfriend’sgirlfriend.”
Aflickerofsurprisecrossesherexpression.Sosheislistening.
“IconvincedmyselfIhadathingforher,butitturnsoutitwasn’treallyherIwanted.IwantedwhatsheandGarretthave.Arelationship.”
Graceeyesmedubiously.“Uh,yeah.Sorry,butIdon’treallybuythat.”
“It’strue.”Mythroatistightwithembarrassment.“Iwasjealousofwhattheyhave.AndIwasstressingaboutotherthingstoo,familystuff,andhockey.IknowitsoundslikeI’mmakingexcuses,butit’sthetruth.Iwasn’tinagoodplace,andIwastooconfusedandbitteraboutmylifetoappreciatewhatIhad.Ireallydidlikeyou.Dolikeyou,”Iamendhastily.
God,Ifeellikeafrickin’pre-teen.Iwishshe’doffersomeshredofencouragement,ahintofunderstanding,butherexpressionremainsblank.
“I’vebeenthinkingaboutyouallsummer.IkeepkickingmyselfforthewayIacted,andwishingIcouldmakeitright.”
“There’snothingtomakeright.Webarelyknoweachother,Logan.Wewerejustfoolingaround,andhonestly,I’mnotinterestedinstartingthatupagain.”
“Idon’twanttofoolaround.”Iexhaleinarush.“Iwanttotakeyououtonadate.”
Shelooksamused.
Goddamnit.Amused.AsifI’vejusttoldherahumdingerofajoke.
“Imeanit,”Iinsist.“Willyougoonadatewithme?”
Graceisquietforamoment,thensays,“No.”
Asdisappointmentclenchesinmystomach,shetucksherbookinhershoulderbagandtakesastepaway.
“Ihavetogo.MydadandIaregoingoutforlunchsoon,andhe’swaitingformeathome.”
“I’llwalkyou,”Isayinstantly.
“No,thanks.Icanmakeitthereallbymylonesome.”Shepauses.“Itwasniceseeingyouagain.”
Oh,hellno.There’snowayI’mlettingitendthisway,allcoldandimpersonal,asifwe’renothingmorethanacquaintanceswhobumpedintoeachotheronthestreet.
WhenIfallinstepalongsideher,shegrumblesinannoyance.“Whatareyoudoing?ItoldyouIdon’tneedyoutowalkmehome.”
“I’mnotwalkingyouhome,”Ianswercheerfully.“Ihappentobegoinginthatdirection.”
Shepointstothetrail.“Yourfriendswentthatway.”
“Yup.AndI’mgoingthisway.”
Hercheekshollowasifshe’sgrindingherteeth,andthenshemumblessomethingunderherbreath.Itsoundslike,“theonedayIforgettobringmyiPod.”
Perfect.Thatmeansshecan’tignoremebylisteningtomusic.
“Soyou’rehavinglunchwithyourdad?Isthatwhyyou’realldressedup?”
Shedoesn’tanswerandpromptlypicksupherpace.
Ilengthenmystridestokeepup.“Hey,we’realreadywalkinginthesamedirection.Noharminpassingthetimebymakingconversation.”
Shesparesmeacursoryglance.“I’mdressedupbecausemymotherspentwaytoomuchmoneyonthisdress,andmyparanoidbrainthinksthatifIdon’twearitshe’llsomehowbeabletosenseit,eventhoughshe’sallthewayinParis.”
“Paris,huh?”
Sherespondsinagrudgingtone.“Ispentthesummerthere.”
“SoyourmotherlivesinFrance?Doesthatmeanyourparentsaredivorced?”
“Yes.”Thenshescowlsatme.“Stopaskingmequestions.”
“Noprob.Doyouwanttoaskmesome?”
“Nope.”
“Okeydokey.I’llkeepbeingthequestion-askerthen.”
“Didyoujustsayokeydokey?”
“Yup.Wasthatadorableenoughtochangeyourmindaboutthatdate?”
Herlipstwitch,butthelaughI’mwaitingfordoesn’tcome.Instead,shefallssilentagain.Andwalksevenfaster.
We’reonastreetparalleltoHastings’downtowncore,passingseveralquaintstorefrontsbeforetheareagoesfromcommercialtoresidential.IpatientlywaitforGracetogettiredofthesilenceandsaysomething,butshe’smorestubbornthanIthought.
“Sowhat’swiththehair?NotthatIdon’tlikethenewcolor.Itsuitsyou.”
“Alsomymother’sdoing,”Gracemutters.“ShedecidedIneededamakeover.”
“Well,youlookgreat.”Ishootherasidelonglook.Christ,shelooksmorethangreat.I’vebeenwalkingwithasemisinceweleftthepark,unabletostopadmiringthewayherdressfluttersaroundherthighswitheachstepshetakes.
Wereachastopsignandsheveerstotheright,herpacequickeningasweturnontoawidestreetlinedwithtoweringoaktrees.Damnit.Herhousemustbeclose.
“Onedate,”Iurgesoftly.“Please,Grace.GivemeachancetoshowyouI’mnotatotaldick.”
Shegazesatme,incredulous.“Youhumiliatedme.”
Fourmonths’worthofguiltslamsintome.“Iknow.”
“Iwasreadytohavesexwithyou,andyoudidn’tjustrejectme—youtoldmeyouwereusingmeasadistraction.Soyouwouldn’thavetothinkaboutthepersonyouactuallywantedtohavesexwith!”Hercheeksturnbrightred.“WhywouldIeverwanttogooutwithyouafterthat?”
She’sright.There’sabsolutelynoreasonforhertogivemeanotherchance.
Mystomachhurtsasshebrushespastme.Sheheadsforthefrontlawnofaprettyhousewithawhiteclapboardexteriorandwraparoundporch,andIfeelevenqueasierwhenInoticeagray-hairedmanontheporch.He’ssittingonawhitewickerchair,anewspaperonhislapashewatchesusfrombehindapairofwire-rimmedglasses.Shit,that’sprobablyGrace’sfather.Grovelinginfrontofanaudienceisbadenough,butdoingitinfrontofherfather?Fuckingbrutal.
“Whatabouteverythingbeforethat?”Icalloutafterher.
Sheturnstofaceme.“What?”
“Beforethatnight.”IlowermyvoicewhenIcatchuptoher.“Whenwewenttothemovies.Andthewatertower.Iknowyoulikedmethen.”
Gracereleasesatired-soundingbreath.“Yeah.Idid.”
“Solet’sfocusonthat,”Isayroughly.“Onthegoodparts.Ifuckedup,butIpromiseI’llmakeituptoyou.Idon’twantanyoneelse.AllIwantisanotherchance.”
Shedoesn’tanswer,andanacheofdesperationseizesmychest.AtthispointI’dbethrilledtoreceivea“yeah,sure”fromher.Thesilencewrecksme,chippingawayattheconfidenceboostshegavemewhensheadmittedtolikingmebeforeV-Night.
“Sorry,butno,”shesays,andthelastscrapofmyconfidencetakesanosedive.“Look,ifyouwantforgiveness,thensure,you’vegotit.Thatnightwasembarrassingashell,butIhadthewholesummertogetoverit.Idon’tholdgrudges,okay?Ifwebumpintoeachotheroncampus,I’mnotgoingtorunscreamingintheotherdirection.Maybewe’llevengrabacoffeeoneday.ButIdon’twanttogooutwithyou,atleastnotrightnow.”
Fuck.Ireallythoughtshe’dsayyes.
Defeatcrushesdownonmychest,followedbyasurgeofhope,becausetechnically,shedidn’tsayno
Shesaid“notrightnow.”
Icanabsolutelyworkwiththat.19
Grace
It’sthefirstsemesterofmysophomoreyear.WhichmeansI’mSophomoreGracenow.FreshmanGrace,Godresthersoul,letherbestfriendmakedecisionsforherandguyswalkalloverher,butSophomoreGrace?Shewilldonosuchthing.ShewillnotbeRamona’sdoormatorLogan’sdistraction.Nope.SophomoreGraceisthecarefreenineteen-year-oldwhospentthesummergallivantingaroundFrance.
Doesitstillcountasgallivantingwhenyoudoitwithyourmother?
Sureitdoes,Iassuremyself.Gallivantingisgallivantingnomatterwhoyou’rewith.
Eitherway,anewyearequalsanewme.
Orrather,animprovedversionoftheoldme.
Atthemoment,new/oldmeismakingthebedinmynewdormroomanddesperatelyhopingthatmyroommatewon’tbeabitch,apsycho,orapsycho-bitch.Itriedconvincingthewomaninthehousingofficetogivemeasingle,butthosearereservedforupperclassmen,soI’mstuckdoublingupwithsomeonenamedDaisy.
WhenmyfatherhelpedmemovemystufftoHartfordHouseyesterday,Daisy’ssideoftheroomhadbeenempty,butIgotbackfromlunchtodaytofindboxesandsuitcasesallovertheplace.SonowI’mwaitingforhertoshowupbecauseIwanttogettheawkwardnice-to-meet-you’soutoftheway.
ThefactthatI’mgettinganewroommatebringsanunwelcomepangofsorrow.Ihaven’tspokentoRamonasinceApril,whenIinformedherIwasdone.Maybewe’llsitdownandtalkoneofthesedays,butrightnow,I’mlookingforwardtostartingmysophomoreyearwithouther.
Asexasperatingasmymom’sambushmakeoverswere,shetaughtmeseveralvaluablelessonsthissummer.Firstandforemost—beconfident.Second—bespontaneous.Third—theonlyopinionthatmattersisyourown.
IplanonincorporatingMom’sadviceintomySophomorePlan,whichinvolveshavingfun,makingnewfriends,andgoingoutondates.
Oh,andnotthinkingaboutJohnLogan.That’sacriticalcomponentintheplan,becauseeversinceIranintohimattheparklastweek,Ihaven’tbeenabletogethimoffmymind.
I’mproudofmyselfforstandingmyground,though.Iwassurprisinglyanger-freewhenIsawhim,butthatdoesn’tmeanI’mwillingtotrusthimagain.Besides,I’mSophomoreGracenow.I’mnoteasilydazzledanymore.IfLoganisseriousaboutusgoingout,Ineedalotmorethanagruffapologyandacrookedgrin.He’llhavetouphisgame,that’sforsure.
Thedoorswingsopen,andmybacktensesasIturntofacemynewroomieforthefirsttime.
Sheis…adorable.ExceptI’mfairlycertainthatnotonlyis“adorable”thelastwordotherpeoplewouldusetodescribeher,butthatifsheheardmesayit,she’dkickmyass.Nevertheless,it’sthefirstadjectivethatcomestomind,becauseshe’satinypixieofagirl.Well,ifpixieshadblackhairwithpinkbangs,amultitudeofpiercings,andworecuteyellowsundressespairedwithDocMartens.
“Hi,”shesayscheerfully.“Soyou’reGrace,huh?”
“Yep.Andyou’reDaisy…?”
Shegrinsassheclosesthedoorbehindher.“Iknow.Thenamedoesn’tsuitme.Ithinkwhentheynamedme,myparentsthoughtI’dgrowuptobeaSouthernBellelikemymom,butmuchtotheirchagrin,theygotthis.”Shegesturestoherselffromheadtotoe,thenshrugs.
IdohearatraceoftheSouthinhervoice,though,averysubtledrawlthataddstohereasygoingattitude.Ilikeheralready.
“Ihopeyoudon’tmindalltheboxes.IflewinfromAtlantaearlythismorningandhaven’thadachancetounpackyet.”
“Noworries.Doyouneedhelpunpacking?”Ioffer.
Gratitudefillshereyes.“I’dlovethat.Butit’llhavetowaituntilthisevening.IjustpoppedintograbmyiPad,andnowI’mheadingtothestation.”
“Thestation?”
“Campusradiostation,”sheexplains.“Ihostanindierockshowonceaweek,andproducetwootherones.I’mabroadcastingandcommmajor.”
“Oh,that’scool.Iwasactuallygoingtocheckifthereareanyavailablestudentjobsthere,”Iconfess.“Iwasthinkingofjoiningtheschoolpaper,buttheguyIspoketosaidtheirfreelancerlistisamilelong.AndIdon’thaveanathleticormusicalboneinmybody,sosportsandmusicisout,andalltheotherclubsIlookedintosoundinsanelyboring.Orplainnuts—didyouknowtheenvironmentalactivistgrouponcampusspendstheirweekendschainingthemselvesuptotreestoprotestallthetownhousedevelopmentsthatarebeingbuiltinHastings?Andlastyearsomechickgotstruckbylightningbecausesherefusedtounchainherselfduringathunderstorm—”Istopabruptly,feelingmycheeksheatup.“Forthesakeoffulldisclosure,youshouldknowI’mababbler.”
Daisyburstsoutlaughing.“Noted.”
“Youmightfinditendearingoneday,”Isayhelpfully.
“Don’tworry,I’monboardwiththebabbling.Aslongasyoupromisetobeonboardwithmynightterrors.Seriously,it’sbrutal.Iwakeupscreamingmylungsoutand—kidding,Grace.”Herlaughterisoutofcontrolnow.“God,youshouldhaveseenthelookonyourface.Ipromise,nonightterrors.ButIhavebeentoldItalkinmysleepsometimes.”
Isnicker.“That’sfine.I’llbabbleduringthewakinghours,you’llbabbleinthesleepinghours.Matchmadeinheaven.”
DaisyunzipsoneofthesuitcasesonherbedandfishesaroundinsideuntilshepullsoutabrightpinkiPadcase.Shetucksitintothekhaki-greencanvasbagthat’sslungoverhershoulderandglancesatme.“Hey,ifyou’reseriousabouttheextra-curricularthing,weactuallyarelookingforpeopletohelpoutatthestation.Thereareacoupleofopenhostingslots,butIdon’tthinkyou’llwantthem—it’sthegraveyardshift.Andifon-airstuffisn’tyourstyle,wealsoneedaproducerforoneofthetalkshows.”
“WhatwouldIhavetodo?”
“It’sacall-inadviceshow.MondayeveningsandFridayafternoons.You’dbescreeningcalls,doingresearchforthehostsiftheyplanontalkingaboutaspecifictopic,thatkindofstuff.”Shegivesmeanearnestlook.“Youknowwhat?Whydon’tyoucomewithmerightnow?I’llintroduceyoutoMorris,thestationmanager,andyouguyscantalk.”
Ithinkitover,butitdoesn’ttakelongtoreachadecision.Daisyseemscool,anditwouldn’thurttotalktoherstationmanager.Besides,Iwantedtomakenewfriends,right?
Mightaswellstartnow.
*
Logan
It’sgoodtobehome.NottoripoffDorothyoranything,buttherereallyisnoplacelikeit.Theironydoesn’tescapeme,though—technicallythehouseIstayedinallsummerandjustleftlastnightishome.ButIwasneverhalfashappyinMunsenasIamhereinHastings,inthehouseI’veonlybeenrentingfortwoyears.
Myfirstmorningback,andI’minsuchaterrificmoodthatIstartthedayoffrightbyblastingNappyRootsinthekitchenwhileIscarfdownsomecereal.Theloudstrainsof“GoodDay”drawtheothersfromtheirbedrooms,andGarrettisthefirsttoappear,cladinboxersandrubbinghiseyes.
“Morning,Sunshine,”hemumbles.“Pleasetellmeyoumadesomecoffee.”
Ipointtothecounter.“Gonuts.”
Hepourshimselfacupandplopsdownononeofthestools.“Didcartoonchipmunksdressyouthismorning?”hegrumbles.“You’rescarilychipper.”
“Andyou’rescarilygrumpy.Smile,dude.It’sourfavoritedayoftheyear,remember?”
AKAthefirstdayofopentryoutsforfreshmenwhoweren’trecruitedoutofhighschool.Theupperclassmencrasheveryyeartoscopeouttheprospectivetalent,becausesadly,losingtalentedplayersisafactoflifewhenyouplayBriarhockey.Guysgraduate,dropout,gopro.Andsincetheteamrosterchangeseachyear,we’realwayseagertocheckouttheincomingfreshmen.
Hopefullythere’llbesomegemsontheicetoday,becausetheteam’sinaworldoftrouble.Welostthreeofourbestforwards—BirdieandNiko,whograduated,andConnor,whosignedwiththeKings.OurdefenselostRogerstoChicago,andtwoofourseniordefensementograduation,whichmeansDeanandIwilllikelybeplayinglongershifts,atleastuntilsomeoftheyoungerD-mengettheirshittogether.
Butthebiggesthitwetook?
Losingourgoalie.
KennySimmswas…magic.Purefuckingmagicinthatcrease.HewasafreshmanwhenCoachnamedhimastarter,despitethefactthattwoseniorgoalieswerealreadyontheroster—theguywasthatgood.Nowthathe’sgraduated,thefateofourteamrestsinthehandsofaseniornamedPatrick,unlessthisfreshmencropsomehowproducesanotherKennySimms.
“Weshould’vebribedSimms’profstofailhim,”Garrettsayswithasigh,andIrealizeI’mnottheonlyoneworryingaboutSimms’departure.
“We’llbeokay,”Ianswer,ratherunconvincingly.
“No,wewon’t,”comesDean’svoice,andthenheentersthekitchenandheadsforthecoffeemaker.“Idoubtwe’llevenmakeittothepost-season.NotwithoutKenny.”
“Yeoflittlefaith,”Tuckerchides,waltzingthroughthedoorway.
“Holyshit,”Iblurtout.“Youshavedthebeard.”IglareatGarrett.“Whydidn’tyoutellme?Iwould’vethrownusaparty.”
Deansnickers.“Youmeanthrownhimaparty.”
“No,hemeansus,”Garrettrepliesforme.“We’retheoneswhohadtostareatthatghastlythingforhalfayear.”
IsmackTuck’sassashebreezespastmystool.“Welcomeback,Babyface.”
“Fuckoff,”hegrumbles.
Yup,it’sgoodtobehome.
Anhourlater,Irestmyforearmsonmyknees,claspmyhandstogether,andleanforwardtoanalyzetheslapshotofastockyfreshmanwithcurlyredhairpokingoutthebackofhishelmet.
“Thatone’snotbad,”Iremark.
“Who?MulletMan?”Holliscallsfromtheendofthebleacherrowwe’vecongregatedat.“Naah,hehasn’timpressedmeyet.”
Downontheice,Coachisrunningasimpleskate-and-shootdrillwiththefreshmanhopefuls,whoaredeckedoutineitherblackorsilverpracticejerseys.Andyeah,Iknowit’sonlydayone,butsofar,I’mnottooimpressedeither.
Twoatatime,theguysneedtoskatepasttheblueline,takeashotatnet,thenturnuptheouterlaneandskatehardthroughtheneutralzone,whereoneoftheACsreleasesapassthattheskatersneedtoconnectwith.It’snotcomplicatedatall,yetI’mseeingwaytoomanydroppedpassesformyliking.
Thegoaliesaredecent,atleast.They’renotexudinganyofthatSimmsmagic,buttheystopmorepucksthantheyletin,whichispromising.
Besideme,Garrettwhistlessoftly.“Hellyeah,that’swhatI’mtalkingabout.”
Thenextskaterinthelinetakesoff,andsweetmotherofGod,he’sfast.Adizzyingstreakofblackagainstabackdropofwhiteashetearstowardthenet.Andtheshothereleases—perfectlytimed,perfectlyexecuted,perfectlyperfect
“Hecouldflukeout,”Tuckerwarns,buttwentyminuteslater,thekidisstillrockingthepracticelikeOzzyfuckingOsbourneinapackedamphitheater
“Whoisthat?”Garrettdemands.
Hollispeeksoverfromthefarseat.“Noclue.”
Pierre,aCanadianwhojoineduslastseason,leansinfromtherowbehindusandtapsGarrett’sshoulder.“Huntersomething-or-other.He’sarichkidfromConnecticut,bigstaronhisprepschoolteam.”
“Ifhe’sthatgood,thenwhywasn’therecruited?”Tuckerasksdubiously.“What’shedoingatopentryouts?”
“Halfthecollegesinthecountrytriedrecruitinghim,”Pierreanswers.“Butapparentlyhewantedtoquithockey.Coachtwistedhisarmandconvincedhimtopracticetoday,butevenifhemakesthecut,there’sagoodchancehewon’twannajointheteam.”
“Oh,he’sjoiningtheteam,”Deandeclares.“Idon’tcareifIhavetosuckhisdicktogethimtoagreetoit.”
Laughterbreaksoutallaroundhim.
“Suckingdicknow,arewe?”Iaskpleasantly.
Anevilgleamlightshiseyes.“Youknowwhat?Iwon’tjustsuckit,”hesaysslowly.“I’llsuckhimoff.Youknow,givehimanorgasm.”
Theotherguysexchangemystifiedlooks,butDean’smockinglooktellsmeexactlywherehe’sgoingwiththis.Jackass.
“I’mnotsureifyouallknowthis,butanorgasmisthepointofcompletioninthepleasureprocess.”Deangivesmeaninnocentsmile.“Menandwomenachieveitindifferentways.Forexample,whenawomanreachescompletion,shemightmoanorgaspor—”
“Whatthefuckareyoutalkingabout?”Garrettinterrupts.
Mr.Innocentbatshisbaby-greens.“Ithoughtyouguysmightneedarefreshercourseinorgasms.”
“Ithinkwe’regood,”Tucksayswithasnort.
“Yousure?Nobodyhasanyquestions?”He’sgrinningatmeashevoicesthequestion,andwhentheguysturntheirattentionbacktotheice,Ijabhimintheribs.Hard.
“Jeez,John,I’mtryingtobehelpful.Youcouldlearnalotfromme.Nowomanhaseverbeenabletoresistmynaturalcharm.”
“Youknowwhoelsehadnaturalcharm?”Iretort.“TedBundy.”
Deandonsablanklook.“Who?”
“Theserialkiller.”OhJesus,I’vejumpedontheBundybandwagon.I’mturningintoGrace.
Great.AndnowI’mthinkingaboutGrace.I’vebeenforcingmyselfnottosincesheshotmedownlastweek,butnomatterhowhardItry,Ican’tgetheroutofmyhead.
Isitanegothing?Ikeepaskingmyselfwhetheritis,becauseIhonestlycan’trememberthelasttimeIobsessedthishardoverachick.AmIonlyinterestedinherbecauseshe’snotinterestedinme?IliketothinkI’mnotthatarrogant,butIcan’tdenytherejectionstings.
Iwantanotherchance.IwanttoshowherI’mnotsomeheartlessassholewhowasjustusingherforalittleB&B,butIhavenoideahowtochangehermind.Flowersmaybe?Abigpublicgroveling?
“Hey,ass-hats!”
WebolttoourfeetwhenCoachJensen’scommandingvoicesnapstowardthebleachers.Ourfearlessleader—theonlyBriarfacultymemberwhocangetawaywithcallingstudents“ass-hats”—glaresatusfromtheice.
“Isthereareasonyourlazyassesareupinthoseseatswhenyoushouldallbeintheweightroom?”hebooms.“Quitstalkingmypractice!”Thenheturnstoscowlatthetriooffreshmenwhoaresnickeringbehindtheirgloves.“What’reyouladieslaughingat?Hustle!”
Theplayersspeedforwardasiftheicebehindthemiscrackingtopieces.
Upinthestands,theguysandIhustlejustasfast.20
Grace
Asthefirstweekofthesemestercomestoanend,IfinallyhearfromRamonaagain.Andaftermonthsofignoringher,Ifinallypickupthephone.
It’stimetoseeherinperson.I’mnotparticularlyenthusiasticaboutmeetingforcoffee,butIcan’tfreezeheroutforever.There’stoomuchhistorybetweenus,toomanygoodmemoriesIcan’tpretendaren’tthere.Butthismeet-upisforclearing-the-airpurposesonly,IassuremyselfasIwalkacrosscampus.We’renotgoingtobebestbudsagain.I’mnotsurewecanbeafterwhatshedid.
It’snotabouthersexttoLogan.It’saboutwhatthesextindicates—herblatantdisregardformyfeelingsandhercoldhearteddismissalofourfriendship.Arealfrienddoesn’tpropositiontheguywhohurtherbestfriend.Arealfriendputsherownselfishdesiresasideandoffershersupport.
Thirtyminutesafterwegetoffthephone,IentertheCoffeeHutandjoinRamonaatatablenearthewindow.
“Hi.”Shegreetsmeshyly.Fearfully,almost.ShelooksexactlythesameasthelasttimeIsawher,blackhairloosearoundhershoulders,curvybodywrappedintightclothing.Whenshenoticesmyhair,hereyeswiden.“Youwentblonde,”shesqueaks.
“Yeah.Mymomtalkedmeintoit.”Isinkintothechairacrossfromhers.Apartofmeistemptedtohugher,butIfighttheurge.
“That’sforyou.”Shegesturestooneofthecoffeesonthetable.“Ijustgothere,soit’sstillhot.”
“Thanks.”Icurlbothhandsaroundthecup,theheatoftheStyrofoamripplingintomypalms.Ijusthikedacrosscampusineighty-degreeweather,butsuddenlyIfeelcold.Nervous.
Anawkwardsilencestretchesbetweenus.
“Grace…”Herthroatdipswithavisiblegulp.“I’msorry.”
Isigh.“Iknow.”
Asliverofhopepeeksthroughthecloudofdespairinhereyes.“Doesthatmeanyouforgiveme?”
“No,itmeansIknowyou’resorry.”Ipopopentheplasticlidandtakeasipofthecoffee,thenmakeaface.Sheforgotthesugar.Itshouldn’tbothermeasmuchasitdoes,andyetit’ssimplyanothersignthatmybestfriendisattunedtonothingaboutme.Notmyfeelings,notevenmycoffeepreferences.
Igrabtwosugarpacketsfromthelittleplastictray,tearthemopen,anddumptheircontentsintothecup.AsIusetheskinnywoodensticktostirthehotliquid,IwatchRamona’sexpressionchangefromslightlyhopefultodecidedlyupset.
“I’mashittyfriend,”shewhispers.
Ioffernoargument.
“Ishouldn’thavesenthimthatmessage.Idon’tevenknowwhyIdid—”Shestopsabruptly,shamereddeninghercheeks.“No,Idoknowwhy.BecauseI’majealous,insecurebitch.”
Again,noargumentthere.
“Youreallydon’tgetit,doyou?”sheblurtsoutwhenIremainsilent.“Everythingcomessoeasyforyou.YougetstraightA’swithouteventrying,youlandthehottestguyoncampuswithout—”
“Easy?”Iinterrupt,anedgetomyvoice.“Yeah,Ihavethegrades,butthat’sbecauseIstudymyassoff.Andguys?Rememberhighschool,Ramona?It’snotlikeIhadaboomingsocialcalendarbackthen.Ornow,forthatmatter.”
“Becauseyou’reasinsecureasIam.Youletyournervesgetthebestofyou,butevenwhenyou’reallnervousandbabbly,peoplestilllikeyou.Theylikeyoufromthemomenttheymeetyou.Thatdoesn’thappentome.”Shebitesherlowerlip.“Ihavetoworksohardforit.TheonlyreasonanyoneevennoticedmeinhighschoolwasbecauseIwasthebadgirl.Ismokedweedanddressedsluttyandguysknewthatiftheyaskedmeout,they’dmakeittoatleastsecondbase.”
“Youdidn’texactlytrytodiscouragethat.”
“No.BecauseIlikedtheattention.”Herteethdigharderintoherlip.“Ididn’tcareifitwasgoodattentionorbadattention—Ijustlikedbeingnoticed.Andthatmakesmereallyfuckingpathetic,huh?”
Sorrowclimbsupmyspine.Ormaybeit’spity.RamonaisthemostconfidentpersonI’veevermet,andhearingherragonherselflikethismakesmewanttocry.
“You’renotpathetic.”
“Well,I’mnotagoodfriend,either,”shesayswoodenly.“Iwassofuckingjealousofyou,Grace.I’vealwaysbeentheonewhogoesoutwiththehottiesandasksforyouradvice,andsuddenlyyou’retalkingtomeabouthavingsexwithJohnfrickin’Logan,andIwassoconsumedwithjealousyIwantedtoscream.AndwhentheLoganthingexplodedinyourface…”Guiltflashesinhereyes.“Itmademefeel…relieved.Andkindofsmug,Iguess.AndthenIgotitintomyheadthatifIwastheonehookingupwithhim,there’snowayhewouldhaverejectedme,and…yeah,soImessagedhim.”
Jesus.ThatlastthingIsaidabouthernotbeingpathetic?Strikethatfromtherecord.
“Iwasstupidandselfish,andI’msosorry,Gracie.”Sheimploresmewithhereyes.“Canyouforgiveme?Canwepleasestartover?”
Itakealongsipofcoffee,eyeingherovertherimofmycup.ThenIsetitdownandsay,“Ican’tdothatrightnow.”
Distresslinesherforehead.“Whynot?”
“BecauseIthinkweneedabreak.We’vespenteverywakinghourtogethersincethefirstgrade,Ramona.”Frustrationclenchesinsideme.“Butwe’reinuniversitynow.Weshouldbebranchingoutandformingconnectionswithnewpeople.Andhonestly,Ican’tdothatwhenyou’rearound.”
“Wecandoittogether,”sheprotests.
“No,wecan’t.TheonlyfriendsImadelastyearwereJessandMaya,andIdon’tevenlikethem.Ijustneedspace,okay?I’mnotsayingwe’renevergoingtotalkagain.Youwereahugepartofmylifeforsolong,andIdon’tknowifIwanttothrowallthatawayoverastupidtextmessage.ButIalsocan’tgobacktothewaythingsusedtobe.”
Shegoesquiet,chewingsohardonherlipI’msurpriseditdoesn’tstartspurtingblood.Icantellshewantstoargue,toforceareconciliation,pushherfriendshiponme,butforonceinherlife,Ramonadeferstome.
“Canwestill…Idon’tknow,text?Havecoffeesometime?”Shesoundslikealittlegirlwho’sjustbeentoldthecherishedfamilydoghasbeentakento“thefarm.”
Afterabeat,Inod.“I’mokaywiththat.Startingoffslowly.”
Herhopefulexpressionreturnsinfull-force.“Howaboutcoffee,then?Wecanmeethereagain.”
Despitemylingeringresistance,Iofferanothernod.
Relieffloodsherface.“Youwon’tregretthis.Ipromiseyou,I’mnotgoingtotakeyouforgrantedeveragain.”
I’llbelieveitwhenIseeit.Fornow,I’vemadealltheinroadsI’mwillingtomakewithher.
Weexchangeabriefandincrediblyawkwardhug,andthensheleaves,sayingsheneedstogettoclass.
I’mtoosadtomove,soIsimplysitthere,absentlystirringthestickinmycoffee.IfeelasifI’vejustbrokenupwithsomeone.Inasense,Idid
ButImeanteveryword—Idoneedabreakfromher.Shewasholdingmebacklastyear.FreshmanGracewasaconfinedbirdthatonlygottosoarwhenRamonadecidedtoletheroutofthecage.
Well,SophomoreGraceisgoingtoflyallovertheplace.
Thesadnessinmychestdisperses,replacedbyatwingeofexcitement.IalreadyfeellikeI’msoaring.Ilovemynewroommate,I’menjoyingmyclassessofar,andI’mlookingforwardtomynewjobatthecampusradiostation.Morris,thejuniorwhorunsit,gavemetheproducingjobonthespotwhenDaisyandIcameinatthebeginningoftheweek,andasofnextMonday,I’llbeworkingonanadviceshowhostedbyafratboy/sororitygirlteamwhoI’vebeenwarnedare“dumbasposts.”Daisy’swords,notmine.
Also,thatMorrisguyseemsprettyfuckingcool.Andhe’sridiculouslyhot—thatdeliciousfactoidcertainlydidn’tescapemewhenImetwithhim.
Thebelloverthedoordingsloudly,andmyheadinvoluntarilyswivelstowardit,thenimmediatelyswivelsback.Ihunchover,hopingmyhairwillshieldmyfacefromviewofthenewcomers.
ThenewcomersbeingLoganandfourofhisfriends.
Crap.
Maybehewon’tnoticeme.MaybeIcansneakoutbeforehedoes.
Idon’twanttodrawanyattentiontomyself,soIdon’tgetuprightaway.Loganandhisbuddiesapproachtheordercounter,andeverygazeinthecoffeehousehangsontheireverymove.Somethingabouttheseguyschangestheairintheroomonamolecularlevel.They’relargerthanlife,andnotjustbecausethey’realltall,strappinghockeyplayers.It’stheconfidencewithwhichtheywalk,thegood-naturedinsultstheytossbackandforth,theeasygrinstheyflashtopeople.
IknowIshouldbeskulkingoff,butIcan’tlookaway.It’salmostcriminalhowattractiveheis.Granted,I’monlylookingatthebackofhishead,butit’saverysexybackofthehead.Andit’ssoeasytopickhimoutasanathlete.ThelonglimbsandtonedmusclesbeneathhiscargopantsandsnugT-shirtcreateadrool-worthypackagethatmyfingersitchtounwrap.
Argh.Ineedtodragmyheadoutofthegutter.Lustingoverhimistooclosetolikinghim,andI’mnotreadytoopenthatdooryet.Ifever.
Butcommonsensecomestoolate,becauseLoganisnowmovingawayfromthecounterandmarchinginmydirection.
“Hey,gorgeous.”Heslidesintheseatacrossfrommeandplacesachocolate-chipmuffinonthetable.“Igotyouamuffin.”
Damnit,Iguesshe’dnoticedmerightwhenhe’dwalkedin.
“Why?”Iaskinsuspicion,andwithoutsayinghi.
“’CauseIwantedtogetyousomething,andyoualreadyhavecoffee.Ergo,muffin.”
Iraiseoneeyebrow.“Areyoutryingtobuyyourwayintomygoodgraces?”
“Yup.Andexcellentpun,bytheway.”
“Iwasn’tpunning.Mynamejusthappenstobeahomonym.”
Hisblueeyesgleamashedownrightsmoldersatme.“Iloveitwhenyoutalkhomonymstome.”
“Uh-huh.”Ichokebackalaugh.“Iappreciatethegesture,butdoyoureallythinkamuffinisgoingtowowme?”
“Don’tworry,I’llbuyyouanentiremealwhenwe’reoutonourdate.”Hewinks.“Anythingyouwantoffthemenu.”
Damnhimandhisseductivewinkingpowers.
“Speakingofthat,whenshouldwedoit?”
Ieyehimwarily.“Dowhat?”
“Goout.”Hisheadtiltsinathoughtfulpose.“I’mfreetonight.Oranynight,really.Myscheduleiswideopen.”
God,thisguyisincorrigible.Andtoodamngorgeousforhisowngood.Hischiseledjawiscoveredwithscruff,asifhehasn’tshavedinafewdays,andmytonguetingleswiththeurgetolickapathalongthestronglineofhischin.ThisisthefirsttimeI’veeverwantedtolickaguy’sstubble.Whatisthematterwithme?
“Congratsonyourwide-openschedule,”Igrumble.“ButI’mnotgoingoutwithyou.”
Logangrins.“Tonight,oringeneral?”
“Both.”
We’reinterruptedbythearrivalofoneofhisfriends.“Ready?”theguyasksLoganasheflipsthetopofhiscoffeecup.
“Goaway,G.I’mwooing.”
Hisfriendsnickers,thenturnstome.“Hey,I’mGarrett.”
Right.AsifIdon’tknowwhoheis.GarrettGrahamisalegendatthisschool,forfuck’ssake.He’salsoincrediblygood-looking,thekindofgood-lookingthatbringsablushtomycheeksdespitethefactI’mnoteveninterestedintheguy.
“I’mGrace,”Ianswerpolitely.
“Ididn’tmeantointerrupt.”Heedgesaway,abarelyrestrainedsmileonhislips.“I’llwaitoutsidesomyboycankeep,ah,wooing.”
“Noneed.We’realldonehere.”Iscrapemychairbackandhoptomyfeet.
“Wemostcertainlyarenot,”Loganmutters.
Amused,GarrettglancesfrommetoLogan.“Itookamandatoryconflictresolutionseminarbackinhighschool.Doyouguysneedamediator?”
Ipickupmycoffee.“Well,thestenographerwhofollowsmearoundisonalunchbreak,butIcancatchyouupnoproblem.Loganaskedmeout,andIsolvedtheconflictbyrespectfullydeclining.There.Ididalltheworkforyou.”
Garrettlaughsloudenoughtoattracttheattentionofeveryonearoundus,includingthethreehockeyplayerswhowanderoverfromthecounter.
“What’ssofunny?”Deanaskscuriously.Henoticesmeandoffersadelightedsmile.“Grace.Longtime.I’mlovingthehair.”
I’msurprisedheevenremembersmyname.“Thanks.”Iinchclosertothedoor.“I’vegottago.Seeyouaround,Logan.And,uh,youtoo,Logan’sfriends.”
I’mhalfwayoutthedoorwhenIhearhimcall,“Youforgotyourmuffin.”
“No,Ididn’t,”Ianswerwithoutturningaround.
Malelaughterticklesmyspineasthedoorclosesbehindme.
“Here’swhatyou’regonnado.Pickupabottleofwine,invitehimovertoyourplace,andmakesuresomeold-schoolUsherisplayingwhenhewalksin.Then,youtakeoffallyourclothesand—youknowwhat,babygirl?”PaceDawsondrawlsintothemicrophoneonFridayafternoon.“ForgetthewineandUsher.Justbenakedwhenheshowsupandthere’snodoubtinmymindthathe’llbereadytogotothebonezone.”
Pace’sco-host,EvelynWinthrop,pipesupinagreement.“Nakedneverfails.Guyslikeitwhenyou’renaked.”
Intheprivacyoftheproducerbooth,Idomybestnottogag.Throughtheglassthatseparatesmyboothfromthemainone,IseePaceandEvelyngrinningateachotherasifthey’vejustdispensedDr.Phil-worthyadvicetothefreshmanwho’dcalledinfor“seduction”tips.
It’smyfirstweekatthestation,andthesecondsegmentof“WhatchaNeed”thatI’veheardPaceandEvelynhost.Sofar,I’mnotblownawaybythecaliberofwisdomthey’rehandingout,butaccordingtoDaisy,thebi-weeklyadviceshowgetsmorelistenersthanalltheotherstudentshowscombined.
“Allright,nextcaller,”Evelynannounces.
Whichismycuetotakethecalleroffholdandputhimontheair.Oneofmyothertasksisscreeningthecallstoensurethepeoplecallinginhaverealquestionsand/oraren’tcuckoo-bananas.
“Hey,caller,”Pacesays.“Telluswhatchaneed.”
Thesophomorewho’sbeenwaitingonthelinewastesnotimegettingdowntobusiness.“Pace,myman,”hegreetsthehost.“Iwantedtohearyourthoughtsaboutmanscaping.”
Inhisplushseat,therugby-shirt-wearingfratboysnorts.“Dude,totallyagainstit.Downstairsgroomingisforchicksandsissies.”
Evelynspeaksupasifshe’sleavingacommentonablogpost.“Stronglydisagree.”
Asthehostsstartbickeringabouttheprosandconsofmalepubichair,Ichokedownlaughterandconcentrateonmonitoringthetime.Eachcallerisallowedfiveminutes,tops.Thisonestillhasfourleftintheallottedfive.
Mygazedriftstotheotherwindowinthebooth,andIwatchasMorrisorganizesastackofCDsinfrontofthemassivewallofmusic.Shelfaftershelfholdshundredsandhundredsofalbums,whichisastrangesighttobehold.Ican’trememberthelasttimeIlistenedtoanactualCD—IfiguredtheywereasobsoleteasVCRsandcassettetapesbynow.ButthestationisoldschoolandsoisMorris.He’salreadyconfessedtohavingarecordplayerandarareUnderwoodtypewriterinhisdormroom,andhe’salsorockingaretrofashionsenseIfindsexyashell.Parthipster,partnewsie,partpunk,part—Icouldgoonforever,actually.There’salittlebitofeverythingintheguy’sstyle.
Itsuitshisquirkypersonality,though.I’veonlyknownhimaweek,butI’mquicklydiscoveringthatMorriscan’tgoanhourwithoutmakingadryquip,adirtyjoke,oratleastonegroan-worthypun.
I’malsofairlycertainhehasathingforme,ifhisconstantflirtingandreadilyavailablecomplimentsareanyindication.
IthinkI’dbeopentoitifheaskedmeout,buteverytimeIconsiderit,apartofmeraisesaprotestandencouragesmetogooutwithLoganinstead.Iwon’tlie—thatmuffinstunthadbeen…charming.Presumptuous,sure,butadorableenoughthatIcouldn’tstopsmilingduringtheentirewalkbacktomydorm.
Butthatdoesn’tmeanI’mgivinghimasecondchance.
Ishiftmygazebacktothemainboothandforcemyselftoconcentrateontheradioshow.Forthenextthirty-fiveminutes,IfighthardnottolaughasIlistentoquitepossiblythetwodumbestpeopleontheplanetgiveadvice.Seriously,iftheircombinedIQisinthedoubledigits,I’lleatmyhat.Proverbialhat,ofcourse,sinceIcan’tforthelifeofmepulloffhats.Myheadrefusestolookgoodinthem.
Oncethehostssignoff,IswitchontherapmixMorrisgavemetouseasaplaceholderwhilethenextdeejaysetsup.HisnameisKamal,andhe’sarabidhiphopfanwhoplaysobscuretracksthatalmostnoonehaseverheardof,myselfincluded.
WhenIleavetheboothandstepintothemainroom,Morriswandersoverwithalopsidedgrin.“Wereyoulisteningtothatmanscapingcall?”
“HowcouldInot?ItwasoneofthemostridiculousdebatesI’veeverheard.”Ipause,thengrinback.“ButIdidenjoywhenEvelynsaidthatifshewantedtoseefoliage,she’dtakeuphikingorgardening.”
Helaughsandrakesahandthroughhishair,drawingmygazetothoseunrulydarkstrands.
He’sgotthemostinterestingappearance.Honeyedskin,jetblackhair,goldenbrowneyes.Ihonestlyhavenoideawhathisbackgroundis.Asianmaybe?Mixedwith…noclue.Likehisfashionstyle,hisfeaturesareacollectionofuniqueelementsthatIfindincrediblyattractive.
“You’restaringatme.”Hislipstwitchwithhumor.“Istheresomethinginmyteeth?”
“No.”Mycheekswarmup.“Iwasjustwonderingaboutyourethnicbackground.Sorry.Youdon’thavetoanswerthatifyoudon’twantto.”
Helookshighlyamusedbythequestion.“Myfaceislikeameltingpotofethnicgoodness,huh?Don’tworry,Igetaskedthatallthetime.MyfamilyisliketheUnitedfrickin’Nations.MymotherwasborninZambia—hermomwasblack,herdadwasawhitedoctorwhoranaclinicthere.Andmyfatherishalf-Japanese,half-Italian.”
“Wow,thatisalotofculture.”
“Whataboutyou?”
“Notasinteresting.TheIversfamilypracticallyfoundedMassachusetts,andwe’vegotsomeScottishandIrishroots,Ithink.”
Ahigh-pitchedgigglesoundsfrombehindus,andweturntoseePaceandEvelynmakingoutagainstthewall.Onmyfirstdayhere,IaskedEvelynhowlongthey’vebeendating,andshelookedatmeasifI’djustgottenoffaspaceship,theninformedmethattheyonlymakeoutatthestationbecause“radioissoboring.”
AsMorrisandIexchangeamusedlooks,PacecatchessightofusandgrinsoverEvelyn’sslendershoulder.
“Yo,Morrison,”hecallsout,evenastheblondecontinuestonibbleonhisneck.“KeggeratSigmatonight.FatTedhasanewgamehewantsyoutotrytobeat.Youshouldcometoo,Gretchen.”
EvenifI’dwantedtocorrecthim,Paceisnolongerpayingattentiontous,becausehistongueisinEvelyn’smouthagain.
“WhydoeshecallyouMorrison,andwhoonearthisFatTed?”Iinquireinadryvoice.
Morrischuckles.“HecallsmeMorrisonbecausehethinksthat’smyname,nomatterhowmanytimesItellhimit’snot.AndFatTedisoneofhisfratbrothers.He’sahardcoregamer,andwesortahavethiscompetitiongoingon.Wheneveroneofusgetsanewgameandbeatsit,wepassitofftotheotheroneandseeiftheycoulddoitbetter.Ted’sawesome—you’llmeethimatthepartytonight.”
Ihavetolaugh.“Whosays‘Gretchen’isevengoingtothatparty?”
“Morrisonsaysso.He’swantedtoaskGretchenoutsincehemether.”
Iblushattheimpishsmileheshootsme.“Sothiswillbeadate?”Iaskslowly.
“Ifyouwantittobe.Ifnot,thenit’llbetwofriendsgoingtoapartytogether.MorrisonandGretchen,takingontheworld.”Hecocksabrow.“Takeyourpick.Dateorfriend-hang.Thechoiceisyours.”
Logan’sfaceflashesinmyhead,makingmehesitate.Exceptthenitmakesmemad,becauseLoganshouldn’tbepartoftheequation.We’renottogether.Weweren’ttogetherbefore.AndMorrisisareallycoolguy.
“Whatdoyousay,Gretch?”
Hismischievousvoicesummonsalaughfromme.Imeethistwinklingdarkeyesandsay,“Let’smakeitadate.”21
Logan
I’mnotinthemoodtogotoakeggertonight,butGarrettinformsmethatifhehastogo,thenIhavetogo,because,andIquote,“bestfriendssuffertogetherornotatall.”
Ipolitelypointedoutthatwecouldalwayspickthe“notatall”option,whichearnedmeadarkscowlandamenacingyou’regoingfinger-point.
Atleasthe’sthedesignateddrivertonight,soIcanslugbackashotortwo.Butnohookingup.Nope.Ihaveastrictnewruleaboutpartyhook-ups,andIplanonstickingtoit.NomoremeaninglessBJsinbathroomsorhurriedfucksinbedroomsthatdon’tbelongtome.
JohnLoganisofficiallyinrelationshipmode.
“Idon’tunderstandwhyyou’reinafraternitywhenyouclearlyhatebeingamember,”Hannahremarks.She’sinthebackseatofGarrett’sJeep,becauseIdon’tbelieveintheautomatic-shotgun-for-girlfriendsruleandthereforecalledshotgunbeforeshecould.DeanandTuckercaughtaridewithHollisearlier,sothethreeofusaremeetingthemattheSigmahouse.
I’mwithheraboutthefratthing.GarrettisamemberofSigmaTau,yethedoesn’tliveinthehouse,attendthemeetings,orchillwithasingleoneofhis“brothers.”Hisonlycontributiontothefratismakingappearancesattheparties,andeventhen,hebarelystaysmorethananhour.
“I’malegacy,”heanswers,hisgrayeyesfocusedonthedarkroad.“Theywereobligatedtoletmerush,andmyfatherforcedmetopledge.”
“Wait,soyouwentthroughthewholehazingprocess?”sheasks.
“Nope.Theywantedmesobad—youknow,becauseIcomefromhockeyroyalty—thattheyprettymuchgavemeafreepassduringpledgeweek.They’dyellrealloudwhentheotherpledgeswerearound,ordermetocleanthebathroomwithatoothbrushorsomeshit,andthenoneofthemwouldpullmeasideandwhisper,Getouttahere,kid.Gogetsomesleep.”
Hannahburstsoutlaughing.“Wow.CorruptionintheGreeksystem.I’mshocked,Itellyou.”
GarrettturnsontoGreekRow,whichisjam-packedwithcars.WeendupparkingseveralhousesdownfromSigmaandwalkingtothemassivefrathouse,whereDean,TuckerandHolliswaitforusonthelawn,passingaroundajoint.
Deanhandsittome,andItakeadeephit,fillingmylungsthenexhalingacloudintothewarmnightair.
“Guesswhojustshowedup,”Deanmurmurs.“Yourfreshman.Well,Iguessshe’dbeyoursophomorenow.”
Mypulsequickens.“Graceishere?”
Henods.“Yeah,but…she’s,uh,withsomeone.”
Whatthefuck?Withwho?AnditdamnwellnotbesomedrunkenSigmaoafwhoseonlygoalistogetintoherpants.
Ihadnointentionofthrowingdowntonight,butifsomeslimymofosomuchaslooksatGracewrong,he’llbeleavingthispartyonastretcher.
ButDeanisquicktoeasemyworries.“Hipstertype,”hesays.“DefinitelynotSigma.”
I’msuddenlyeagertogetinside,soIherdmyfriendstowardthefrontdoor,whichgetsmeabemusedlookfromGarrett.
“Itakeitwe’rewooingagaintonight?”hesayswryly.
Damnrightweare.
Thehouseismorecrowdedthanourarenaduringahomegame,andIdon’tspotGracewhenIscantheseaoffaces.Thedeafeningdubstepblastingfromthespeakersmakesitimpossibletocarryonaconversation,soIgesturetoGarrettthatI’mgoingtolookforGrace,andthenI’mswallowedupbythemobasIventuredeeperintothelivingroom.
SeveralattractivegirlssmileasIwalkpastthem,butthey’renotevenonmyradar.Graceisnowheretobefound.IwonderifmaybeDeanmadethewholethingup.Graceonadateatafratparty.Itdoessoundkindafarfetched,themoreIthinkaboutit.
Ipopintothekitchenandsearchthelargegroupgatheredaroundthegraniteworkisland.NoGrace.ButoneofthechickssippingaCoronanearthesinkseparatesherselffromthepackandslinksmyway.
“Logan,”shepurrs,wrappingherfingersaroundmybarebicepsassheleansincloser.
“Hey,Piper,”Imutter,andI’mtemptedtoshoveherawaybeforeherlipscangrazemycheek.
PiperStevensisundeniablybeautiful,butthatTwittersmearcampaignshestartedagainstGracehasnotbeenforgotten.
Thekisslandsonmycheek,andalthoughshepullsawayafterward,she’sstillpressedupagainstme,herhandstucktomyarmlikehockeytape.“So,it’soursenioryear,”shesays.“Knowwhatthatmeans?”
Ican’tevenpretendtobeinterested.I’mbusypeeringatthekitchendoorwayinsearchofGrace.“What?”
“Itmeansourtimeisrunningout.”
Warmlipsbrushthesideofmythroat,andIflinchandtakeastepaway.
Shefrowns.“You’vebeenplayinghardtogetforthreeyears,”sheaccuses.“Isn’titabouttimeyougaveuswhatwewanted?”
AsnortslipsoutbeforeIcanstopit.“Whatyouwant,Piper.I’vetoldyouahundredtimes,I’mnotinterested.”
Herred-lipstickedmouthformsapout.“Thinkabouthowgooditwillbe.Allthispent-upanimositybetweenus?”Shestandsonhertiptoesandwhispersinmyear,herdarkhairticklingmychin.“Thesexwouldbefuckingexplosive.”
Iuncurlherfingersfrommyarm.“Tempting,”Ilie.“ButI’llpass.Hey,ifyou’rehardup,we’vegotsomenewmeatontheteam.ThiskidHuntermightberightupyouralley.”
Hereyesblaze.“Fuckyou.Don’ttrytopimpmeouttoyourteammates.”
“I’mnotpimpingyouout,babe.Simplygivingyouaheadsup.Seeyouaround,Piper.”
IcanfeelherglaringdaggersintomybackasIleavethekitchen,butIdon’tgiveafuck.I’msickofherconstantcome-onsandtotaldisregardforthefactthatI’mnotfuckinginterested
Iwanderthroughthemainflooragain,checkingeveryroomtwicebeforegivingup.Maybeshe’soutside.It’scrazy-humidtonight,sothepartyisbothanindoorandoutdooraffair,whichmeansit’stimetowidenmyperimeter.
Idecidetostartoutfront.WhenIstepintotheparlor,triumphshootsthroughme,becauseIcatchaglimpseofGraceonthewindingstaircase.
She’salone,andmypulseacceleratesasIadmirehowthestretchyfabricofherblackskirthugsherass.Herlonghairflowsdownherback,ripplinglikeagoldencurtainwitheachstepshetakes.Shit,she’sonthemove.
Shereachesthesecond-floorlandinganddisappearsaroundthecorner,andthelossofvisualcontactspursmetoaction.
Withoutmissingabeat,Istridetowardthestairsandhurryafterher.
*
Grace
Intheupstairspowderroom,Iwashmyhands,thendrythemwithaNewEnglandPatriotstowelthatmakesmegrin.Sportsmerchandisinghasalwaysseemedlikesuchalucrativeindustrytome.Slapateamlogoonanyolditemandmillionsofpeoplewillbuyitnomatterwhatitis.
Icheckmyreflectioninthemirror,satisfiedtofindthatthankstomyheavy-dutyfrizz-controlcream,myhairsurvivedthestiflinghumidityitenduredonthewalktoGreekRow.Morrishadpickedmeupatmydorm,andalthoughwetalkednon-stopallthewayhere,wehaven’tspokenmuchsincewecameinside.Themusicistooloud,andMorrisistooengrossedinthefirst-personshootinggamethey’replayingintheden.Themomentwearrived,FatTedorderedMorristoplanthisassonthecouchandslappedagamecontrollerinhishand.
Idon’tmind,though.I’vebeenhavingfunwatchingMorrisbeatTed’srecordoneverylevel.Eachtimehedoesit,thefratboyscheerasifthey’rewitnessingthefinaltouchdownintheSuperBowlandheckleFatTedaboutgettinghisassbeat.FatTed,bytheway?Notfat.
SometimesIreallydon’tunderstandnicknames.
WhenIstepoutintothehall,Iexperiencethemostacutesenseofdéjàvu.Exceptthistime,insteadofLoganwalkingoutofabathroomandmewaitinginthehall,it’stheotherwayaround
AsurprisednoisesqueaksoutofmythroatwhenIspothim.Ihaven’tseenorspokentohiminthreedays,notsincethemuffinincident.
“Evening,gorgeous.”Hegrinsatme.“I’mtotallydiggingthatskirt.”
Hisblueeyesconductaslowsweepofmybarelegs,andIcurseDaisyforconvincingmetowearashortskirttonight.Ithencursemyselfforallowinghissultrygazetounleashaflurryofhottingles,mostofwhichscurrydownwardandcongregatebetweenmylegs.
Isigh.“Whatareyoudoinghere?”
“Attendingaparty.”Herollshiseyes.“Why?Whatbringsyouhere?”
Ianswerthroughclenchedteeth.“I’monadate.”
Theconfessiondoesn’tfazehimintheslightest.“Yeah?Where’syourdateat?Youshouldintroduceme.”
“Notgonnahappen.”
Loganstepscloser,andhisspicyscentsurroundsmelikeathickhaze.Hisbigframedominatesmypersonalspace.Broadshouldersandlonglegsandachestthat’ssorippedIcanseeeachindividualmusclestrainingbeneathhisT-shirt.Iwanttoslidemyhandsbeneathhisshirtandrunmyhandsovereveryhardridge.Andthenslidethemintheoppositedirection,sliptheminsidehispantsandwrapmyfingersaroundhis—
Snapoutofit
Itrytoregulatemybreathing,butit’scomingoutinshallowbursts.Fromthewayhisbreathhitches,IknowLogansensesthechangeinmybody,thequickeningofmypulse.Thesexualawarenessheatingtheairbetweenus.
“Howlongareyougoingtokeepfightingit?”Hisvoiceishusky.Lacedwithdesire.
“I’mnotfightinganything.”It’samiraclehowcomposedIsoundwhenmyheartisthumpingharderthanthebasslineofthedancetrackdownstairs.“IalreadymadeitclearI’mnotinterestedingoingoutwithyou.AndIdon’twanttorekindlelastyear’shook-ups,either.Wehadsomefunandnowwe’redone.”
“Solidrhymes,Dr.Seuss.”Stillundeterred,heeliminatestwomoreinchesofspace,standingsocloseIcanfeeltheheatofhisbody.“Soyou’renotattractedtomeatallanymore?”
Idon’tanswer.Ican’tanswer.Desirehascloggedmythroat.
“BecauseI’mstillattractedtoyou.”Heavy-liddedeyesrakeovermybody.“Ifanything,IthinkIwantyouevenmore.”
Iknowwhathemeans.Theattractionseemsathousandtimesstronger.It’shotandfierceandIcanfeelitpulsingdeepinmysex.Mygazeisgluedtohismouth,tothesensualcurveofhislowerlip.Imisskissinghim.Imissthegreedythrustofhistongue,andthewayhegroanedwhenitswirledagainstmine.
Distance.Ineedtobackaway,steelmyselfagainsthispalpablesexappealand—mybuttbumpsthewall.Crap.Nowheretogo.Nowaytorunfromtheawarenessincineratingalltheoxygenaroundus.
“Kissme.”Hisraspycommandisbarelyaudibleoverthepoundingofmyheart.
Hisheadbends,hismouthinchesfrommine.I’mmesmerizedbyit.Bythebeardgrowthshadowinghisjawandthewayhistonguedartsouttomoistenhistoplip.Onekisswouldn’tbetheendoftheworld,right?Icanjustgetitoutofmysystem.Gethimoutofmysystem.
Heliftshishandtomyface,androughfingertipsskimmycheek.Ishiver.
“Kissme,”hemurmursagain,andmycontrolsnaps.
Igrabthebackofhisheadandbringhismouthtomine,kissinghimasifpossessed.Whenhegroansagainstmylips,Ifeelthestrangledsoundinmyclit.OhGod.Ican’tbreathe.Can’tconcentrateonanythingbuthishungrytongueinmymouthandtherapidbeatingofmyheart.
Hereachesdownandcupsmyass,pressingmylowerbodytohisandrotatinghiships.“I’vebeenfantasizingaboutthisallsummer.”Hisagonizedwhisperheatsmyneckbeforehismouthlatcheson,suckinghardenoughtomakememoan.
Iclingtohisbroadshoulders.Helplesstostopthis.Hekissesapathbacktomylips,teasestheseamwithhistonguebeforeplunginginsideagain.Hishipskeeprocking.Sodomine.I’machingforhimandheknowsit.Hegrowlssoftly,thenslipsonehandundermyskirt,hisfingersticklingmythigh,glidinghigher,movingclosertothespotthat’sbeggingforhistouch.Millimeters.That’showcloseheis.Iwanttoscreamforhimtotouchmealready,buthe’stakinghistime.Rubbingmyinnerthighwithhisthumb.Slowly.Toodamnslow.
Hebreaksthekissandstaresintomyeyes,whilehishandeasesclosertothecrotchofmypanties.Hisfingerstremble.Hisbreathinggrowslabored.
Andthenheyankshishandaway,hisexpressionsotorturedyou’dthinkhe’dbeenwater-boardedforthreedaysstraight.
“No,goddamnit,”hecroaks.“Thiswasn’twhatIwanted.”
“W-what?”I’mstuttering,stilldazedfromthosemind-meltingkisses.
“Ijustwantedakiss.Notahook-up.”Hedrawsadeepbreath.“ImeantwhatIsaidtheotherday.Iwanttotakeyouonadate.”
“Logan…”Itrailoffwarily.
Footstepsechofromthestairs,andLoganquicklystepsback,hisgazeshiftingtothelanding.
WhenMorrisroundsthecorner,myheartjumpstomythroat.
Ohshit.
Morris.ItotallyforgotaboutMorris.
“Thereyouare,”hesays,hissmileuneasy.“Iwasworriedyoumight’vegottenlostonyourwaytothebathroom.”
Iinhaledeeply,willingmyheartratetostabilize.Prayingthatmyexpressiondoesn’tlooktooguilty.Orworse,aroused.
“No,Ifoundit,”Ianswer.“Iraninto…afriendonmywayout.”
Logan’snostrilsflare.
“ThisisLogan,”Iadd,thengesturetohimasifMorriscouldn’tfigureitoutforhimself.
MydatenodsattheguyIwasjustmakingoutwith.“Nicetomeetyou.”Heglancesatme.“Readytorejointheparty?”
No.
Yes.
Idon’tevenknowanymore.
WhatIdoknowisthatIcametothispartywithMorris,whohappenstobeaterrificperson,andI’mnotabouttoditchhimforanotherguy,nomatterhowtemptedImaybe.
“Sure.”ImakeonlythebriefestamountofeyecontactwithLoganasImurmur,“I’llseeyouaround.”ThenIfollowMorrisdownstairsandforcemyselfnottolookovermyshoulder.
ButIcanfeelLogan’seyesonmetheentiretime.22
Logan
It’sadamnshamethatduelsdon’tplayaroleinthemodernworldanymore.Becauserightnow,I’dtotallybedownforslappingaleathergloveonMorrisRuffolo’scheekandchallenginghimtoone.
Whatthehellkindofnameisthat,anyway?MorrisRuffolo.I’mhighlysuspiciousofpeoplewhohavelastnamesforfirstnames.AndRuffolo?IsheItalian?Hedidn’tlookit.
Andyes,IknowthenameoftheguyGracecametothepartywithlastnight.Aftershe’ddesertedmeupstairs,IaskedaroundandfoundouteverythingIneededtoknow.Hisname,hisrep,andofcourse,hisdorm.Whichhappenstobemycurrentlocation.
I’vejustknockedontheguy’sdoor,buthe’stakinghissweetasstimeanswering.Iknowthere’ssomeoneinthere,though,becauseIcanhearthemuffledsoundofatelevisionfrominsidetheroom.
Iknockasecondtime,andanaggravatedvoicecallsout,“Onesec!”
Good.He’shome.I’dliketogetthisoutofthewayfastsoIcanenjoytherestofmySaturday.
Whenheopensthedoorandfindsmestandingthere,adeepscowltwistshismouth.“Whatdoyouwant?”
Okaythen.IwaswonderingifGracewouldtellhimaboutthekiss,andhisvisiblehostilityanswersthatquestion.
“IcameheretodeclaremyintentionstowardGrace,”Iannounce.
“Gee,howhonorableofyou.”Morrissnorts.“Butthetrulyhonorablethingwouldhavebeentonotmakeoutwithmydatelastnight.”
Iletoutaremorsefulsigh.“That’stheotherreasonI’mhere.Toapologize.”
Despitetheperma-scowlonhisface,heopensthedoorwiderandtakesareluctantstepback,aninvitationtocomein.Ifollowhiminside,sparingaquicklookattheclutter-riddenroombeforegettingdowntobusiness.
“I’msorryImovedinonyourdate.Itwasatotalviolationofbrocode,andforthat,I’mofferingyouonefreeswingatme.Justmakesuretostayawayfrommynose,becauseI’vebrokenthatmotherfuckerwaytoomanytimesandI’mscaredonedayitwon’thealright.”
Disbelief-lacedlaughterfliesoutofhismouth.“Dude,youcan’tbeserious.”
“SureIam.”Iwidenmystance.“Goahead.IpromiseIwon’thitback.”
Morrisshakeshishead,lookingbothamusedandirritated.“No,thanks,I’llpass.Nowsaywhateverelseyouwannasay,andthengetlost.”
“Suityourself.Thatwasaone-timeoffer,bytheway.”Ishrug.“Okay,next.YoushouldknowthataslongasyouandGracearen’texclusive,Iwon’tstoptryingtowinherback.”Regretrushesthroughme,andmyvoiceshakesalittle.“WehookedupbackinApril,andIscrewedupprettybadly—”
“Yeah,shetoldme.”
“Shedid?”
Henods.“Onourwayhomefromthepartylastnight.Shedidn’toffermanydetails,butshemadeitprettyclearthatyoumessedshitup.”
“Yup,”Isayglumly.“ButI’mgoingtofixit.Iknowthat’sprobablynotwhatyouwanttohear,butIfiguredIshouldwarnyou,becauseyoumightbeseeingalotmoreofme.Youknow,ifyougooutwithGraceagain.”Icockabrow.“Areyougoingoutwithheragain?”
“Maybe.Maybenot.”Hecockshisbrow.“Eitherway,it’snoneofyourbusiness.”
“Fairenough.”Ishovemyhandsinmypockets.“Anyway,that’sallIwantedtosay.Ihopethere’renohardfeelingsaboutlastnight.Ididn’tshowupplanningtokissher,itjustsortahappenedand—holyshit,areyouplayingMobBoss?”MygazehaslandedonthefrozenimageontheTVthat’smountedonthewalloppositethebed.
Suspiciondarkenshiseyes.“Youknowthisgame?NobodyItalktoaboutithasheardofit.”
IwanderovertothecabinetbeneaththeTVandpickupthevideogamecase.Yup,Ihavetheidenticaloneathome
“Dude,I’malloverthisgame,”Itellhim.“Oneofmyteammatesgotmehookedonit,thisguyFitzy.Well,hisname’sColinFitzgerald,butwecallhimFitzy.He’saseriousgamer,playsatonofweirdshitnobodyevenknowsexists.HeactuallyreviewsgamesfortheBriarblog—”
“Areyoufuckingkiddingme?”Morrisexclaims.“YouactuallyknowF.Gerald?I’mobsessedwithhisreviews.Wait—he’syourteammate?”
“Yeah,Fitzyusesanaliasfortheblog.Hedoesn’twantchicksknowinghe’sahardcoregeek.”Igrin.“Ashockeyplayers,wehaveacertainreputationtouphold.”
Morrisshakeshisheadinamazement.“Ican’tbelieveyou’refriendswithF.Gerald.He’safuckinglegendinthegamingcommunity…”
Hetrailsoffandoursurprisinglyanimateddiscussionreachesitconclusion,anawkwardsilencecreepingintotakeitsplace.Sighing,Igesturetothescreenandadvise,“Savetheammo.”
Hiseyesnarrow.“What?”
“Youkeepfailingthislevel,right?”
Withutmostweariness,henods.
“Samethinghappenedtome.I’dmakeitallthewaytotheend,butthenIwouldn’tbeabletokillDonAngelobecauseI’dbeoutofammoandtherearenofuckingammocratesinthewarehouse.”Iofferahelpfulsuggestion.“There’saswitchbladeonthedocks.GrabthatanduseitonAngelo’senforcers,thenbustouttheAKwhenyoureachthewarehouse.Youmightdiethefirstfewtimes,buteventuallyyou’llgetusedtokillingwiththeknife.Trustme.”
“Theswitchblade,”hesaysdoubtfully.
“Trustme,”Irepeat.“Doyouwantmetopassitforyou?”
“Fuckoff.I’llpassitmyself.”Hereachesforthecontroller,thensighsandlooksmyway.“Sowhere’stheknife?”
Iflopdownbesidehim.“Okay,it’shiddeninthecorneroftheshipyard,nearthedockmaster’soffice.JustheadthatwayandI’llshowyouwhenyougetthere.”
Morrispressesrestart.
*
Grace
ThefirstthingIdoaftermarchingoutofthemediabuildingonMondayeveningissendaverycurttextmessagetooneJohnLogan.
Me:Areuhome?
Him:Yup.
Me:Txtmeyouraddress.I’mcomingover.
It’salmostafullminutebeforeheresponds.
Him:WhatifIdon’twantanyvisitors?
Me:Srsly?Afterallyour“wooing”you’rereallygonnasayno?
Hisnextmessagepopsupinnotimeatall.It’shisaddress.
Ha.That’swhatIthought.
Mynextcourseofactionistocallataxi.NormallyIdon’tmindthethirty-minutewalktoHastings,butI’mafraidmyangermightmultiplytoascarylevelifIallowitthirtywholeminutestofester.Yep,I’mangry.Andannoyed.Andthoroughlyflabbergasted.IknewMorriswasn’tthrilledaboutwhathappenedattheSigmaparty,buthehadn’tgivenmeanyindicationthatitwasadeal-breaker.Ifanything,heseemedincrediblyunderstandingwhenIexplainedmyhistorywithLoganonthewalkhome.
Whichmakeswhatjusthappenedahundredtimesmoreperplexing.
Ifidgetimpatientlyduringthefive-minutecabride,andwhenwereachourdestination,Islapaten-dollarbillatthedriverandopenthebackdoorbeforethecarevenstopsmoving.It’smyfirstvisittoLogan’shouse,butIdon’tgivemysurroundingsmorethanaperfunctoryinspection.Neatlawn,whitestoop,andafrontdoorIimmediatelypoundmyfistagainst.
Deananswersthedoorwearingnothingbutapairofbasketballshorts,hisblondhairstickingupinalldirections.“Hey.”Hegreetsmeinsurprise.
“Hi.”Isetmyjaw.“I’mheretoseeLogan.”
Hegesturesformetocomein,thenpointstothestaircaseonourleft.“He’sinhisroom.Seconddoorontheright.”
“Thanks.”
That’stheextentoftheconversation.Hedoesn’tinquireastothereasonformyvisit,andIdon’tofferanexplanation.IsimplymarchupstairstoLogan’sroom.
Thedooriswideopen,soIhaveaclearviewofhimlyingonadoublebed,hiskneesdrawnupandanopentextbookbalancedagainstthem.There’sadeepfurrowinhisstrongforehead,asifhe’sconcentratingonwhathe’sreading,buthisgazeshootstothedoorwhenhehearsmyfootsteps.
“Shit.Yougotherefast.”Hetossesthebookasideandhopstohisfeet.
Istalkinsideandclosethedoorbehindme,requiringprivacyforthetongue-lashingI’mabouttogivehim.
“Whatiswrongwithyou?”Isayinlieuofgreeting.“YouwenttoMorris’sdormanddeclaredyourintentions?”
Heoffersafaintsmile.“Ofcourse.Itwasthenoblethingtodo.Ican’tbechasingafteranotherguy’sgirlwithouthisknowledge.”
“I’mnothisgirl,”Isnap.“Wewentononedate!AndnowI’mnevergoingtobehisgirl,becausehedoesn’twanttogooutwithmeagain.”
“Whatthehell?”Loganlooksstartled.“I’mdisappointedinhim.Ithoughthehadmoreofacompetitivespiritthanthat.”
“Seriously?You’regoingtopretendtobesurprised?Hewon’tseemeagainbecauseyourjackassselftoldhimhecouldn’t.”
Astonishmentfillshiseyes.“No,Ididn’t.”
“Yes,youdid.”
“Isthatwhathetoldyou?”Logandemands.
“Notinsomanywords.”
“Isee.Well,whatwordsdidheactuallyuse?”
Igritmyteethsohardmyjawaches.“Hesaidhe’sbackingoffbecausehedoesn’twanttogetinthemiddleofsomethingsocomplicated.Ipointedoutthatthere’snothingcomplicatedaboutit,seeingasyouandIarenottogether.”Myaggravationheightens.“AndthenheinsistedthatIneedtogiveyouachance,becauseyou’rea—”Iangrilyair-quoteMorris’swords“—‘stand-upguywhodeservesanothershot.’”
Loganbreaksoutinagrin.
Istabtheairwithmyfinger.“Don’tyoudaresmile.Obviouslyyouputthosewordsinhismouth.Andwhatthehellwashejabberingaboutwhenhetoldmeyouandhimwere‘family’?”AllthedisbeliefI’dfeltduringmytalkwithMorriscomesspiralingback,makingmepacethebedroominhurriedstrides.“Whatdidyousaytohim,Logan?Didyoubrainwashhimorsomething?Howareyouguysfamily?Youdon’tevenknoweachother!”
StrangledlaughtersoundsfromLogan’sdirection.Ispinaroundandleveladarkglowerathim.
“He’stalkingaboutthejointfamilywecreatedinMobBoss.It’sthisrole-playinggamewhereyou’retheDonofamobfamilyandyou’refightingabunchofothermafiabossesforterritoryandracketsandstuff.WeplayeditwhenIwentoverthere,andIendedupstayinguntilfourinthemorning.Seriously,itwasintense.”Heshrugs.“We’retheLorriscrimesyndicate.”
I’mdumbfounded.
OhmyGod.
Lorris?AsinLoganandMorris?TheyfuckingBrangelina’dthemselves?
“Whatishappening?”Iburstout.“Youguysarebestfriendsnow?”
“He’sacoolguy.Actually,he’sevencoolerinmybooknowforsteppingdownlikethat.Ididn’taskhimto,butclearlyhegraspswhatyourefusetosee.”
“Yeah,andwhat’sthat?”Imutter
“ThatyouandIareperfectforeachother.”
Nowords.TherearenowordstoaccuratelyconveywhatI’mfeelingrightnow.Horrormaybe?Absoluteinsanity?Imean,it’snotlikeI’mmadlyinlovewithMorrisoranything,butifI’dknownthatkissingLoganatthepartywouldleadto…this,Iwouldhavestrappedonafrickin’chastitygag.
Idrawacalmingbreath.“Youusedme,”Iremindhim.
Hisfeaturescreasewithregret.“Unintentionally.AndI’mtryingtomakeupforthat.”
“How?Byaskingmeout?Bybuyingmemuffinsandkissingmeatparties?”I’msofrazzledIcanbarelythinkstraight.“I’mnotevenconvincedyouactuallylikeme,Logan.Thiswholethingfeelslikeit’scenteredonyourego.Theonlyreasonyouevensawmeagainafterthatfirstnightwasbecauseyoucouldn’thandlethatIdidn’thaveanorgasm.Andattheparty,whenyoufoundoutIwasonadatewithsomeoneelse,itwaslikeyouwentoutofyourwaytostakeaclaimorsomeshit.Youractionsscreamego,notgenuinefeelingsforme.”
“That’snottrue.WhataboutthenightIcametothedininghall?Howdidthatbenefitmyego?”Hisvoiceisgruff.“Ilikeyou,Grace.”
“Why?”Ichallenge.“Whydoyoulikeme?”
“Because…”Hedragsahandthroughhisdarkhair.“You’refuntobearound.You’resmart.Sweet.Youmakemelaugh.Oh,andjustthesightofyougetsmehard.”
Iswallowalaugh.“Whatelse?”
Embarrassmentcolorshischeeks.“I’mnotsure.Wedon’tknoweachotherverywell,buteverythingIdoknowaboutyou,Ilike.AndeverythingIdon’tknow,Iwanttofindout.”
Hesoundssoearnest,butapartofmestilldoesn’ttrusthim.It’sthehurtandhumiliatedGracewhoalmosthadsexwithhiminApril.Whotoldhimshewasavirginandthenwatchedhimscrambleoffthebedasifitwascoveredwithants.Whosatthere—naked—whilehesaidhecouldn’tsleepwithherbecausehewashunguponsomebodyelse.
Asifsensingmydoubts,hehurriesoninapleadingvoice.“Givemeanotherchance.LetmeprovetoyouthatI’mnotanegocentricass.”
Ihesitate.
“Please.Tellmewhat’llittakeforyoutogooutwithme,andI’lldoit.I’lldoanything.”
Well.That’sinteresting.
I’mnotthetypetoplaygames.I’mreallynot.ButIcan’tfightthisnaggingdistrust,thecynicalvoiceinmyheadwarningmehisintentionsmightnotbepure.
YetIalsocan’tbringmyselftosaynoagain,becauseanotherpartofme,theonethatlovesspendingtimewiththisguy,wantsmetosayyes.
God,maybeIdoneedhimtoproveittome.MaybeIneedhimtoshowmehowseriousheisaboutdatingme.Anideanigglesatthebackofmymind.It’sacrazyone.Outrageous,even.Buthey,ifLogancan’ttackleafewsimpleobstacles,thenmaybehedoesn’tdeserveanothershot.
“Anything?”Isayslowly.
Hisblueeyesshinewithfortitude.“Anything,gorgeous.Absolutelyanything.”23
Logan
“Whatrhymeswithinsensitive?”Itapmypenonthekitchentable,beyondfrustratedwithmycurrenttask.Whoknewrhymingwassofuckingdifficult?
Garrett,who’sdicingonionsatthecounter,glancesover.“Sensitive,”hesayshelpfully.
“Yes,G,I’llbesuretorhymeinsensitivewithsensitive.Goldstarforyou.”
Ontheothersideofthekitchen,Tuckerfinishesloadingthedishwasherandturnstofrownatme.“Whatthehellareyoudoingoverthere,anyway?You’vebeenscribblingonthatnotepadforthepasthour.”
“I’mwritingalovepoem,”Ianswerwithoutthinking.ThenIslammylipstogether,realizingwhatI’vedone.
Deadsilencecrashesoverthekitchen.
GarrettandTuckerexchangealook.Anextremelylonglook.Then,perfectlysynchronized,theirheadsshiftinmydirection,andtheystareatmeasifI’vejustescapedfromamentalinstitution.Imayaswellhave.There’snootherreasonforwhyI’mvoluntarilywritingpoetryrightnow.Andthat’snoteventhecraziestitemonGrace’slist.
That’sright.Isaidit.List.Thelittlebrattextedmenotone,nottwo,butsixtaskstocompletebeforesheagreestoadate.Ormaybegesturesisabetterwaytophraseit.
Igetit,though.Shedoesn’tthinkI’mseriousaboutherandshe’sworriedI’llscrewitupagain.Hell,sheprobablybelievesthislistofherswillscaremeoffandwewon’tevengettothedatingpart.
Butshe’swrong.I’mnotafraidofsixmeaslyromanticgestures.Someofthemwillbetough,sure,butI’maresourcefulguy.IfIcanrebuildtheengineofa’69CamarousingonlythepartsIfoundinMunsen’scrappyjunkyard,thenIcancertainlywriteasappypoemandproduce“aqualitycollageshowcasingthepersonalitytraitsofGrace’sthatIfindmostbewitching.”
“Ijusthaveonequestion,”Garrettstarts.
“Really?”Tucksays.“BecauseIhavemany.”
Sighing,Iputmypendown.“Goahead.Getitoutofyoursystems.”
Garrettcrosseshisarms.“Thisisforachick,right?Becauseifyou’redoingitforfunsies,thenthat’sjustplainweird.”
“It’sforGrace,”Ireplythroughclenchedteeth.
Mybestfriendnodssolemnly.
Thenhekeelsover.Asshole.Iscowlasheclutcheshisside,hisbroadbackshudderingwitheachbellowinglaugh.Andevenwhilerackedwithlaughter,hemanagestopullhisphonefromhispocketandstarttyping.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Idemand.
“TextingWellsy.Sheneedstoknowthis.”
“Ihateyou.”
I’msobusyglaringatGarrettthatIdon’tnoticewhatTucker’suptountilit’stoolate.Hesnatchesthenotepadfromthetable,studiesit,andhootsloudly.“Holyshit.G,herhymedjackasswithCutlass.”
“Cutlass?”Garrettwheezes.“Likethesword?”
“Thecar,”Imutter.“Iwascomparingherlipstothischerry-redCutlassIfixedupwhenIwasakid.Drawingonmyownexperience,thatkindofthing.”
Tuckershakeshisheadinexasperation.“Youshouldhavecomparedthemtocherries,dumbass.”
He’sright.Ishouldhave.I’materriblepoetandIdoknowit.
“Hey,”Isayasinspirationstrikes.“WhatifIstealthewordsto“AmazingGrace”?Icanchangeitto…um…TerrificGrace.”
“Yup,”Garrettcracks.“Puregoldrightthere.TerrificGrace.”
Iponderthenextline.“Howsweet…”
“Yourass,”Tuckersupplies.
Garrettsnorts.“Brilliantmindsatwork.TerrificGrace,howsweetyourass.”Hetypesonhisphoneagain.
“JesusChrist,willyouquitdictatingthisconversationtoHannah?”Igrumble.“Brosbeforehos,dude.”
“Callmygirlfriendahoonemoretimeandyouwon’thaveabro.”
Tuckerchuckles.“Seriously,whyareyouwritingpoetryforthischick?”
“BecauseI’mtryingtowinherback.Thisisoneofherrequirements.”
ThatgetsGarrett’sattention.Heperksup,phonepoisedinhandasheasks,“Whataretheotherones?”
“Noneofyourfuckingbusiness.”
“Gollygee,ifyoudohalfasgoodajobonthoseasyou’redoingwiththisepicpoem,thenyou’llgetherbackinnotime!”
Igivehimthefinger.“Sarcasmnotappreciated.”ThenIswipethenotepadfromTuck’shandandheadforthedoorway.“PS?Nexttimeeitherofyouneedtoscorepointswithyourladies?Don’taskmeforhelp.Jackasses.”
Theirwildlaughterfollowsmeallthewayupstairs.Iduckintomyroomandkickthedoorshut,thenspendthenexthourtypingupthesorriestexcuseforpoetryonmylaptop.Jesus.I’mputtingmoreeffortintothisdamnpoemthanformyactualclasses.Istillhavefiftypagestoreadformyeconcourse,andamarketingplantooutline,butamIdoingeitherofthosethings?Nope.
IreachformycellandtextGrace.
Me:What’syouremailaddress?
Sheanswersalmostinstantly:Grace_Ivers@gmail.com
Me:Incoming.
Thistimearound,shetakeshersweettimemessagingback.Forty-fiveminutestobeexact.I’mthirtypagesintomyreadingassignmentwhenmyphonebuzzes.
Her:Don’tquityourdayjob,EmilyDickinson.
Me:Hey,udidn’tsayithadtobeGOOD.
Her:Touché.D-onthepoem.Can’twaittoseeyourcollage.
Me:Howdoufeelaboutglitter?Anddickpics?
Her:Ifthere’sapicofyourdickonthatcollage,I’mphotocopyingitandpassingitaroundinthestudentcenter.
Me:Badidea.You’llgivealltheotherdudesaninferioritycomplex.
Her:Oranegoboost.
Smiling,Iquicklytypeanothermessage:I’mgettingthatdate,gorgeous.
There’salongdelay,then:Goodluckwith#6.
She’stryingtogetinmyhead.Ha.Well,goodfuckingluckwiththat.GraceIvershasunderestimatedbothmytenacityandmyresourcefulness.
Butshe’llfindthatoutsoonenough.
*
Grace
I’mlaughingtomyselfasIsitatmydeskrereadingtheGod-awfulpoemLoganemailedme.Hissimilescrackmeup—mostlycarorhockeycomparisons—andhisrhymeschemeisallovertheplace.IsitABAB?No,there’sathirdrhymeinthere.ABACB?
God,thisisepic-levelbad.
Andyetmyheartwon’tquitdoinghappydolphinflips.
“What’ssofunny?”Daisywaltzesintoourroom,backfromtheone-hourshowshehostsatthestation.She’sinrippedjeans,ateenytanktop,andhertrademarkDocs,butherbangsarenowpurple.ShemusthavedyedthemwhenIwasinclasstoday,becausetheywerestillpinkwhenIleftthismorning.
“Lovethepurple,”Itellher.
“Thanks.Nowshowmewhatyou’regigglingabout.”Shecomesupbehindmeandpeersatthescreen.“IsitthatbabykoalavideoMorrisforwardedeveryoneearlier?Becausethatwassoadorab—OdetoGrace?”shesquawksindismay.“OhGod.DoIevenwanttoknow?”
IsupposeabetterpersonwouldhaveminimizedthewindowbeforeshecouldreadLogan’spoem,butIleaveitup.It’stoohilariousnotto.
Herlaughterreverberatesthroughtheroomasshescansthepoem.“Ohwow.Thisisadisaster.Pointsforthehockeyreferences,though.”Daisyliftsastrandofmyhairandscrutinizesit.“Hey,itkindaisthesameshadeasthoseBruinsthrowbackjerseysfromthesixties.”
Igapeather.“Howonearthdoyouknowwhatthoselooklike?”
“Mybrotherhasone.”Shegrins.“Iusedtogotoallhishighschoolgames,whichturnedmeintoareluctantfan.HeplaysforNorthDakotanow.I’msurprisedmyparentshaven’tdisownedusboth—weprettymuchrejectedeverythingabouttheSouthandmovednorththefirstchancewegot.”Hergazeshiftsbacktothescreen.“Soyouhaveasecretadmirer?”
“Admirer,yes.Secret,no.YouknowthatguyIwastellingyouabout?Logan?”
“Thehockeyplayer?”
Inod.“I’mmakinghimjumpthroughafewhoopsbeforeIgooutwithhim.”
Daisylooksintrigued.“Whatkindofhoops?”
“Well,thispoem,forone.And…”Ishrug,thengrabmyphoneandpullupthetextIsenthimlastnight,theonethatcontainsthemostabsurdlistI’veeverwritten.
Shetakesthephone.Bythetimeshe’sdonereading,she’slaughingevenharder.“OhmyGod.Thisisinsane.Blueroses?Dothoseevenexist?”
Isnicker.“Notinnature.AndnotattheflowershopinHastings.ButhemightbeabletoordersomefromBoston.”
“You’reanevil,evilwoman,”sheaccuses,awidegrinstretchinghermouth.“Iloveit.Howmanyhashedonesofar?”
“Justthepoem.”
“Ican’tbelievehe’sgoingalongwiththis.”Sheflopsonherbed,thenwrinklesherforeheadandstaresatthemattress.“Didyoumakemybed?”
“Yes,”Isaysheepishly,butshedoesn’tseempissed.I’dalreadywarnedherthatmyOCDmightrearitsincrediblytidyheadeverynowandthen,andsofarshehasn’tbattedaneyewhenithappens.Theonlyitemsonherdon’t-touch-or-I’ll-fuck-you-uplistarehershoesandheriTunesmusiclibrary.
“Wait,butyoudidn’tfoldmylaundry?”Shemockgasps.“Whatthehell,Grace?Ithoughtwewerefriends.”
Istickoutmytongue.“I’mnotyourmaid.Foldyourowndamnlaundry.”
Daisy’seyesgleam.“Soyou’retellingmeyoucanlookatthatbasketoverflowingwithfresh-from-the-dryerclothes—”shegesturestothebasketinquestion“—andyouaren’ttheteensiestbittemptedtofoldthem?Allthoseshirts…formingwrinklesaswespeak.Lonelysocks…longingfortheirpairs—”
“Let’sfoldyourlaundry,”Iblurtout.
Agaleoflaughterovertakeshersmallbody.“That’swhatIthought.”24
Logan
AnentireweekpassesbeforeI’mabletotickanotheritemoffthelist.Sofar,I’vecompletedfouroutofthesix,buttheselasttwoareabitchtoacquire.Thewheelsareinmotionregarding#6,but#5isfuckinghard.I’vebeensearchinghighandlowforit,evencontemplatedbuyingitonline,butthosethingsarealotmoreexpensivethanIthoughtthey’dbe.
It’sTuesdayafternoon,andI’mwithGarrettandourbuddyJustin.We’repickingupHannah,Allie,andJustin’sgirlfriend,Stella,atthedramabuilding,andthenthesixofusaresupposedtodrivetothedinerinHastingsforlunch.Butthemomentweenterthecavernousauditoriumwherethegirlstoldustomeetthem,myjawdropsandourplanschange.
“Holyshit—isthataredvelvetchaiselounge?”
TheguysexchangeaWTFlook.“Um…sure?”Justinsays.“Why—”
I’malreadysprintingtowardthestage.Thegirlsaren’thereyet,whichmeansIhavetoactfast.“Forfuck’ssake,getoverhere,”Icallovermyshoulder.
Theirfootstepsechobehindme,andbythetimetheyclimbonthestage,I’vealreadywhippedmyshirtoffandamreachingformybeltbuckle.IstoptofishmyphonefrommybackpocketandtossitatGarrett,whocatchesitwithoutmissingabeat.
“Whatishappeningrightnow?”Justinburstsout.
Idroptrou,kickmyjeansaway,anddiveontotheplushchairwearingnothingbutmyblackboxer-briefs.“Quick.Takeapicture.”
Justindoesn’tstopshakinghishead.Overandoveragain,andhe’sblinkinglikeanowl,asifhecan’tfathomwhathe’sseeing.
Garrett,ontheotherhand,knowsbetterthantoaskquestions.Hell,heandHannahspenttwohoursconstructingorigamiheartswithmetheotherday.Hislipstwitchuncontrollablyashegetsthephoneinposition.
“Wait.”Ipauseinthought.“Whatdoyouthink?Doubleguns,ordoublethumbsup?”
“Whatishappening?”
WebothignoreJustin’sbaffledexclamation.
“Showmethethumbsup,”Garrettsays.
Igivethecameraawolfishgrinandstickupmythumbs.
Mybestfriend’ssnortbouncesofftheauditoriumwalls.“Veto.Dotheguns.Definitelytheguns.”
Hetakestwoshots—onewithflash,onewithout—andjustlikethat,anotherromanticgestureisinthebag.
AsIhastilyputmyclothesbackon,Justinrubshistempleswithsomuchvigorit’sasifhisbrainhasimploded.HegapesasItugmyjeansuptomyhips.GapesharderwhenIwalkovertoGarrettsoIcanstudythepictures.
Inodinapproval.“Damn.Ishouldgointomodeling.”
“Youphotographreallywell,”Garrettagreesinaseriousvoice.“Anddude,yourpackagelookshuge.”
Fuck,ittotallydoes.
Justindragsbothhandsthroughhisdarkhair.“Iswearonallthatisholy—ifoneofyoudoesn’ttellmewhatthehelljustwentdownhere,I’mgoingtolosemyshit.”
Ichuckle.“Mygirlwantedmetosendheraboudoirshotofmeonaredvelvetchaiselounge,butyouhavenoideahowharditistofindagoddamnredvelvetchaiselounge.”
“Yousaythisasifit’sanexplanation.Itisnot.”Justinsighsliketheweightoftheworldrestsonhisshoulders.“Youhockeyplayersarefuckedup.”
“Naah,we’rejustnotpussieslikeyouandyourfootballcrowd,”Garrettsayssweetly.“Weownoursexappeal,dude.”
“Sexappeal?ThatwasthecheesiestthingI’veever—no,youknowwhat?I’mnotgonnaengage,”Justingrumbles.“Let’sfindthegirlsandgrabsomelunch.”
*
Grace
OhmyGod.Heactuallydidit.Istareatmyphone,tornbetweenlaughing,groaning,andrunningtothenearestsexshoptobuyavibrator,becausehotdamn,JohnLoganhasthesexiestbodyontheplanet.
Standinginthemiddleoftheradiostationwithmytonguehangingoutprobablyisn’tappropriateworkconduct,buttechnicallyI’mnotworkingtoday.IjustcameintomeetMorrisforlunch.AndIdon’tevencarethatI’mdroolinginpublic—thepictureisthatdelicious.Logan’sbarechesttauntsmefromthephonescreen,sleekhoney-tonedmuscles,thedustingofhairbetweenhisperfectlyformedpecs,hisrippledabdomen.Jesus,andhisboxer-briefsaresotightagainsthisgroinandthighsthatIcanseetheoutlineofhis—
“Well,fuckaduck,”comesMorris’sdelightedvoice.
Ijerkinsurprise,thenspinaroundtoglareathimforsneakinguponmefrombehind.Judgingbytheamusementdancinginhiseyes,it’sobvioushepeekedovermyshoulderandcaughtaglimpseofthephotoI’dbeendroolingover.
“Iwaswonderinghowhe’dpullthatoneoff,”Morrisremarks,stillgrinninglikeafool.“Shouldn’thavedoubtedhim,though.Thatdudeisanunstoppableforceofnature.”
Inarrowmyeyes.“Hetoldyouaboutthepicture?”
“Aboutthewholelist,actually.Wehungoutlastnight—LorrisisclosetotakingoverBrooklyn,bytheway—andhewasmoaningandgroaningaboutnotbeingabletotrackdownaredvelvetcouch.”Morrisshrugs.“Iofferedtothrowaredblanketonthesofainmycommonroomandtakesomepictures,buthesaidyou’dconsiderthatcheatinganddeprivehimofyourlove.”
Stiflingasigh,Ishovethephoneinmypurse,thenwalkovertothemini-fridgeacrosstheroomandgrababottleofwater.Itwistoffthecap,doingmybesttoignorethesheerenjoymentMorrisisgettingoutofthis.
“IwishIwasgay,”hesaysruefully.
Asnickerpopsout.“Uh-huh.Goon.I’mwillingtofollowyoudownthisrabbitholeandseewhereitleads.”
“Seriously,Gretch,Ilovehim.Ihaveabonerforhim.”Morrissighs.“IfI’dknownheexisted,Iwouldn’thaveaskedyououtinthefirstplace.”
“Gee,thanks.”
“Oh,shutup.You’reawesome,andI’dtapthatinasecond.ButIcan’tcompetewiththisguy.He’soperatingonawholeotherlevelwhenitcomestoyou.”
It’sfunny—afterourbrief,ill-fatedforayintodating,MorrisandIhavebecomeevencloserfriends.SometimesthelingeringguiltaboutkissingLoganattheSigmapartystillarises,butMorriswon’tletmeapologizeforitanymore.Heinsiststhatonemeaslydatedoesn’tcountaseitherarelationship,orthecommittingofadultery,andIthinkhemeansit.Ialsothinkit’sprobablybetterthatwedidn’tstartanythingup,becauseI’vestartednoticingthewayhelooksatDaisy,andI’mprettysureshe’stheonehereallywantsto“tap.”
Asforme?IwantthatdatewithLoganmorethananythingelseinthisworld,andIregretallthishoopjumping,becausehonestly,hewonmeoverthesecondhesentmethatpoem.AndclearlyhewantsthisdateasmuchasIdo,otherwisehewouldn’thaveputsomucheffortintothemostkickasscollageI’veeverseen.Andtheorigamihearts.Andsoggy,near-deathrosesthatheusedfoodcoloringtoturnblue.
Andnowtheboudoirphoto?Hisdeterminationisdownrightinspiring.
“Youknowwhat,”Isayslowly.“IfeelbadmakinghimdoallthisstuffwhenwebothknowI’msayingyestothedate.IthinkIshouldtellhimnottobotherwiththelastitem.”
“Don’t,”Morrissaysinstantly.
Myforeheadfurrows.“Whynot?”
“Purelyselfishreasons.”Hechuckles.“I’mcurioustoseewhathecomesupwith.”
Ipressmylipstogethertofightalaugh.“Honestly?SoamI.”
*
Logan
Twodaysafterfatedeliverstheredvelvetchaiseloungeintomylife,IspeedoffthehighwayrampanddrivetowardHastings,withGarrettsittingquietlyinthepassengerseat.Neitherofussaidmuchduringtheone-hourreturntripfromWilmington,thoughweprobablyhavedifferentreasonsforoursilence.Me,Ican’tstopthinkingaboutthearenawedrovepastonourwaytotherestaurant.ItwasnothinglikethesplendorofTDGarden.Justalarge,nondescriptbuilding,similartoanyoldarenayoumightfindinNewEngland.
AndyetI’dsellmysoultothefuckingdevilforachancetowakeupeverymorningandpracticethere.
Ipullintoourdriveway,butleavetheenginerunningasIglanceatGarrett.“Thanksfordoingthat,man.Ioweyoubig.”Ipause.“Iknowyoudon’tlikerelyingonyourdad’sconnections.”
Heshrugs.“Mikey’smygodfather.Iwasusingmyownconnections.”ButIknowhehatedmakingthatcall.Godfatherornot,NHLlegendMikeyHansonisstillPhilGraham’sbestfriend,andGarretthasspentmostofhislifetryingtoseparatehimselffromhisassholefather’sshadow.
“Haveyouspokentohimlately?”Iaskcautiously.“Yourdad,Imean?”
“Nope.Hecallseveryfewweeks,butIjustpressignore.Haveyouspokentoyours?”
“Acoupledaysago.”I’vebeenmakinganefforttocheckinonDadandJeff,andMomandDavid,becauseoncepre-seasonstartsandourpracticeschedulebecomesmoreintense,I’llbelivinginahockeybubbleandwillprobablyforgettocallmyfamily.
Garrettgoesquietforabeat,thenlooksoverthoughtfully.“Issheworthallthis,bro?”
Idon’taskwho“she”is.Isimplynod.
“It’snotjustforthesex?”
Mysmileisrueful.“Wehaven’thadsexyet.”
Surpriseflickersthroughhiseyes.“Forreal?IassumedyoufuckedherbackinApril.”
“Nope.”
Thecornersofhismouthtugupward.EitherI’mimaginingit,orheactuallylooksproudofme.“Well,thenthatjustansweredmyquestionaboutherbeingworthit.”Hethumpsmeontheshoulder,thenreachesforthedoorhandle.“Goodluck.”
Truthbetold,I’mnotsureIneedluck.EverytimeIdeliveredoneofmycringinglyromanticgiftstoGrace’sdoor,Iwasrewardedwithabrilliantsmilethatlitupherentireface.AndeitherIwasimaginingit,orshekeptstaringatmymouth,sodamnintently,asifshewasdyingtokissme.Ididn’tmakeamove,though.Didn’twanttopushtoohard,toofast.ButIhaveafeelingImightbegettingthatkisstonight.
IknockonGrace’sdoortwentyminuteslater,orderingmyselftokeepthegloatingtoaminimum.Butdamn,I’mfeelingprettyfuckinggloatyaboutthewayI’vesuccessfullyfulfilledallofherdemands.Itreallyisashamethatpeopledon’tgraspwhatastubbornmotherfuckerIam.
Gracedoesn’tlooksurprisedtoseemewhensheopensthedoor.ProbablybecauseItextedtoletherknowIwascomingby.Ididn’ttellherwhy,butshetakesonelookatmyfaceandsucksinabreath.“Youdidn’t…”
Iholdoutmycellintriumph.“Yourcelebrityendorsement,mylady.”
“Okay,getinhere.Ihavetoseethis.”Onehandsnatchesthephonewhiletheothertugsmeintotheroom.
HerroommateDaisyiscross-leggedonthebed,andshegrinswhenshespotsme.“Ifitisn’tMr.Romancehimself.Whathaveyougotforustonight,bigboy?”
Igrinback.“Nothingspecial.Just—”
“Hey,Grace,”avoicedrawlsoutofthephonespeaker.Gracehasloadedthevideoandpressedplaywithimpressivespeed,andherroommatefreezesatthesoundofthecheerfulmalegreeting.
“ShaneLukovhere,”thedark-hairedguyonthescreencontinues.
“Holyshit!”Daisyscreeches.ShedivesoffthebedandracesovertoGrace,whileIstandinfrontofthemsmirkingthesmirkofallsmirks.
“ComingtoyoufromWilmingtonwithanimportantmessage,”announcesthesecond-yearBruinsstar.Lukovtooktheleaguebystormwithhisexplosiverookieyear,andpeoplearesalivatingtoseewhathedoesthisupcomingseason.Thetwenty-year-oldisalreadybeingcomparedtoSidneyCrosby,andhonestly,Idon’tthinkit’sthatfaroffthemark.
“I’veknownLoganalongtime.”Lukovwinksatthecamera.“Andbylongtime,Imeanfivewholeminutes,butwhatistime,really?FromwhatIcantell,he’sagoodguy.Easyontheeyes.Rumorhasithe’satotalbruiserontheice.That’sallIreallyneedtoknowtogivehimmyendorsement.Sogooutwithhim,sweetheart.”Awidegrinfillsthescreen.“MynameisShaneLukovandIapprovethismessage.”
Thevideoends.Daisyisbusypickingherjawoffthefloor.Graceisstaringatmeasifshe’sneverseenmebeforeinherlife.
“So.”Iblinkinnocently.“WhattimeshouldIpickyouuptomorrownight?”25
Grace
Hastingshasseveralnicerestaurants,butifyou’relookingforfancy,thenFerro’sisthewaytogo.TheItalianbistroisgorgeous—darkoak-paneledwalls,secludedbooths,blood-redlinentablecloths.Andcandlelight.Lotsandlotsofcandlelight.
Itrequiresareservationatleastaweekinadvance,andyetLogansomehowsnagsatableinlessthantwenty-fourhours.Whenhetoldmewhereweweregoing,Ithoughtmaybehe’dmadeareservationlastweekinanticipationofcompletingtheitemsonmylist,butonthedriveoverheadmitstocallinginafavortogetusatable.
DidImentionhe’swearingasuit?
Helooksspectacularinasuit.Thecrispblackjacketstretchesacrosshiswideshoulders,andhedecidedtoforgoatie,soIhavethemostdeliciousviewofhisstrongthroatpeekingfromtheopentopbuttonofhiswhitedressshirt.
Thewaiterleadsustoourbooth,andLoganwaitsformetoslideinfirst,thensitsrightbesideme.
“We’resame-siding?”Isqueak.“That’s…”Intimate.It’sthekindofseatingarrangementreservedforsuper-in-lovecoupleswhocan’tkeeptheirhandsoffeachother
Logancasuallystretcheshisarmalongthebackofthebooth,hisfingersrestingonmybareshoulder.Hestrokeslightly.Teasingly.
“That’s…?”heprompts.
“Perfectlyfinebyme,”Ifinish,andhegivesaknowingchuckle.
Histhighispressedupagainstmine,ahardslaboffleshthatdemonstrateshowrippedheis.Myshortblackdresshasriddenupabit,andIhopehedoesn’tnoticethegoosebumpsrisingonmybarelegs.I’mnotcold.Justtheopposite,infact.Hisnearness,andtheheatofhisbody,makesmefeverish.
“CanIaskyousomething?”hehedges,afterthewaiterrecitesthespecialsandpoursustwoglassesofsparklingwater.
“Sure.”Ianglemybodysowecanactuallylookateachother.Thissame-sidethingwasnotdesignedforeyecontact.
“Howcomeyoudon’taskmeabouthockey?”
Ifreeze,whichheobviouslymistakesfordiscomfort,becausehehurriesonalmostapologetically.“NotthatImind.It’sactuallykindofrefreshing.Mostgirlsaskmeaboutnothingbuthockey,liketheythinkit’stheonlytopicI’mcapableoftalkingabout.It’sjuststrangethatyou’veneverbroughtitup,notevenonce.”
Ireachformywaterglassandtakeavery,verylongsip.Notthemostbrilliantstallingtactic,butit’stheonlyoneIcanthinkof.Iknewthiswouldcomeupeventually.Ifanything,I’msurpriseditdidn’tcomeupsooner.Butthatdoesn’tmeanIwaslookingforwardtoit.
“Well.Um.Thethingis…”Iinhale,thencontinuewithrapid-firespeed.“Imnotahockeyfan.”
Awrinkleappearsinhisforehead.“What?”
Irepeatmyself,slowlythistime,withactualpausesbetweeneachword.“I’mnotahockeyfan.”
ThenIholdmybreathandawaithisreaction.
Heblinks.Blinksagain.Andagain.Hisexpressionisamixtureofshockandhorror.“Youdon’tlikehockey?”
Iregretfullyshakemyhead.
“Notevenalittlebit?”
NowIshrug.“Idon’tminditasbackgroundnoise—”
“Backgroundnoise?”
“—butIwon’tpayattentiontoitifit’son.”Ibitemylip.I’malreadyinthisdeep—mightaswelldeliverthefinalblow.“Icomefromafootballfamily.”
“Football,”hesaysdully.
“Yeah,mydadandIarehugePatsfans.AndmygrandfatherwasanoffensivelinemanfortheBearsbackintheday.”
“Football.”Hegrabshiswaterandtakesadeepswig,asifheneedstorehydrateafterthatbombshell.
Ismotheralaugh.“Ithinkit’sawesomethatyou’resogoodatit,though.AndcongratsontheFrozenFourwin.”
Loganstaresatme.“Youcouldn’thavetoldmethisbeforeIaskedyouout?Whatareweevendoinghere,Grace?Icannevermarryyounow—itwouldbeblasphemous.”
Histwitchinglipsmakeitclearthathe’sjoking,andthelaughterI’vebeenfightingspillsover.“Hey,don’tgocancelingtheweddingjustyet.Thesuccessrateforinter-sportmarriagesisalothigherthanyouthink.WecouldbeaPats-Bruinsfamily.”Ipause.“ButnoCeltics.Ihatebasketball.”
“Well,atleastwehavethatincommon.”Heshufflescloserandpressesakisstomycheek.“It’sallright.We’llworkthroughthis,gorgeous.Mightneedcouplescounselingatsomepoint,butonceIteachyoutolovehockey,it’llbesmoothsailingforus.”
“Youwon’tsucceed,”Iwarnhim.“Ramonaspentyearstryingtoforcemetolikeit.Didn’twork.”
“Shegaveuptooeasilythen.I,ontheotherhand,nevergiveup.”
No,hecertainlydoesn’t.Ifhedid,wewouldn’tbeinthisincrediblyromanticrestaurantrightnow,nestledtogetheronthesamesideofthebooth.
“Hey,speakingofRamona.”Hisexpressiondarkensslightly.“What’sgoingonwithyoutwo?”
Tensiontricklesdownmyspine.“YoumeansinceshewentbehindmybackandofferedtocomfortyouafterV-Day?”
Hegrins.“YoucallitV-Day?I’vebeencallingitV-Night.”
Weburstoutlaughing,andapartofmefindspeculiarsolaceinthat,beingabletolaughaboutanightthatleftmefeelingsohumiliated.Sorejected.Butit’sinthepast.Loganhasgoneaboveandbeyondtoprovehowmuchheregretswhathappenedandhowsincereheisaboutstartingover.AndIwasn’tlyingthatdayintheparkwhenItoldhimIdon’tholdgrudges.Bothmyparentsdrilledtheimportanceofforgivenessintome,ofexpellingthebitternessandangerinsteadoflettingthosenegativeemotionsconsumeme.
“ImetupwithherthedayIsawyouattheCoffeeHut,”Iadmit.“Wetalked,sheapologized.ItoldherIwaswillingtogivethefriendshipanotherchance,butthatIwanttodoitatmyownpace,andsheagreed.”
Hedoesn’tsayanything.
“What?Youdon’tthinkIshould?”
Loganlookspensive.“Idon’tknow.Hittingonmewasareallyshittymoveonherpart.Doesn’texactlyputherintherunningforFriendoftheYear.”Afrowntoucheshislips.“Idon’tliketheideathatshemighthurtyouagain.”
“Meneither,butcuttingherofffeels…wrong.I’veknownhermywholelife.”
“Yeah?Iassumedyoutwojustgotassignedtothesamedorm.”
“Nope.We’vebeenfriendssincechildhood.”
IexplainhowRamonaandIwerenext-doorneighbors,andfromthere,theconversationshiftstowhatitwaslikegrowingupinHastings,thentowhatitwaslikeforhimtogrowupinMunsen.I’msurprisedbythecompletelackofawkwardsilences.There’salwaysatleastoneonafirstdate,butLoganandIdon’tseemtohavethatproblem.Theonlytimewestoptalkingiswhenthewaitertakesourorders,andthenagainwhenhedeliversthecheck.
Twohours.IcanhardlybelieveitwhenIpeekatthetimeonmyphoneandrealizehowlongwe’vebeenhere.Thefoodwasphenomenal,theconversationentertaining,andthecompanyabsolutelyincredible.Afterwepolishoffourdessert—apieceofdecadenttiramisuthatLoganinsistsweshare—hedoesn’tevenallowmetolookatthebill.Hesimplytucksawadofcashintheleathercasethewaiterdroppedoff,thenslidesoutoftheboothandholdsouthishand.
Itakeit,wobblingslightlyonmyheelsashehelpsmetomyfeet.Ifeelweak-kneedandgiddy.Ican’tstopsmiling,butI’mgratifiedtoseethathe’ssportingthesamegoofygrin.
“Thiswasnice,”hemurmurs.
“Yes,itwas.”
Helacesourfingerstogetherandproceedstokeepthemlikethatallthewaytothecar,wherehereluctantlyletsgosohecanopenmydoorforme.Themomenthe’sinthedriver’sseat,ourfingersintertwineagain,andhedrivesone-handedtheentirewaybacktocampus.
It’snotuntilwe’restandingoutsidemydoorthathiseasygoingdemeanorfalters.“SohowdidIdo?”heasksgruffly.
Isnicker.“Youwantadetailedperformancereviewofourdate?”
Hetugsonthecollarofhisshirt,morenervousthanI’veeverseenhim.“Kindof.Ihaven’tbeenonadatein…fuck,ages.Sincefreshmanyear,Ithink.”
Mysurprisedgazefliestohis.“Really?”
“Imean,I’vehungoutwithgirls.Playedpoolatthebar,talkedatparties,butanactualdate?Pickingherupandhavingdinnerandthenwalkinghertoherdoor?”Themostadorableredsplotchescolorhischeeks.“Ah,yeah,haven’tdonethatinawhile.”
God,Iwanttothrowmyarmsaroundhimandsqueezeallthecutenessoutofhim.Instead,Ipretendtomullitover.“Okay,well,yourchoiceofrestaurant?Perfectten.Chivalry…youopenedmycardoor,sothat’satentoo.Conversationalprowess…nine.”
“Nine?”heblusters.
Iflashanimpishsmile.“I’mtakingapointoffforthehockeytalk.Thatwasratherdreary.”
Logannarrowshiseyes.“You’vegonetoofar,woman.”
Iignorehim.“Affectionlevels?Ten.Youhadyourarmaroundmeandheldmyhand,whichwassweet.Oh,andthelastone—goodnightkiss.Yettoberated,butyoushouldknow,you’restartingatminus-onebecauseyourequestedaperformancereviewinsteadofmakingyourmove.”
Hisblueeyestwinkle.“Seriously?I’mbeingpenalizedfortryingtobeagentleman?”
“Minus-twonow,”Itaunt.“Youropeningisgettingnarrowerandnarrower,Johnny.Soonyouwon’t—”
Hismouthcapturesmineinablisteringkiss.
Belonging.It’stheonlywaytodescribetheexquisiterushofsensationthatwashesoverme.Hislipsbelongonmine.Heatfloodsmycoreashislargehandscupmycheeks,thumbsstrokingmyjawashekissesmewithashockingcontrastoftendernessandhunger.Histongueslicksovermine,onesweetstroke,thenanother,beforeheeaseshismouthaway.
“YoucalledmeJohnny,”hesays,hisbreathticklingmylips.
“Isthatnotallowed?”Itease.
Histhumbsoftlygrazesmybottomlip.“MyfriendscallmeJohnsometimes,butonlymyfamilycallsmeJohnny.”Hisgazeburnswithintensity.“Ilikedit.”
Mypulseacceleratesashismouthbrushesovermineagain.Theslightestamountofcontact,likeafeatherticklingmylips.Heslidesbothhandsdownmybarearms,leavinggoosebumpsinhiswake,thenreststhemonmyhip,casualalmost,exceptthere’snothingcasualaboutthewayhistouchmakesmefeel.
“Willyougooutwithmeagain?”
He’ssotall,Ihavetotiltmyheadtolookathim.Apartofmeistemptedtomakehimsweat,butthere’snostoppingtheswift,unequivocalanswerthatescapesmymouth.
“Absolutely.”26
Grace
Onourseconddate,LoganandIgotoaparty,whichundernormalcircumstances,Iwouldn’tbenervousabout.Ramonadraggedmetoashittonofoff-campuspartieslastyear,soifanything,Ishouldbeanoldprobynow.ButthispartyhappenstobeatBeauMaxwell’shouse.Thefrickin’quarterbackofBriar’sfootballteam.
Thefootballcrowdfreaksmeout.Theirpartiesarerowdyandtendtogetshutdownbythecopsmoreoftenthannot.Andmostoftheplayersareloudandcockyandwalkaroundlikethey’reGod’sgifttotheworld.Whichisironic,becauselastyeartheteamputuptheworstrecordBriarhasseenintwenty-fiveyears.
ThelasttimeIencounteredthefootballcrowd,itwasatafratpartyRamonaandIwentto,whereIhadtobreakupafightbetweenmybestfriendandthefootballgroupiewhotriedtogougeRamona’seyesoutformakingoutwithoneoftheoffensivelinemen.AndIhadtodoitonmyown,becausetheplayerswerenofuckinghelp.They’djustformedacirclearoundthegirlsandwailedout“Meow!”theentiretime.Dickheads.
“Beau’saniceguy,”Loganassuresmeaswehopoutthebackseatofthetaxiafterhepaysthedriver.“Seriously,babe.He’sgoodpeople.”
“HowisheevenstillatBriar?Wasn’theaseniorlastyear?”
“Technicallyhe’safifth-yearsenior.Hered-shirtedfreshmanyear.”
“Good,thenthatgiveshimanotheryeartogethisshittogether,”Igrumble.“Hisperformancelastyearwasdisappointing.WereyouthereforthegamewherehethrewfiveinterceptionsandzeroTDs?Whatthehellwasthat?”
Loganwagshisfingeratme.“Shameonyou,Ms.FootballCritic.Rippingonaguyforhavinganoffday?That’sharsh.”
Isigh.“Fine.IguessIcancuthimsomeslack.Imean,noteveryonecanbeasgoodasDrewBaylor,right?”
Heatflaresinhiseyes.“Yourknowledgeofcollegequarterbacksisstrangelyaturn-on.”
“Ithinkeverythingisaturn-onforyou,”Ianswer,rollingmyeyes.
“Yup.Prettymuch.”
Wereachthefrontdoor,andthedeafeningmusicvibratingbehinditbringsapangofuneasiness.Igrabhisarm.“Ifitgetstoocrazy,promisewecanleave?”
“Buttheseareyourpeople,remember?Whywouldyoueverwanttoleavethesweetbosomofyourpreciousfootballfamily?”
Hissmuggrinmakesmesnicker.“Hey.JustbecauseIlikewatchingthemplaydoesn’tmeanIwantthemtoplayme.”
Logandipsdownandplantsakissonmytemple.“Don’tworry.Wheneveryouwanttogo,saythewordandwe’regone.”
“Thankyou.”
Amomentlater,heopensthedoorwithoutknocking,andwestepintothelion’sden,whereI’mimmediatelyblastedwithawaveofbodyheat.God,therearesomanypeopleinsidethehousethattheairisonfire.Thescentofbeer,perfume,cologneandsweatissostrongitmakesmyheadspin,butLogandoesn’tseembotheredbyit.Hetakesmyhandandleadsmedeeperintothemob.
Inthecornerofthelivingroom,ahigh-spiritedgameofbeerpongisinprogress,andthegirlsstandingononeendofthetableareinvariousstatesofundress.Okay,makethatahigh-spiritedgameofstripbeerpong.Ontheothersideoftheroom,themakeshiftdancefloorispackedwithgyratingbodiesandsurroundedbyfurnituretoppedwithtipsy,half-nakedgirlsgettingtheirdirtydancingon.
WeshoweduplatebecauseLoganhadhockeypractice,butstill,it’sonlyteno’clock,whichseemswaytooearlyforeveryonetoalreadybethiswasted
“I’llgiveyoutwentybucksifyougetupononeofthosetables,”Loganraspsinmyear.
Ipunchhiminthearm.
Heflasheshiscrookedgrinandpretendstorubhissorebiceps.“Wantadrink?”Heraiseshisvoicetobeheardoverthemusic.
“Sure,”Icallback.
Wewanderintothekitchen,whichisequallycrowdedandequallyloud.Loganswipesarumbottlefromthecounter,pourstwoplasticcups,thendumpssomeCokeinthemtosweetenthedeal.Isipthedrinkandmakeaface.God,hisrum-and-Cokerecipeneedssomework.It’sprettymuchjustrum.
Thealcoholburnsdownmythroatandheatsmybelly,spikingmybodytemperatureevenmore.I’mwearingashorthalterdress,whichmeansIcan’tevenshedanyitemsofclothingtobattlethesheenofsweatrisingonmyskin.
“Howareyoufriendswiththiscrowd?”Iaskasweleavethekitchen.“Mydadtoldmethatthehockeyandfootballplayersatthisuniversityhaveanage-oldrivalry.”
“Notanymore.ItendedthreeyearsagowhenthesaviorarrivedatBriar.”
“Uh-huh.Andwhowasthesavior?”
“Dean,”heanswerswithasnort.“I’msureyoualreadyknowthis,buthechasesanythinginaskirt—”
Ifeignagasp.“OhmyGod.Areyouserious?”
Hechuckles.“Anyway,onceheranoutofpuckbunniestoscrewinfreshmanyear,hehadnochoicebuttodipintothefootballgroupiepool.HewoundupatoneofBeau’sparties,thetwoofthemrecognizedtheman-slutineachother,andthey’vebeenfriendseversince.”Loganslingsonearmaroundmeaswewalkdownahallwaylitteredwithpeople.“Deandraggedmeandtheguystoafewpartiesandwehititoffwiththemeatheadstoo.Andyeah,thebloodfeudwasputtorest.”
Ihavenocluewherewe’regoing,butLoganseemstoknowthehouselikethebackofhishand.Hebypassesseveralcloseddoorsbeforeleadingmethroughadoorwaythatopensontoaspaciousden.TwomassiveleathersofassetinanL-shapetakeupthecenteroftheroom,facinganentertainmentcenterthat’sflashingESPNhighlights.There’sapooltablebehindthelargercouch,andacue-wieldingguywithabushybeardstudiesthegreenfeltintently,whilehisopponenttauntshimabouthowhe’sgoingtomisstheshot.
I’msurprisedbyhowemptythedenis.Onlyahandfulofguysnearthepooltable,afewcouplesbythebackwall,andtwopeoplemakingoutonthecouch—Deanandaredheadwithhugeboobs.BeauMaxwell,who’ssprawledinanarmchair,watchesthemwithanalmostboredexpression.
Thequarterbackliftshisheadatourentrance.“Logan,”hedrawls.“How’veyoubeen,man?”
LogansettlesonthecouchadjacenttoDean’sandpullsmeintohislapasifit’sthemostnaturalthingintheworld.Ashisarmscomearoundmywaist,InoticetheflickerofinterestinBeau’sblueeyes.HeactuallylooksalotlikeLogan,Irealize,nowthatI’mseeinghimupcloseandnotfromthestandsofthefootballstadium.They’rebothhuge,withdarkhair,blueeyes,andchiseledfeatures.Butthere’sonemajordifference—Beaudoesn’tmakemyheartpoundthewayLogandoes.
Deanandtheredheadbreakapart,theirfacesflushedastheyglanceoveratus.“Hey,”Deansayswithawink.“When’dyouguysgethere?”
“Justnow,”Logananswers.
Beauisstilleyeingmecuriously.“Who’syourfriend?”heasksLogan.
“ThisisGrace.Mydate.Grace,Beau.”
Thequarterback’sgazedoesathoroughsweepovermybarelegs.Andthighs,becausethewayLoganpositionedmeinhislapcausedmydresstorideup,andBeauhasdefinitelynoticed.
“Nicetomeetyou,sweetheart,”Beausays,asmilecurvinghislips.“Gottasay,thisisthefirsttimeI’veseenLoganshowuptoapartywithadate.”
“Getusedtoit,”Logantossesback.“Idon’tplanonleavingthehousewithoutheranymore.”Thenhekissesmyneck,andashiverracesthroughme.Hishandisasolidweightonmyhip,keepingmetighttohisbody,and…yep,I’mnotimaginingit—there’sanothersolidweightbeneathme.Hisverynoticeableerectionagainstmyass.
SometimesitstillamazesmethatI’mtheoneturninghimon.Myentirefreshmanyear,allIheardwasrumorafterrumoraboutJohnLogan.Hesleepsaround,he’sagreatlay,hedoesn’tdorelationships.Sowhattheheckishedoingdatingme?Andbydating,Imeandating.Wehaven’tevenhadsexyet,forGod’ssake.
AsImarvelovertheknowledgethatsomehowImanagedtoland—ormaybetameisthebetterword?—aguylikeLogan,theconversationcontinuesaroundme.LoganandBeaugetintoananimateddebateaboutdrugtestingincollegesports,thoughI’mnotquitesurehowtheyreachthattopic.I’mtoobusyenjoyingthewayLogan’sfingersabsentlystrokemyhipovermydress.God,Iwishhewastouchingmybareskin.Iwishhe’ddonemorethankissmetheothernight.Iacheforthisguy.Allthefuckingtime.
“Thereyouare.”AgirlinaslinkygreendressandblackcombatbootssauntersintothedenandheadsBeau’sway.“Iwaslookingeverywhereforyou.”
“Tooloudoutthere,”hesighs.“IthinkI’mturningintoanoldman,S.God,baby,makemefeelyoungagain.Please.”
Shelaughsandleansdowntobrushherlipsoverhischeek.“Mypleasure,bigboy.”
Imakeaneffortnottostaretoohardather,butit’sdifficultnotto.She’sgotolive-tonedskin,bottomlessdarkeyes,andthickbrownhairthatcascadesdownherback,andshe’sstunning.Idon’tthrowthatwordaroundalot,butthere’snootherwaytodescribethisgirl.Stunning.Nottomentionridiculouslyseductive.Seriously,she’soozingScarlettJohansson-levelsexappeal,fromthewayshelooksatBeautothewayshemovesherhipsassheperchesonthearmofhischair.
HerexpressiondarkenswhenshenoticesDeanonthecouch.“Richie,”shesayscoolly.
“Sabrina,”Deananswers,aderisivegleaminhisgreeneyes.
“Inoticedyouactuallybotheredshowingupforclassthismorning.”Sabrinasmirks.“YourealizedtheTAisadude,huh?Youpoorthing.Can’tfuckyourwayintoapassinggradethissemester.”
“Blowme,Sabrina.”
Shecocksabrow.“Yeah?Pullitout,bigboy.”
Deanraisesabrowofhisown.“Ishould.Maybehavingsomethinginyourmouthwillfinallyshutyouup.”
Sabrinathrowsherheadbackandlaughs.“Oh,Richie,youreallythinkthat’llshutmeup?”ShewinksatBeau.“TellhimthekindofnoisesImakewhenyourdickisinmymouth.”
Ihavenoideawhat’shappeningrightnow.TheanimositybetweenDeanandthisSabrinachickispollutingtheair,butitfadesthemomentBeauhaulsthegorgeousbrunettetoherfeet.
“’Scuseus,”hesays,andthegleamofarousalinhiseyesrevealsexactlywhyhe’sdraggingSabrinaaway.
Oncethey’regone,IglanceoveratDeanwithaquizzicallook.“WhydoesshecallyouRichie?”
“Becauseshe’safuckingbitch,”ishisanswer,whichisnoansweratall.
“Aw,youlookupset,”theredheadmurmurstohim.“Letmehelpwiththat.”
Inthenextbreath,they’vegottheirtonguesineachother’smouthsagain.
IturntoLogan.“Whatjusthappened?”
“Nofuckingidea.”Grinning,heplantsakissonmylips,thenstandsandpullsmeupwithhim.“Comeon,let’sgomingle.IthinkIsawHollisandFitzyaroundheresomewhere.”
Weleavethedenandreenterthelandoftheloudandwasted,whereLoganintroducesmetoafewmorepeoplebeforewetrackdownsomeofhisteammates.I’mnothavingabadtime.Nothavingagreattime,either,butthat’snotbecauseofanythingLogansaysordoes.It’sbecauseasthepartyunfolds,Istarttonoticesomethingthatmakesmefeel…prickly.
Thegirls.Lotsandlotsofgirls.
Lotsandlotsofgirlswhohavenoproblemflirtingshamelesslywithmydate.
TheattentionLoganreceivesisstaggering.Andreallyfuckingannoying.It’sonethingforsomeonetocomeoverandsayhellotohim.Butthesegirlsdon’tstopwithhello.Theyraketheirmanicuredfingernailsalonghisbarearm.Battheirmascara-thickeyelashesathim.Callhim“baby”and“hon.”Oneevenkisseshischeek.Bitch.
Itryhardnottoletitgettome.Iknewgoingintothisthathewaspopular.Ialsoknewthathookinguphadbeenasportforhimbeforehe’dmetme.Butthatdoesn’tmeanIappreciatehavingtheevidenceofhisformerplayerdayssmackmeinthefaceeveryothersecond.
Bythetimetheninthchick—yes,I’mkeepingcount—sashaysuptohimandgetsherflirton,I’veofficiallyhadenough.
“Ineedtousetheladiesroom,”Isnap.
Loganblinksatmysharptone.“Ah…allright.Usetheupstairsone—it’susuallylesscrowded.”
Thefactthathedoesn’taskmeifI’mokayoroffertowalkmeupstairsisatadgrating.Grittingmyteeth,Istalkoutofthelivingroom.
Inthehall,Iduckagroupofguys,dodgeaguyandgirlwhoarescreaminginsultsandaccusationsateachother,andmarchupthestaircase.I’vejustreachedthetopwhenIhearLogan’svoicefrombehindme.
“Grace.Wait.”
Ireluctantlyturnaround.“Whatisit?”
“Youtellme.”Concernedblueeyessearchmyface.“YouliterallycutSandyoffmid-sentenceandstormedoff.”
“Ohno,poorSandy,”Imutter.“Givehermyapologies.”
Hiseyebrowsshootup.“Okay.Whatthehellisgoingon?”
“Nothing.”I’mhitwitharushofembarrassment,becausemyeyesarestinginglikeImightactuallycry.Ispinonmyheelandwalkinthedirectionofthebathroom.Damnit.He’sright—whatthehellisgoingon?Idon’tknowwhyI’msopissedoff.It’snotlikehewasflirtingback.Tohiscredit,hewastryingtomoveawaywheneveroneofthosegirlscamecloseenoughtotouchhim
“Grace.”Hishandlandsonmyshoulder,tuggingmearoundtofacehim.“Talktome,”heorders.“Whyareyouupset?”
“Because…”Ibitetheinsideofmycheek.Hesitating.ThenIreleaseanaggravatedgroan.“Haveyousleptwitheverygirlatthisschool?”
Loganlooksstricken.“What?”
“Seriously,John,whatthehell?Wecan’twalktwofeetwithoutsomegirlcominguptoyouandfondlingyouandsaying,ooooh,Ihadsuchagoodtimewithyoulastyear,youbigstud,weshoulddothatagain,winkwink,nudgenudge.”
Hismouthfallsopen.Thenunderstandingdawns,andaslowsmilestretcheshismouth.“Wait,thisisaboutyoubeingjealous?”
Ibristle.“No.”
“Nuh-uh.You’rejealous.”
Myjawsetsinatenseline.“Ijustdon’tappreciateallthesegirlshittingonyouwhenI’mstandingrightfuckingbesideyou.It’srudeanddisrespectfuland—”
“Makesyoujealous,”hefinishes,andIfeellikesmackingthatstupidgrinoffhisface.
“Thisisn’tfunny.”Iattempttoshrughishandoffmyarm.
Butnotonlydoesheholdontighter,hebringshisotherhandintoplay,plantingbothonmywaistashebacksmeintothewall.ThenI’vegotsix-feetandtwo-hundred-pluspoundsofsexyhockeyplayerpinningmeinplace.
Hislipsbrushmineinasoftkissbeforehegazesintomyeyes,earnest,amazed.“Youhavenothingtobejealousof,”hesaysinahuskyvoice.“Allthosegirlswhocameovertous?Idon’tevenrememberwhattheylooklike.Idon’trememberhalftheirnames.You’retheonlyoneIseetonight,theonlyoneIseeever.”Thosewarmlipstouchmineagain,firmandreassuring.“PS?IneverhookedupwithSandy.”
“Liar,”Igrumble.
“It’strue.”Hegrins.“Sheplaysfortheotherteam.”
Inarrowmyeyes.“Really?”
“Ohyeah.Sheandhergirlfriendcametoapartyatourplacelastsemesterandfooledaroundonthecouchtheentiretime.”
“Areyoujustsayingthattomakemefeelbetter?”
“Nope.It’strue.Deanthoughthe’ddiedandgonetoheaven.”
Alaughpopsout.Ifindmyselfrelaxing,mypreviouslytensemusclesnowlooseandtinglyfromthefeelofhishardbodypressedupagainstmine.God,Ididn’tlikefeelingthatwaydownstairs.Pricklyandpeeved,readytofightanygirlwhosomuchaslookedatLogan.
“ButthisisevenhotterthanwatchingSandyandhergirlmakeoutallnight.”Aseductivenotethickenshisvoice.
“What’shotter?”
“You.Jealous.”Thoseblueeyesgomoltenhot.“I’veneverbeenwithanyonewho’sgottenallpossessiveoverme.Itturnsmeon.”
He’snotjoking.Hiserectionispokingintomybelly,andthefeelofitsendsastreakofsatisfactionthroughme.Imovemyhips,justenoughformypelvistorubthathardridge,andhiseyelidsgrowheavy.
“Thatturnsmeonevenmore,”hemumbles.
Ihideasmile.“Yeah?”
“Ohyeah.Trustme,baby,you’retheonlywomanIwant.Theonlyonewhogetsmegoing.”
Raisingmyeyebrows,Ireachuptolockmyhandsaroundhisneck.“Idon’tknow…I’mstilljealous.Ithinkyoumightneedtoreassuremesomemore.”
Chuckling,hetipshisheadtowardthedoorbesideus.“Wantmetomakeyoucomeinthebathroom?”Mythighsclench,noticeably,andhelaughsagain.“Isthatayes?”
“God,no.”Ileanuptonibbleonhisneck.“It’sahellyes.”27
Logan
Forthefourthtimethisweek,Iskateofftheiceafterpracticewantingtopoundmyfistthroughawall.ThesheerlackofskillandcommonfuckingsenseI’mseeingfromsomeoftheotherdefensemenisappalling.I’mwillingtocutthefreshmenrecruitssomeslack,butthere’snoexcuseforthewaythejuniorshaveplayedthisweek.Brodowskiliterallystoodmotionlessinthedefensivezonelookingforsomeonetopassto,andAndersonlobbedpassafterpasstocoveredforwardsinsteadofcross-passingtomeorcarryingthepucksotheforwardshadtimetogetopen.
Thehingeplaysweranwereadisaster.Thefreshmenskatedinslowmotion.Theupperclassmenmadestupidmistakes.It’sbecomingpainfullyobviousthatourrosterisweak.Soweakthatthechancesofmakingittothepost-seasonarelookingslimmerandslimmer—andwehaven’tevenplayedourfirstgameyet.
AsIstripmygearinthelockerroom,IrealizeI’mnottheonlyonewho’sfrustrated.Fartoomanysurlyfacessurroundme,andevenGarrettissurprisinglysilent.Asteamcaptain,hetriestoofferencouragementaftereverypractice,buthe’sclearlystartingtogetdiscouragedbythedismalstateofourteam.
Theonlyguywho’sactuallysmilingisthenewkidHunter,whoreceivedsomuchpraisefromCoachforhisperformancetodaythathe’sgoingtobeshittingoutlollipopsandkittensforweekstocome.IhavenocluehowDeanmanagedtoconvincetheguytojointheteam—allIknowisthatmybuddydraggedHuntertothebaronenightaftertryouts,andthenextmorning,thekidwasonboard.Must’vebeensomenightout.
“Logan.”Coachappearsinfrontofme.“Cometalktomeafteryourshower.”
Shit.IquicklysearchmybrainforanythingIcould’vedonewrongontheice,butI’mnotbeingarrogantwhenIsayIplayedwell.DeanandIweretheonlyoneseventryingoutthere.
WhenIenterCoach’sofficethirtyminuteslater,he’sathisdesk,wearingasomberlookthatheightensmyagitation.Fuck.Wasitthedroppedpassatthestartofpractice?No.Can’tbe.NotevenGretzkyhimselfcouldhaveheldontothepuckwithtwohundredpoundsofMikeHollisramminghimintotheboards.
“What’sup?”Isitdown,tryingnottorevealhowrattledIam.
“Let’scutrighttothechase.YouknowIdon’tliketowastetimeonpreamble.”CoachJensenleansbackinhischair.“IspoketoafriendintheBruinsorganizationthismorning.”
Everymuscleinmybodyfreezesup.“Oh.Who?”
“TheassistantGM.”
Myeyesnearlybugoutoftheirsockets.IknewCoachhadconnections—ofcoursehedoes,hewasinPittsburgforsevenseasons,forfuck’ssake—butwhenhesaid“friend”Iassumedhemeantalower-levelminionintheheadoffice.Nottheassistantgeneralmanager
“Look,it’snosecretyou’vebeenontheradarofeveryscoutsinceyourhighschoolcareer.AndyoualreadyknowI’vehadinquiriesaboutyoubefore.Anyway,ifyou’reinterested,theywantyoutocomeinandpracticewiththeProvidenceBruins.”
JesusChrist.
TheywantmetopracticewiththedevelopmentteamfortheBostonfuckingBruins?
Icanbarelywrapmyheadaroundit.AllIcandoisstareatCoach.“They’dwantmeforProvidence?”
“Maybe.Whenthey’reinterestedintakingalookatyou,theydon’tusuallyputyouontheicewiththebigboys.Theytestyououtwiththeminorteamfirst,seehowyoudo.”HisvoiceringswithintensityIrarelyhearofftheice.“You’regood,John.You’rereallyfuckinggood.EveniftheychoosetodevelopyouinProvidencefirst,itwon’tbelongbeforeyou’recalledupandplayingontherosteryoudeservetobeon.”
Christ.Thiscan’tbehappening.I’mintheGardenoffuckingEden,salivatingoverthatgoddamnapple.ThetemptationissostrongIcantastethevictory.Thisisn’tjustaproteamholdingouttheapple—it’stheteam.TheoneIgrewuprootingfor,theoneI’vefantasizedaboutplayingforsinceIwassevenyearsold.
Coachstudiesmyface.“Withthatsaid,Iwantedtocheckifyou’vereconsideredyourplansaftergraduation.”
Mythroatgoesdrierthandust.Myheartraces.IwanttoshoutYes!I’vereconsidered!ButIcan’t.Imadeapromisetomybrother.Andasbigofanopportunityasthisis,it’snotbigenough.Jeffwon’tbeimpressedifIannounceI’mgoingtobeplayingforafarmteam.NothingshortofaplumcontractwiththeBruinswillconvincehimtoletmehavethis,andeventhen,he’dprobablystillbalk.
“No,Ihaven’t.”Itkillsmetosayit.Itkillsme.
FromthefrustrationshadowingCoach’seyes,Icantellhesensesthat.“Look.John.”Hespeaksinameasuredtone.“Iunderstandwhyyoudidn’toptin.Ireallydo.”
Otherthanmybrother,andnowGarrett,CoachistheonlyotherpersonwhoknowsIdidn’tenterthedraft.Inthatfirsteligibleyear,IpretendedI’dmissedthedeadlinetodeclare,whichledtoCoachdraggingmeintothisveryofficeandscreamingatmeforforty-fiveminutesaboutwhatanirresponsibleidiotIamandhowI’mwastingmyGodgiventalents.Oncehecalmeddown,hestartedmutteringaboutcallinginfavorstotrytomakemeeligible,atwhichpointIhadnochoicebuttotellhimthetruth.Well,someofthetruth.Itoldhimaboutmydad’saccident,butnotthedrinking.
Sincethen,hehasn’tharassedmeaboutit—untilnow.
“Butthisisyourfuturewe’retalkingabout,”hefinishesgruffly.“Ifyoupassthisup,you’regoingtoregretitfortherestofyourlife,kid.Iguaranteeit.”
Yeah,noguaranteeneeded.IknowI’llregretit.Hell,Ialreadyregretalotofthings.Butfamilycomesfirst,andmywordmeanssomething.Tome,toJeff.Ican’tgobackonitnow,nomatterhowtemptingthisis.
“Thanksforlettingmeknow,Coach.Andpleasethankyourfriendforme.”IswallowalumpofdespairasIslowlyrisetomyfeet.“Butmyanswerisno.”
“Areyousurethisiswhatyouwant?”
Grace’ssoftvoiceandtimidexpressionmakemychestache.Idon’tknowwhyshebotheredaskingmethat,becauseobviouslythisisthelastthingIwanttodo.It’swhatIhavetodo.
AlthoughIwentstraighttoherdormafterpracticeandwastednotimetellingheraboutmytalkwithCoach,nowI’mkindawishingIkeptittomyself.Itoldheraboutmyplansforthefutureafewdaysafterwestarteddating,buteventhoughshehasn’tsaiditoutloud,Iknowshedisagreeswiththem.
“Ididn’twanttosayno,”Isayroughly.“ButIhaveto.MybrotherexpectsmetomovebackhomethemomentIgraduate.”
“Whataboutyourdad?Whatdoesheexpect?”
Ileanmyheadagainstthestackofdecorativepillowsonherbed.Theysmelllikeher.Sweetandfeminine,asoothingfragrancethatrelaxessomeofthetensionwedgedinmychest.
“Heexpectsustohelphimrunhisbusinessbecausehecan’tdoithimself.That’swhatfamilydoes.Youpitchinwhenyou’reneeded.Youtakecareofeachother.”
Shefrowns.“Attheexpenseofyourdreams?”
“Ifitcomesdowntothat,yes.”Thisentireconversationistoodismal,soItughertowardme.“Comeon,let’sputonthemovie.Ineedsomeexplosionsandgunfightstodistractmefrommymisery.”
Gracegrabsherlaptopandgetsthemovieready,butwhenshetriestoplacethecomputerbetweenus,Ishiftittomylapsothere’snobarriertokeepherfromsnugglingbesideme.Iloveholdingher.Andplayingwithherhair.Andleaningintokissherneckwhenevertheurgestrikes.
Ihaven’tbeeninarelationshipsincehighschool,butbeingwithGraceisdifferentthanitwaswithmyoldgirlfriends.Itfeels…moremature,Iguess.Backthenwejusttalkedabouttrivialbullshit,andfilledinthesilencesbyfoolingaround.ButGraceandIactuallytalk.Wetalkaboutourdaysandourclasses,ourchildhoods,ourfutures.
Talkingisn’tallwedo,though.I’veseenheralmosteverydaysinceourfirstdate,andwe’vemessedaroundeverysingletime.Christ,thatbathroomhook-upatBeau’sparty?Outofthisfuckingworld—andshehadn’teventouchedme.I’djerkedoffwhenIwasdownonmykneeseatingherpussy,andsweetJesus,Ican’trememberevercomingthathardfrommyownhand.
Butwehaven’thadsexyet,andIdon’tevencare.Itusedtobeallaboutthequickgratificationforme—flirt,fuck,getout.Likeagameofballhockeybackinmiddleschool,hurriedlyplayedbetweenthetimeschoolletoutandwhenmymotherwouldcallmeinforsupper.
WithGrace,it’slikethreeperiodsofrealhockey.Theanticipationandexcitementofthefirstperiod,theescalatingbuildupofthesecond,andthenthesheerintensityofthethirdthatresultsinthateuphoricknowledgeofhavingachievedsomething.Awin,aloss,atie.Doesn’tmatter.It’sstillthemostpowerfulfeelingintheworld.
IfIhadtoidentifyit,I’dsaywe’reinthesecondperiodnow.Thebuildup.Hothook-upsessionsthatleavemeaching,butnoneofthethird-periodpressuretosealthedeal.
Twentyminutesintothefilm,sheturnstomesuddenly.“Hey.Question.”
Iclickthetrackpadtopresspause.“Hitme.”
“AmIyourgirlfriend?”
Igivehermycreepiestleer.“Idon’tknow,baby,doyouwanttobe?”
Amusementdancesinherbrowneyes.“Well,nowIdon’t.”
Grinning,Ileanovertheedgeofthebedtosetthelaptoponthefloor,thenshiftaroundandpounceonher.ShesquealsasIgetheronherback,mybodypressedtohersideasIpropupononeelbowandpeerdownather.
“Liar,”Iaccuse.“Ofcourseyouwanttobemygirlfriend.AndFYI?Youare.”
Herexpressiongrowspensiveforamoment,andthenshenods.“Icanlivewiththat.”
“Aw,howgenerousofyou,baby.WeshouldsilkscreenitonmatchingT-shirts—‘Icanlivewiththat.’”
Herlaughterfloatsupandticklesmychin.Iloveherlaugh.It’ssofuckinggenuine.Everythingaboutherisgenuine.I’vehookedupwithtoomanychickswhoplaygames,whosayonethingandmeananother,wholieormanipulatetogetwhattheywant.ButnotGrace.She’sopenandsincere,andwhenshe’spissedofforannoyed,shetellsme.Iappreciatethat.
Idipmyheadtokissher,andwhenourtonguesmeet,ajoltofpleasurezipsdowntomycock,whichthickensagainstherleg.Inudgemyhipsforward,andjustthattinyamountoffrictionmakesmegroan.God.Iwanttocome.She’sgottenmetheretwicethisweek.Oncejackingmeoff,theothertimeusinghermouth.Onthenightsthatorgasmsweren’tonthetable,Ijerkeditintheshower,imaginingIwasfuckingherinsteadofmyfist,butself-gratificationisnothingcomparedtowhatshe’sdoingrightnow,whensheunzipsmypantsandwrapsherfingersaroundme.
Myeyesrolltothetopofmyheadatthatfirstgentlestroke.“WhenisDaisycominghome?”Imumble.
“Atleastnotforanotherhour.”Sherubsaslowcirclearoundtheheadofmydick.Precomecoatsherfingers,makingiteasytoglideherfistupanddownmyshaft.
Ithrustmyhipsandkissher,onehandtravelingupherstomachtocupasmall,firmbreast.She’snotwearingabra,andhernipplesstrainagainstthesoftcottonofhertanktop.Irubmypalmoverthetightbud,teaseitwiththepadofmythumb,thenpressdownonit,drawingabreathynoisefromherlips.
I’msohardIcan’tthinkstraight.It’sunbearable,thisneedforrelease.MybreathingbecomesshallowasIletgoofherbreastandslidemyhandlower,inchingtowardthewaistbandofheryogapants.
Shebreaksthekiss,stiffeningbeneathmytouch.“Uh…”Colorstainshercheeks.“I’mclosedforbusinesstonight.It’smymoontime.”
Ichokeoutalaugh.“Yourmoontime?”
“What?”shesaysdefensively.“ItsoundsalotmorewhimsicalthanI’mmenstruating.”
Icringe,instantlytransportedbacktothoseawkwardmomentsinsexedclass.
“See?”shegloats.“Mywayisbetter.”Thensheswatsmyhandawayfromhercrotchandplantsbothhandsonmychest,givingmeagentleshove.“Lieback.Iwanttoteaseyoualittle.”
Christ.Teasemeshedoes.Shedragsmyshirtupandexploreseveryinchofmychestwithhermouth.Softlipsplantfleetingkissesalongmycollarbone,thendanceovermyleftpec,hoveringabovemynippleandbringinggoosebumpstomyflesh.Hertonguedartsoutforataste,andIfeelthattinyflickonmynippleallthewaydowninmycock.Itthrobspainfully,andI’mdamnnearsquirming.Iwanthermouthonmeagain.Iwanthertosuckonthetip,justahintofsuctionandthentheswirlofhertongue.Iwant—
Jesus,she’skissingherwaydownmystomach,givingmeexactlywhatIwant.Iswear,thisgirlcanreadmymind.Herlipsclosearoundme,hertongueexecutingthatsexyswirlIwasfantasizingabout.
Imusthavemadesomekindofnoise,becauseshepeersupwithasatisfiedsmile.“Youokayupthere?”
“Fuck.Yes.I’mmorethanokay.”
“Question,”shesays,andnowI’msmilingtoo,becauseIloveitwhenshedoesthat.Announcesshe’sabouttoaskaquestioninsteadofjustaskingit.
Ianswerwithmystandard,“Hitme.”
“Howdoyoufeelaboutyourass?”
Mybrowfurrows.“Meaning?”
“Meaning,ifIdothis—”HerfingerslidesoveraspotIwasnotexpectinghertotouch“—areyougoingtofreakout,orgowithit?”
Shedoesitagain,andI’mstunnedwhenashockofpleasureskatesupmyspine.“Gowithit,”Icroak.“Definitelygowithit.”
Grace’seyesflickerwithequalpartssurpriseandintrigue.Thenshelowersherheadandsucksmedeepinhermouth,anotherunexpectedmovethatblursmyvision.SweetJesus.I’mcompletelysurroundedbytight,wetheat.Mybluntheadpokesthebackofherthroat,andmyhipsmovebeforeIcanstopthem,retreatinganinch,two,beforeslidingbackin.
Hermoanreverberatesaroundme.Herfingercontinuestotormentme.Gentleandexploratory,coaxingastrangeacheofpleasureIhadn’tbargainedfor.
Jesus,thisisfuckingintense.Anditdoesn’tstop.Shetorturesmewithhertongue,lickingmyshaft,slowly,thoroughly,likeshe’sagoddamncartographerwho’splanningtomapitoutlater.Andthatfinger.Rubbing,teasing.
Myballstighten,mythroatsodryIcanbarelygetawordout.ButImanagetwo.“I’mclose.”Thentwomore.“Reallyclose.”
Thelasttimeshedidthis,shedidn’tstaywithmeuntiltheend.Thistime,sheclampsherlipsaroundme,herlonghairticklingmythighsasherheadmovesoverme.Releaseisimminent.Pulsinginmyblood.Butstilloutofreach,atauntingthroboftensionthatmakesmegroanwithimpatience.Iwantit.Ineedit.I—sheslipsherfingerinside,andholyshit,Iain’tgonnalie.Itfeelssofuckinggood.Shegivesmydickalong,hardsuck,pushesherfingerdeeper,andIgoofflikeagrenade.
Igaspforair,myhipsshootingoffthebedasIcometothesoundsofhermoansandmyraggedpants.Herthroatworksassheswallows,eachtinycontractionmilkingmorepleasurefrommybodyuntilI’mnothingbutaheaving,mindlessmessonthebed.
Gracecrawlsupandnestlesbesideme,placingherhandonmystomach,asmall,warmanchorthatkeepsmefromfloatingaway.
“Thatwas…”Isuckinabreath.“Phenomenal.”
Herlaughterwarmsthecrookofmyneck.“I’llmakeanoteofthat.Assshenanigans,phenomenal.Regularshenanigans…whatdidyoucallitlasttime?Justamazing,Ithink.”
“Everythingyoudotomeisbothamazingandphenomenal,”Icorrect,threadingmyfingersthroughherhair.Idon’tthinkI’veeverfeltsocontentinmylife.“Hey.Question.”
“Hitme.”
Igrinattherolereversal,thensay,“Myfirstpre-seasongameistomorrownight.Iknowyoudon’tlikehockey,but…willyoucome?”
“Aw,IwouldifIcould,”sheanswers,soundinggenuinelyregretful.“ButI’mmeetingupwiththisguyfrommypsychclass.”
Ishifttomysideandnarrowmyeyesather.Somethingstrangeandunfamiliarslinksthroughme.
I’mstartledtorealizeit’sjealousy.
“Whatguy?”
Shesnickers.“Down,boy.He’sjustaclassmate.We’repaireduponanassignmenttogether,thiscasestudything.I’mgoingtobeseeinghimawholebunchthenextcoupleofweeks.”
“Awholebunch,huh?”Ipause.“Ishegood-looking?”
“He’sallright,Iguess.Reallyskinny,butsomegirlsareintothat.”
Somegirls?Oroneinparticular?
Whenshenoticesmyexpression,shelaughsevenharder.“Ha.Who’sjealousnow?”
“Notme,”Ilie.
“Youtotallyare.”Sheinchescloserandplantsaloudkissonmylips.“Don’tbe.Ihaveaboyfriend,remember?”
“Damnrightyoudo.”
Fuck,nowIknowhowshefeltatthepartytheothernight.Thepossessiveclenchinmychestis…new.Idon’tlikeit,butIcan’tstopit,either.I’vebeenplayingthefieldsinceIstartedatBriar,buttherewereafewhook-upsthatlastedmorethanonenight.GirlsIsawonandoff,notseriously,butoftenenoughtodevelopsomefeelingsforthem.Noneofthosearrangementswereexclusive,though.Iwaswellawarethattheywereseeingotherguys,too.AndIdidn’tcare.
ThistimeIdocare.TheideaofGracewithanotherguyisunacceptable.Iwon’tgoasfarastosayshe’smine,but…well,she’smine.Minetoholdandminetokissandminetolaughwith
Yup,mine.
“Whattimeisit?”sheasks.“I’mtoolazytoliftmyhead.”
Icranemynecktogetabetterlookatthealarmclock.“Tenthirty-two.”
“Shouldwefinishwatchingthemovie?”
“Sure.”Ileanovertograbthelaptop,whichchimesloudlythemomentIpickitup.“Uh…someone’sSkypingyou,Ithink.”
Shepeeksatthescreen,thenshootsupinapanic.“Ohno.Putyourpantson!”
Iwrinklemyforehead.“Why?”
“Becausethat’smymother!”
IfI’dstillhadanerection,itwouldbedeflatinglikeaballoonrightnow.IhurriedlyyankmypantstomyhipsandzipthemupasGracesetsthecomputerinherlap.Herfingershoveroverthetrackpad,andthenshelooksoveratme.“Moveteninchestotheleftifyoudon’twanthertoseeyou.”
“Doyounotwanthertoseeme?”
Gracerollshereyes.“I’mcoolifshedoes.Actually,sheknowsallaboutyou,soyoushouldtotallysayhi.ButIunderstandifyoudon’twanttodothewholemeet-the-parentsthingrightnow.”
Ishrug.“I’mcoolwithit.”
“Okaythen.Braceyourself.She’sabouttodeafenusbothwith—”
Ashriekofdelight.Theloudestfrickin’shriekontheplanet.
Fortunately,hervoicelowerstoamanageabledecibelwhenshespeaks.“Sweetie!Yay!Youanswered!”
Thevideochatboxfillsthescreen,revealingaveryattractiveblondewhoseemswaytooyoungtobethemotherofanineteen-year-old.Seriously,Grace’smotherlookslikeshe’sthirty.Ifthat.
“Hey,Mom,”Gracesays.“DoIevenwanttoknowwhyyou’reawakeatfive-thirtyinthemorning?”
Hermother’sansweringgrinisdownrightdevilish.“WhosaysIevenwenttobed?”
Gracetoldmethathermotherisbubblyandimpulsiveandprettymuchactslikeateenager,andIcanseenowthatshehadn’texaggerated.
Mygirlfriendgroans.“Pleasetellmeyoustayeduppaintingandnot…doingotherthings.”
“ItaketheFifth.”
“Mom.”
“I’mforty-fouryearsold,sweetie.Doyouexpectmetolivelikeamonk?”
Forty-four?Wow.Totallydoesn’tlookit.Also,Ican’tstopthesnickerthatpopsoutatherbreezyresponse,whichcausesherbrowneyestonarrow.
“GraceElizabethIvers,isthereamansittingbesideyou?Ithoughtthatbiglumpwasyourblanket,butthat’ssomeone’sshoulder!”Hermomgasps.“Identifyyourself,sir.”
Grinning,Iscootclosersothecameracanseemyface.“Evening,Mrs.Ivers.Ormorning,Iguess.”
“Mrs.IverslivesinFlorida.CallmeJosie.”
Iswallowalaugh.“Josie.I’mLogan.”
Anothergasp.“TheLogan?”
“Yes,Mom.TheLogan,”Graceconfirmswithasigh.
JosielooksfrommetoGrace,thenputsonasternface.“Sweetie,I’dlikeamomentalonewithMr.Logan.Gotakeawalkorsomething.”
MyalarmedgazefliestoGrace,wholookslikeshe’stryingnottolaugh.“Hey,yousaiditwascool,”shemurmurs.Thensheplantsakissonmycheek.“I’vegottapee,anyway.Youtwogonuts.”
Panicfillsmygutasmygirlfriendhopsoffthebedandliterallyabandonsme.Leavingmeathermother’smercy.Fuckinghell.IshouldhavehidwhenIhadthechance.
ThemomentGraceleavestheroom,Josiesays,“Isshegone?”
“Yup.”Igulp.
“Good.Don’tworry,kid,I’llbequick.AndI’monlygoingtosaythisonce,soyou’dbetterlistencarefully.Gracietoldmeshewasgivingyouanotherchance,andIfullysupportedthatdecision.”Josiepeersintothecamera,herexpressionglitteringwithmenace.“Withthatsaid,ifyoubreakmydaughter’sheart,Iwillhoponthefirstplaneoutofhere,showupatyourdoor,andbeatyoutodeathwithapillowcasefullofsoapbars.”
Despitetheterrifiedshiverevokedbythethreat,Ican’tstopthelaughthatfliesoutofmythroat.Jesus.That’saveryspecificformofviolence.
ButwhenIanswer,thehumorisgoneandmyvoiceisgruff.“Iwon’tbreakherheart,”Ipromise.
“Good.Gladthat’ssettled.”
AndIswear,thiswomanhasmultiplepersonalities,becauseintheblinkofaneyeshe’sSuzieSunshineagain.“Nowtellmeallaboutyourself,Logan.What’syourmajor?When’syourbirthday?What’syourfavoritecolor?”
Swallowinganotherwaveoflaughter,Iindulgeherrandomquestions,whichshespitsoutinrapidfire.Idon’tmind,though.Grace’smotherishilarious,anditonlytakesafewsecondstofigureoutwhereGracegothersenseofhumorandtendencytobabbleincoherently.
Threeminutesintothechat,Josie’sphonerings.Shesayssheneedstotakeitandpromisesshe’llpingusrightback,andthenthescreengoesblack.I’mabouttoputdownthelaptop,butwhenIhearfootstepsnearingthedoor,Isuddenlyhaveanidea.
AKAtheperfectpaybackforGrace’sdesertion.
Justasthedooropens,IlookintentlyatthescreenandactlikeI’mstillchattingwithhermother.“—Andshestuckherfingerinmyasswhenshewasblowingme,whichwasfuckingincredible.IneverthoughtI’denjoyhavinganythingupthere,but—”
Gracescreamsinhorror.
“OhmyGod!”Shedivesontothebedandgrabsthelaptop.“Mom,don’tlistentohim!He’sjustjoking—”Shestopsabruptly,blinkingatthescreenbeforeturningtoglareatme.“Youaresuchanasshole.”
Icurloverwithlaughter,whichonlymakesherangrier,andsoonshe’sbattingatmewithherteenyfists,asifthey’llactuallydoanydamage.
“You’retheworst!”sheyells,butshe’sgigglingevenasshepoundsthosefutilefistsatme.“Iactuallythoughtyoutoldherthat!”
“Thatwasthepoint.”Ihowlinlaughter,thenrollusbothoversoshe’sonherbackandI’mloomingoverher.“Sorry.Couldn’thelpmyself.”
Gracereachesupandflicksmyforehead.“Jerk.”
Myjawdrops.“Didyoujustflickme?”
Sheflicksmeagain.
“Didyoujustflickmeagain?”
Nowshe’stheonehowling,becauseI’mticklingtheshitoutofher.Andasshesquirmsonthebedandtriestoescapemyrelentlessfingers,Ireachseveralconclusions.
One,I’veneverhadmorefunwithagirlinmyentirelife.
Two,Ineverwantthistoend.
Andthree…
IthinkImightbefallinginlovewithher.28
Grace
“Hejustshowedupinthemiddleofyourstudysession?”Ramonalookshighlyamusedasshereachesforhercoffee.ThisisthefirsttimeI’veseenhersinceourawkwardmeet-upatthebeginningofthemonth,andI’msurprisedbyhowcomfortableitfeels.Therehaven’tbeenanylagsintheconversation,nobitternessonmypart,andsheseemsgenuinelyinterestedinwhat’sbeengoingoninmylife.
“Yep,”Ianswer.“Pretendinghewasdroppingoffcoffeeforme,butwebothknewthatwasbullshit.”
Ramonagrins.“SoJohnLoganisthejealoustype.Honestly?Notashocker.Hockeyplayersarewiredwithaggression.They’rethesebigalphadudes,goingallcavemanwhensomeonetriestostealthepuckfromthem.”
“AmIthepuckinthisscenario?”
“Prettymuch,yeah.”
Irollmyeyes.“Well,screwthat.Ifanything,I’mtheonewhoshouldbejealous.Doyourealizehowmanygirlsthrowthemselvesathim?Ithappensallthetime,evenwhenI’mwithhim.Wedidhaveoneincrediblysatisfyingrun-in,though.”Ipauseforeffect.“WebumpedintoPiperatthetheaterinHastings.”
Ramonagasps.“Oooh.Shit.Whatdidshesay?”
Satisfactionsurgesthroughme.“Atfirstshewassupersweet,butthat’sprobablybecauseshedidn’tnoticeIwasthere.Sheflirtedwithhim,butitwasobvioushewasn’treciprocating,soshestartedtalkingabouthockeyinstead,andthensuddenlysherealizedIwaswithhim,andnotjuststandingnearhim,anditwaslikeshe’dwalkedintoaserialkiller’sdungeon.Purehorror.”
Ramonasnickers.
“Loganintroducedmeashisgirlfriend,andIswearshelookedreadytomurderme.”I’mgleefullyvindictiveasIrecountthetale.“Thenshehuffedoffandwenttojoinherfriends.”
“Whowasshewith?”
“SomechicksIdidn’trecognize.”Ipause.“AndMaya.Who,bytheway,didn’tevensayhellotome.”
Thatdoesn’tseemtosurpriseRamona.“Mayathinksyouhateher,”sheadmits.“Youknow,forherroleinthewholeTwitterthing.”
“Idon’thateher.”Shrugging,Itakeabiteofmychocolate-bananamuffin.“ButIhavenodesiretohangoutwithher,either.Wehavenothingincommon.”
Idon’tmissthewayRamonawincesasiftheaccusationhadbeendirectedather.Butthatwasn’tmyintention.Thetwoofushadalotoffuntogether.Onetimeinhighschool,we’dstayeduptalkingforanentirenight.Idon’tevenrememberwhatwetalkedabout,justthatitwentonforever.
Sorrowtwinesaroundmyinsides.Imissthat.OtherthanDaisy,Ihaven’tmadeanyfemalefriendsthissemester,andalthoughDaisyandIareclose,we’renowherenearascloseasRamonaandIusedtobe.
Asifreadingmymind,hervoicesoftens.“Imissyou,Gracie.Ireallymissyou.”
Myheartclenches.“Imissyoutoo,but…”
Butwhat?Idon’ttrustyou?Ihaven’tforgivenyou?I’mnotsurehowIfeelaboutourfriendship,andI’mnotreadytodissectityet.
“ButIthinkit’sbetterifwekeepdoingtheslowthing,”Ifinish.ThenIpasteonanencouragingsmile.“Sowhathaveyoubeenupto?Howareyourclasses?”
Shespendsafewminutestellingmeaboutherdramacoursesandsomepartiesshewentto,butthere’sashadowinhereyesthatconcernsme.HervoicelacksthecarefreepitchI’musedtohearing,andevenherappearancefeelsabit…off.Hereyemakeupisthicker.Hertopistighterthanusual,breastspracticallyhangingoutofit.Awfulasitsounds,shelookswashedupandtrashy.Inthepast,shecouldpullofftrashynoproblemandmakeitsexy,becauseshehadtheconfidencetobackitup.Butrightnow,herswaggerisnoticeablyabsent.
Theconversationswitchestoourfamilies,andweendupstayingattheCoffeeHutforanotherfortyminutes,catchingeachotheruponwhatourparentshavebeenuptoandlaughingabouttheirantics.WhenIannounceIneedtogettoclass,hersmilefades,butshesimplynodsandstandsup.Wetossouremptycupsinthewastebin,huggoodbye,andgoourseparateways.
Watchingherwalkaway,withhershouldershunchedandherhandsinthepocketsofherjeans,tugsatmyheart.AmIashittyfriendforcontinuingtokeepheratadistance?Ihonestlydon’tknowanymore.
IdebatetheissueasIwalkalongthecobblestonepathtowardthelecturehallofthefilmtheorycourseI’mtakingasanelectivethissemester.I’mclimbingthestepsoftheivy-coveredbuildingwhenmyphonerings.It’sLogan.
IstifleasighasIpressthebuttontoanswer,hopinghe’snotcallingtoapologizeagainforyesterday’scoffeestunt.Istillhaven’tdecidedifhisshowingupduringmystudysessionwithmypsychpartnerwasannoying,cute,orboth.Heendedupcomingbacklaterthatnightandwehadalongtalkabouttrustingeachother,andIthinkwemanagedtoreachanunderstandingaboutboundaries.
“Hey,gorgeous.Good,Icaughtyoubeforeyouwentintoclass.”
Thesoundofhishuskyvoicemakesmesmile.“Hey.What’sup?”
“Iwantedtorunsomethingbyyou.TurnsoutDeanandTuckaregoingtoaconcertinBostonSaturdaynightandtheydecidedtomakeaweekendoutofit,gettingahotelroomforacouplenightsandallthat.AndGarrettisstayingwithHannahuntilSunday,so…”
Hepauses,andIcanpracticallyenvisiontheblushonhischeeks.OnethingIneverexpected?Loganblusheswhenhe’snervous,andit’sfrickin’adorable.
“Ithoughtmaybeyou’dwanttospendtheweekendwithme.”
Excitementripplesthroughme.Nerves,too,butnotacrazyamount.We’vebeenan“official”coupleforalmostthreeweeks,andnotoncehasLoganpushedmetohavesex.Hehasn’tevenbroughtitup,actually,whichIfindbothperplexingandreassuring.
Andhe’squicktoofferthatreassuranceagain,adding,“Noexpectations,bytheway.I’mnotinvitingyouto,like,athree-dayfuckfestoranything.”
Isnort.Myboyfriend,everthewordsmith.
“I’lleventhrowoutallthecondomsinthehouse,ifyouwant.Youknow,toeliminatetemptation.”
Ichokedownalaugh.“That’sverythoughtfulofyou.”
Hisvoicethickens.“Ijustwanttofallasleepwithyou.Andwakeupwithyou.Andgodownonyou,ifyou’reinthemoodforaJohnLoganorgasm.”
Thelaughfliesout,andhegivesanansweringonethatslidesintomyearandmakesmelight-headed.
“Iwouldlovetostayoverthisweekend,”Isayfirmly.“Oh.ButIjustremembered.I’msupposedtohavedinnerwithmydadonSundaynight.Wouldyoubeabletodropmeoffathishousearoundsix?”
“Noproblem.”There’sabeat.“You’renotgoingtotellhimwhereyouspenttheweekend,areyou?”
Iblanch.“God.Ofcoursenot.Idon’twanttogivehimaheartattack.Hestilltriestotiemyshoelacesformesometimes.”
Loganchuckles.“I’mhittingupthegrocerystoretomorrow.Isthereanythingspecialyouwantmetopickup?Snacks?Icecream?
“Oooh,yes.Icecream.Mintchocolatechip.”
“Done.Anythingelse?”
“No,butI’lltextyouifIthinkofsomething.”Myheartracesfasterthanitshould,consideringwe’rejusttalkingaboutaweekendvisit.It’snotlikewe’reeloping,forGod’ssake.Yetmyentirebodyiscracklingwithanticipation,becausethreeuninterrupteddayswithLogansoundslikeabsoluteheaven.
“SoI’llswingbyandgrabyouafteryourlastclasstomorrow?You’redonearoundfive,right?”
“Yep.”
“’Kay.I’lltextwhenI’monmyway.Later,gorgeous.”
“Logan?”Iblurtoutbeforehecanhangup.
“Yeah?”
Itakeadeepbreath.“Don’tthrowoutthecondoms.”29
Grace
It’sFridaynight.LoganandIaretangleduptogetheronhislivingroomcouch,abouttowatchahorrormoviehechoseoffthefilmchannelonhisTV.WhenwegotbackfromdinneratthefishandchipsplaceinHastings,Ifiguredwe’dgoupstairsandripeachother’sclothesoff.Youknow,soIcouldgivehimmyflower,asmymotherwouldsay.Instead,hesurprisedmebysuggestingamovie.
Isuspecthe’stryingnottoseemovereager,buttheheatedglanceshekeepscastingmywaytellmehewantsitasmuchasIdo.Still,I’mnotagainsttakingitslow.Lettingthetensionbuild,theanticipationsimmer.
“Ican’tbelievethisiswhatyouchose,”Icomplainastheopeningcreditsflashonthescreen.
“YoutoldmeIcouldpick,”heprotests.
“Yeah,becauseIthoughtyou’dpicksomethinggood.”Iglareatthetelevision.“Icanalreadytellthisisgoingtomakemeangry.”
“Wait,angry?”Heshootsmeabaffledlook.“Ithoughtyouwerebitchingbecauseyoudidn’twanttobescared.”
“Scared?WhywouldIbescared?”
Laughterbubblesoutofhisthroat.“Becauseit’sascarymovie.Aghostiskillingpeopleingruesomeways,Grace.”
Irollmyeyes.“Horrormoviesdon’tscareme.Theypissmeoffbecausethecharactersarealwayssofrickin’stupid.Theymaketheworstdecisionspossible,andwe’resupposedtofeelsorryforthemwhentheydie?Noway.”
“Maybethesecharacterswillbesmart,levelheadedadultswhodoeverythingrightbutstillgetkilled,”hepointsout.
“There’saghostinthehouseandtheychoosetostaythere.Thelevelheadedresponse?Leave.”
Hetugsonastrandofmyhair,histonetakingonachastisingnote.“Justyouwait—there’sgoingtobeagoodreasonforwhytheycan’tleavethehouse.I’llbetyoufivebucks.”
“You’reon.”
Wesettleinforthemovie,Loganonhisback,andmesnuggledupbesidehimwithmyheadonhischest.Hestrokesmyhairasthefirstscenefillsthescreen.It’sanincrediblyun-scarycoldopeninvolvingabustyblonde,anunseenmalevolentforce,andascaldingshower.Theblondemeetshergrislyendbyburningalive—theevilspirit,ofcourse,hasghostedthewatertemperature.Logantriestogivemeahigh-fiveafterthedeathscene,whichIrefusetoreciprocatebecauseIactuallyfeelbadforthegirl.Kudostoher—theonlydecisionshemakesistotakeashower,andwhocanfaultherforthat?
Themovieunfoldsinthemostpredictableway.Agroupofcollegestudentsconductparanormalexperimentsintheghosthouse,andthenbam—thefirstonedies.
“Hereitcomes,”Isaygleefully.“Thelevelheadedreasonforwhytheystayinthehouse.”
“Watch,theghostwon’tletthemleave,”Loganguesses.
Heguesseswrong.
Onthescreen,thecharactersargueaboutwhethertheyshouldgo,andoneofthegirlsannounces,“We’redoingimportantworkhere,guys!We’reprovingtheexistenceofparanormalentities!Scienceneedsthis.Scienceneedsus.”
Iburstoutlaughing,shudderingagainstLogan’srock-hardchest.“Didyouhearthat,Johnny?Scienceneedsthem.”
“Ifuckinghateyou,”hegrumbles.
“Fivebucks…”Isayinasingsongvoice.
Hishandslidesdowntopinchmybutt,makingmesqueakinsurprise.“Goaheadandgloat.Youwinthebattlebygettingfivebucksoutofme,butIwinthewar.”
Isitup.“Howdoyoufigure?”
“Becauseyoustillhavetositthroughtherestofthismovie,andyou’regoingtohateeverysecondofit.I,ontheotherhand,amenjoyingitimmensely.”
Thejerkisabsolutelyright.
Unless…
Asherefocuseshisattentiononthemovie,Inestlecloseagain,onlythistimeIdon’trestmyhandonthecenterofhischest.Iplantitlower,mereinchesfromthewaistbandofthesweatpantshechangedintoafterdinner.Hedoesn’tseemtonotice.He’stooengrossedinthemovie.Ha.Hewon’tbeforlong.
Withtheutmostnonchalance,Idragmyhandtowherethehemofhiswhitewife-beaterhasriddenupslightly.ThenIsneakmyfingersbeneathitandlightlystrokethehardplaneofhisstomach,andhisbreathhitches.Fightingasmile,Iflattenmypalmandstopmovingit.Afteramoment,herelaxes.
Onthescreen,theidiottroupeofparanormal“experts”attemptstorecordthespirit’svoiceusingacontraptionrightoutofGhostbusters
IscootupandkissLogan’sneck.
Hetenses,andthenachuckleescapeshislips.Lowandmocking.“Won’twork,baby…”
“Whatwon’twork?”Iaskinnocently.
“Whatyou’retryingtodorightnow.”
“Mmm-hmmm.I’msureitwon’t.”
Iteasehimwithsoftkissesonthesideofhisneck,anglingmybodysohe’llbesuretofeeltheheatofmypussyagainsthisthigh.God.Pussy.I’mevenstartingtothinklikehimnow.He’scorruptedmewiththedirtywordshewhisperswhenwefoolaround,andIlikeit.Ilikethethrillofbeingboldandwanton,andIlovethewayhiswarmfleshquiverswhenItastehimwithmytongue.
Hisheadisturnedtowardthescreen,butIknowhe’snolongerpayingattentiontothemovie.Thebulgeinhissweatpantsgrows,hardensintoalong,thickridgethatpushesupagainstthefabric.Ikisshisthroat,feelingthestrongtendonsstraining,hisAdam’sappleflutteringbeneathmylips.
Whenhespeaks,hisvoiceissoraspyitsendsashiverthroughme.“Doyouwanttogoupstairs?”
Iliftmyheadandmeethiseyes.They’reheavy-lidded,hazy.Inod.
Hedoesn’tshutoffthemovie.Hejusthopstohisfeet,pullsmeupwithhim,andleadsmeupstairs,holdingmyhandtheentiretime.HisbedroomisalottidierthanthelasttimeIsawit.ThenightIshoweduptoyellathimforthatstuntwithMorris.God,itfeelslikealifetimeago.
Westandtwofeetapart.Hedoesn’tmove.Doesn’ttouchme.Hesimplystares,withwhatcanonlybedescribedaswondershininginhiseyes.
“You’resobeautiful.”
Hardly.I’mwearingfadedjeansandaloosestripedshirtthatkeepsfallingoveroneshoulder,andmyhairisatousledmessbecauseitwasinsanelywindyoutsideearlier.IknowIdon’tlookbeautiful,butthewayhe’sgazingatme…Ifeelit.
Ireachforthebottomofmyshirt,thenpullitovermyheadandletitfalltotheground.Hisnostrilsflarewhenmyskimpybikini-stylebraisrevealed.Holdinghisgaze,Ibringmyhandsbehindmybackandundothetinyclasp,andthenthebrafallsaway,too.
Logansucksinabreath.He’sseenmybreastsbefore.He’sseenmenaked,actually.Butthehungerinhiseyes,theglitteringadmiration…it’slikehe’slookingatmeforthefirsttime.
Iwiggleoutofmyjeansandpanties,andapproachhimwithconfidencethatstartlesme.Ishouldbenervous,butI’mnot.MyhandsaresteadyasItughiswife-beateroffhim.God,hisbarechestneverfailstomakemelight-headed.It’ssculpted.Masculine.Sofuckingperfect.
Hedoesn’tsayawordwhenIeasehissweatpantsdown.He’snotwearingboxers.Hiserectionjutsout,hardandimposing,andwhenIcurlmyfingersaroundit,hemakesadesperatenoiseatthebackofhisthroat.
Buthestilldoesn’ttouchme.Hisarmsremainplasteredtohissides,andhestandscompletelymotionless.Idon’tthinkhe’sevenblinking.
“Isthereareasonyourhandsaren’tallovermerightnow?”Itease.
“I’mtryingtogoslow,”hesaysmiserably.“IfItouchyou,Iwon’tbeabletostop,andthenI’llbeinsideyouand—”
Ishuthimupwithafirmkiss,lockingmyhandsatthenapeofhisneck.“That’skindofthepoint.Yougettinginsideme.”ThenInibbleonhisbottomlip,andjustlikethat,thethreadofcontrolhewasclingingtosnapslikeanelasticband.
Growlingagainstmylips,hebacksmetowardthebed,hisstrongbodypressedtighttomine,hiserectiontrappedbetweenus.
Mycalvesbumptheedgeofthebedframe,andItumblebackwardwithascreech,pullinghimdownwithme.Welandonthebedwithathudthatmakesuslaugh.Thesheetssmelllikelemonlaundrydetergent,cleanandinviting,andthefragrance,mingledwiththeheadymalescentofhim,succeedsinfoggingmybrain.Hisbodyrippleswithurgencyashekissesmeagain.Hewasrighttowarnme—hedoesn’tstopkissingme,noteventocomeupforair.Doesn’tstoptouchingme.Everywhere.Hehungrilyexploresmyneck,mybreasts,mybelly,andthenhe’sbetweenmylegs,histongueslickingovermyclit,hotandgreedy.
Iusedtobesoself-consciouswhenmyhighschoolboyfrienddidthistome.Itwasalwaystoointimate,mademefeelexposed,butwithLoganI’mtooconsumedwithpleasuretocarehowvulnerablethispositionmakesme.
Myhipsstraintomeethim,achingformore,andhechucklesandgivesmethecontactIcrave.Hewrapshislipsaroundmyclitandsucks,andifIhadn’tbeenlyingdown,Iwouldhavekeeledrightover.Pleasureshootsupmyspineandsurgesthroughmybloodstream,andwhenhepushesonelongfingerinsideme,mymindfragmentsintoamillionpieces.IcomefasterthanIexpect.Fasterthanheexpects,andhegroansasIconvulseagainsthisface,histongueandfingerworkingmethroughtheorgasm.
AsIcrashbacktoearth,heliftshisheadwithasoftcurse.“Ilovemakingyoucome,”hemumbles.“It’ssofuckinghot.”Hisfingerslidesout,theninagain,andanaftershockofpleasuresizzlesthroughme.“Andyou’resofuckingwet.”
Iwhimperwhenhisfingerdisappears,butthedisappointmentisreplacedwithpulsingexcitement,becausehe’sreachingintothetopdraweronthenighttabletograbacondom.Swallowinghard,Iwatchhimrollitdownthelengthofhisshaft.Skillfully.God,he’sprobablyrolledonamillioncondomsinhislifetime.He’sprettymuchasexpert.
WhatifIsuckatsex?
Myheartgallopsatabreakneckspeedwhenhelowershisstrongbodyovermine.Hislipsbrushmytemple.Softly.Sweetly.“Yousureaboutthis?”hewhispers.
Igazeupathim,myworriesfadingaway.“Yes.”
Hisfeaturesaretautinconcentrationashebringshiserectiontomyopening.Henudgesforward,andItenseinvoluntarily.Theintrusionisbarelyamillimeterdeep,butthepressureisintense.Hiscockisalotbiggerthantheonefingerhe’djusthadinsideme.
“Areyouokay?”Hisvoiceishusky,lacedwithconcern.
“Yes,”Isayagain.
Heatunfurlsinmycore,andmyclitpulsesintimetomyrapidheartbeat.Loganeasesinhalfaninch,wherehemeetsresistance.It’saforeignsensation,butnotunpleasant.Beadsofsweatdothisforehead,andthetendonsofhisneckstrain,asifhe’sfightingforcontrol.
Anticipationthatbordersondreadlodgesinmychest.It’sprobablytheworstpossiblecomparisontodrawrightnow,butthisremindsmeofthefirsttimemymomtookmetothesalontogetmylegswaxed.Lyingtherewhilethehotwaxwasappliedtomyskin,watchingtheestheticiangripthecornerofthewarmstrip,anticipatingthepainasIwaitedforhertoripitoff.
“IthinkweneedtoBand-Aidthis,”Iblurtout.“Forgetslow.Justdoitfast.”
Hechokesoutalaugh.“Idon’twanttohurtyou.”Infact,he’sstoppedmovingaltogether,hiserectionneitherplungingnorretreating.Just…there
“What’sthematter,Johnny?Scared?”
Defianceflaresinhiseyes.“Mockingaguyisn’tgonnagetyoulaid,baby.”
“Stallingisn’tgoingto,either.”Igrinupathim.“Comeon,baby.Deflowerme.”
Logankeepsonehandonmyhip,butliftstheothertomymouth,givingmylowerlipachastisingpinch.“Don’trushme,woman.”Hisgazesoftensashesweepsitovermyface.“Areyousure?”
“Yes—”
Thatonemeaslysyllablebarelyleavesmymouthbeforeheplungesdeep.Igasp,thejoltofpaintakingmebysurprise.
He’sallthewayinside,andfromthetightstretchofhisfeatures,Iknowhe’sforcinghimselftoremainstill
“Youwithme?”hemurmurs.
Inod.Thepainisalreadyabating.Itentativelymovemyhips,andhiseyesrolltothetopofhishead.“JesusChrist,”hecroaks.
God,whyisn’themoving?Ifeelsocompletelyfull,yetoddlyempty.
Heonceagainchecksinonmymental,emotionalandphysicalstate.“How’reyoudoing?”
Irollmyeyes.“Great.Howaboutyou?”
“I’mdyinghere.”Finally,finally,hedoessomethingotherthanliemotionlessontopofme.Hiserectioninchesout,justslightly,thenglidesbackin.
Pleasureshootsthroughme.“Oh,dothatagain.”
“Yousure?I’mtryingtogiveyoutimetoadjust.”
“I’mgood.Iswear.”
Hismouthfindsmineinasweet,tenderkiss,andthenhishipsbegintomove.Thrustingandretreatinginalazyrhythmthatdrawsashakynoisefrommythroat.Iholdontight,diggingmyfingersintohisstrongback.
“Wrapyourlegsaroundme,”herasps.
Ido,andtheanglechangesimmediately,deepercontact,lockingourbodiestighterthanbefore.Hefillsme,overandoveragain,eachlongstrokeintensifyingtheacheinsideme,untileverysquareinchofskinishotandtightandscreamingforrelief.Ineedmore.Myclitisswollen,throbbing.Ireachbetweenusandrubit,andtheextrastimulationisglorious.
Logan’selbowsrestoneithersideofmyheadasheincreasesthepace,hishipssnappingforward,hislipslatchedonmineasifhecan’tbearnotkissingme.Whenhehitsaspotdeepinside,thetensionexplodesinanorgasmsointenseIdon’tevenmakeasound.Iarchmyspineandslammyeyesshut,mybreathstuckinmythroat,mylipsgluedtohis.
“Ohfuck.”Heslamsinonelasttime.Hisback,dampwithsweat,tremblesbeneathmypalmsashegruntsinrelease.
Hishearthammersagainstmybreasts,andIfeelalmostsmug,becauseIdidthistohim.Imadehimcurseandgroanandwobbleasiftheworldbeneathhisfeethadvanished.Imadehimcomeapart.
Andhedidthesamedamnthingtome
Afterward,welieonoursides,facingeachother.I’mlimpandsated,toolazytomove.Butnottoolazytoadmirethebeautifulmalebodystretchedoutnexttome.He’slongandpowerful,notashredoffatonhim,justthickmusclestretchedtightagainstbone.Hisarmsaredeliciouslyripped,histhighsmassive.
“You’rehuge,”Iremark.
“Youcallingmepudgy?”hedemands,buthe’ssmilingashesaysit.
“Don’tworry,Ilikebeinginbedwithabig,manlyhockeyplayer.”Ilazilystrokehisbiceps.“Butseriously,you’rehuge.Bigchest,biglegs,bighands—”
“Bigdick,”hesupplies.“Don’tforgetaboutthebigdick.”
“Youmeanthisteenything?”Myfingerstraveltohisgroin,runningoverhissatin-smoothhardness.Ihavenoideahowhe’sstillhardafterwhatwejustdid.“Holdon,”Itellhim.“LetmefindamagnifyingglasssoIcangetabetterlook.”
“Shutyourmouth,woman.”Laughing,heflipsmeoversoI’mpinnedunderthemuscularbodyIwasjustadmiring.Heleansintokissmyneck—nope,thejerkdoesn’tkissit.Heblowsaloudraspberrythatmakesmeshriekindelight.“Whatwereyousayingaboutmydick?”
“Nothing,”Isqueal.“It’stheperfectsizeformyneeds.”
Hesnickers,thenrollsoversowe’reface-to-faceagainandslipsonelegbetweenbothofmine.“Ihaven’tdonethisbefore,”headmits.“Youknow,liearoundnakedwithagirl,justtalking.”
“Ihaven’tdonethenakedpart,butmyhighschoolboyfriendandIdidthelyingaroundtalkingthingallthetime.”
“What’dyoutalkabout?”
“Everything.School.Life.TVshows.Whatevercametomind.”
“Why’dyouguysbreakup?”
“BrandongotascholarshiptoUCLA,IgotonetoBriar,andwedidn’twanttohavealong-distancerelationship.Thoseneverworkout.”
“Theydosometimes,”hedisagrees.
“Iguess.Butneitherofuswantedtoeventry,so…”Isigh.“Soevidentlywedidn’thavearomancefortheages.”
“Howcomeyouneverhadsex?”Loganaskscuriously.
“Idon’tknow.Justdidn’thappen.Anditdidn’thelpthatwehardlyevergottobealone.Mydadhadastrictruleaboutmeleavingmybedroomdooropen,andBrandon’sparentswereevenstricter.Weweren’tevenallowedtohangoutupstairs.Ithadtobeinthelivingroom,withhismotherspyingonusfromthekitchen.”
Hewrinkleshisforehead.“Ifindithardtobelievethatyoucouldn’tfindsomealonetimein—howlongwereyoutogether?”
“Sixmonths.Andyeah,obviouslythereweretimes,butlikeIsaid,itjustdidn’thappen.”
Onelargehandcoversmybreast,squeezinggently.“Areyousayingheseriouslynevertriedtogetapieceofthis?Maybehewasgay?”
“Trustme,hewasn’t.He’sactuallymarriednow.”
Logan’sjawfallsopen.“Really?Washeolderthanyou?”
“Nope,sameage.Apparentlyhefellheadoverheelsinlovewithsomegirlonthefirstdayofcollege,andtheygotmarriedthissummer.Hismothertoldmydadallaboutit.”
Ishiverwhenthepadofhisthumbgrazesmynipple,buthedoesn’tseemtobestartinganythingup.Hischeekrestsagainstthepillow,hisfeaturesrelaxedasheabsentlycaressesme.
“Didyouhaveagirlfriendinhighschool?”Iask.
Hewaggleshiseyebrows.“Ihadmany.”
“Oooh,whatastud.”
“Thereweretwoseriousgirlfriends,though.Thefirstonewasinfreshmanyear.Ilostmyvirginitytoher.”
“Howoldwereyou?Fifteen?”
“Fourteen.”Hewinksatme.“Istartedearly.That’swhyI’msogoodatit.”
Irollmyeyes.“Andsohumble,too.”Istoptothinkaboutit.“Fourteenseemswaytooyoungtobehavingsex.”
“Idon’tknowifyoucouldevencallwhatwedidsex,”heanswerswithasnort.“Thefirsttimelastedaboutthreeseconds,ifthat.Seriously,Igotin,came,gotout.Thetimesafterthat,itwastenseconds.Ifthat.IwassuchahorndogIcouldn’tcontrolmyselfwhenshetookherclothesoff.”
“Whataboutthesecondgirlfriend?”
“That’swhenIwasajunior.Wedatedforaboutayear.Shewasagreatgirl,kindofspoiled,butIdidn’tmindbecauseIlikedspoilingher.”Hefrowns.“Shecheatedonmewithanolderguy.Actually,IthinkhewenttoBriar.”
“Aw,I’msorry.”
“Brokemyfuckingheart.”Hegivesanexaggeratedgroanofpain,thentakesmyhandandplacesitonhischest.“I’vewaitedyearsforsomeonetoshowupandputitbacktogether.”
Igroan,too.Fromthesheerlamenessofthatstatement.“Youshouldhaveputthatlineinyourpoem.”
“I’llwriteyouanotherone,”hepromises.
“OhGod.Pleasedon’t.”Ayawnovertakesme,andItwistaroundtoglanceatthealarmclock,surprisedtofindthatit’sonlyten-fifteen.“WhyamIsotired?”
“Iworeyouout,huh?”Hesmilessmugly.“IwasafraidImight’velostmymovesduringmyCS,butI’vestillgotit.”
“CS?”Hisabbreviationsdrivemenutssometimes.I’mprayingoneofthesedaysI’llbeabletofigurethemoutonmyown.
“Celibacystretch,”heexplains.
“It’sonlybeenthreeweeks,horndog.”
“Actually,it’sbeen…sixmonths?”
Myeyebrowssoar.“Youhaven’thadsexinsixmonths?”
“Nope.”Asheepishlookfillshisface.“NotsinceImetyou.”
“Bullshit.”
Nowhelookshurt.“YouthinkI’mlying?”
“No…ofcoursenot…”Mymindstrugglestodigesttheinformation.EvenbeforeImettheguy,Iwaswellawareofhisreputation—Iwitnesseditfirsthandwhenhestumbledoutofthatbathroomatthefratparty.
AndheandIwereaparttheentiresummer.Isheseriouslytellingmehedidn’tfoolaroundwithsomeoneevenonceduringthattime?Granted,Ididn’teither,butI’mnotJohnLogan,themanwhorewho’ssleptwithhalfthegirlsatBriar.
“Ialmostdid,”headds,hisfeaturespained.“Itwasearlyoninthesummer,andyouwerestillignoringmymessages.Iwenttothischick’splace,fullyintendingtosleepwithher,butwhenshetriedtokissme…Itookoff.Itjustdidn’tfeelright.”
I’mfloored.Utterlyfloored.
“Butthis…”Heleanscloserandgentlypresseshismouthagainstmineinthesweetestkissimaginable.“This…”Anotherkiss.“Feels…”Andanotherone.“Right.”30
Logan
Best.Weekend.Ever.
Ihonestlycan’trememberthelasttimeIsmiledthismuch.Orlaughedthismuch.
Orfuckedthismuch.
GraceandIhavebeengoingatitlikebunniessinceFridaynight,andeachtimeisevenbetterthanthelast.Nowit’slateSundaymorning,andwe’restillgoingatit,tangledupinthesheetsasmycockplungesintohertightheat.I’vebeendiligentaboutaskingherwhethershe’ssore,butshekeepsclaimingshe’snot.Andifsheissore,thenshe’spoweringthroughitlikeachamp.Likeahockeyplayerwhobandageshimselfup,throwsonhispads,andhitstheice,becausethegameisthatimportanttohim.
IguessI’mthatimportanttoher.OrmaybeshejustlikestheridiculousamountoforgasmsI’vegivenher.Andshe’sabouttogetanotherone.IwentdownonherforthirtyminutesbeforeIcouldn’ttakeitanymore,desperatelyneedingtobeinsideher,andherpussyisstillwetandswollenfromtheministrationsofmytongue.Itclutchesmelikeagoddamnvise,whileherslenderbodyflexesagainstmine,herspinearchingtomeeteachhurriedthrust.
She’sclose.I’vememorizedherresponses,thenoisesshemakesandthewayherinnermusclesripplearoundmycockwhenherorgasmisimminent.
“Oh.”ShegaspswhenIrotatemyhips,andhereyesglazeover.“Feels…so…good.”
Gooddoesn’tevenbegintodescribeit.It’s…fuckingdivine.Pureheaven,righthereinthisbed.Iworshipherpussy.Iworshipher
Thebaseofmyspinetingles,pleasuretighteningmymuscles.Isnakemyhandsbeneathherassanddigmyfingersintoherfirmflesh,lockingustighter,fuckingherharder.Icomefirst,mymindscattering,foggyandincoherent.She’srightbehindme,squeezingthehelloutofmydickasshemakesabreathy,blissfulnoisethatdrivesmewild.
Everytimeafterwe’vehadsexthisweekend,I’vealmostblurtedoutthatIloveher.Andeverytime,I’veclampedmylipstogethertostopthewordsfromescapingbecauseI’mscaredofsayingittoosoon.I’veknownhersinceApril,butweweren’tdatingthen.Nowweareandit’snearingtheone-monthmark,butI’mnotsurewhattheetiquetteforI-love-you’sis.ItoldmyfirstgirlfriendIlovedheraftertwoweeksofdating.Mysecond,afterfivemonths.SomaybeIshouldsplitthedifferenceandtellGrace…atthethree-monthpoint.Yeah.Thatseemslikeanappropriateamountoftime.
Oncewerecoverfromourrespectiveorgasms,wedecidetofinallydragourselvesoutofbed.It’salmostnoonandwehaven’teatensincewewokeup,andmystomachrumblesliketheengineofamusclecar.Wethrowonsomeclothes,becausenomatterhowmanytimesItrytoconvinceher,Gracerefusestowalkaroundnakedincasemyroommatescomehome.I’vebeenteasinghermercilesslyaboutherunwarrantedmodesty,butI’mquicklydiscoveringthatGracehasoneincrediblyannoyingtrait—she’salwaysright.
We’vejustenteredthekitchenwhenfootstepsechofromthefronthall.
“See!”shegloatsatme.“Theywouldhavecaughtus!”
“Trustme,theguyshaveseenmenakedonmultipleoccasions,”Ianswerdryly.
“Well,they’renevergoingtoseemenaked,notifIcanhelpit.”
IsuddenlypictureDeanoglingherbaretits,andthehotstreakofjealousyittriggersmakesmerealizejusthowgratefulIamthatshedecidedtowearclothes.
Butit’snotDeanwhostridesintothekitchenaminutelater.It’sGarrett,withHannahonhistail.AlthoughtheylookstartledtofindGraceatthecounter,theygreetherwithwarmsmilesbeforeturningtosmirkatme.Smugbastards.Iknowexactlywhat’sgoingthroughtheirheads—asingsongtaunt.Lo-ganhasagirrrrl-friend
“Hey.”Inarrowmyeyes.“Ithoughtyouguyswerecrashingatthedormthisweekend.”
“Ibetyoudid,”Garrettmocks,hisgrayeyesgleaming.
“Yes,becausethat’swhatyoutoldme,”Isaypointedly.
HannahwalksuptoGraceandsticksoutherhand.“Hi.Wehaven’tbeenformallyintroduced.I’mHannah.”
“I’mGrace.”
“Iknow.”Hannahcan’tseemtowipethebig,stupidsmileoffherface.“Logantalksaboutyouallthetime.”
Graceglancesatme.“Youdo?”
“Allthelivelongday,”Garrettconfirms,flashinghisbig,stupidsmile.“Healsowriteslong,sweepingpoemsaboutyouandrecitesthemtousinthelivingroomeverynight.”
Hannahsnorts.
Igivehimthefinger.
“Oh,Iknowaboutthepoems,”Gracetellsmybestfriend.“I’vealreadysubmittedtheonehesentmetoananthologypressinBoston.”
Iwhirlaroundtoglareather.“Youbetterbekiddingaboutthat.”
Garrettgivesahootoflaughter.“Doesn’tmatterifsheis.BecausenowI’llbesubmittingit.”
“Ifeelleftout,”Hannahannounces.“WhyamItheonlyonewhohasn’treadthispoem?”
“I’llemailittoyou,”Graceoffers,whichbringsahell-nogrowlfrommylips.
“Sowhatareweeating?”Garrettmarchesovertothefridge.“I’mstarving,andsomeonedidn’twanttostopatthedinerforbrunch.”
“I’mtherefourdaysaweek,”hisgirlfriendprotests.“It’sthelastplaceIwanttogoonmydaysoff.”
Hepullsouttwocartonsofeggs.“Youguysfeellikeomelets?”
We’reallinagreement,soGarrettgetsbusycrackingeggswhileHannahandGracechopvegetablesatthecounter.Myjobistosetthetable,whichtakesallofthirtyseconds.Smirking,Iplopdownonastoolandwatchthemwork.
“You’redoingdishes,”HannahwarnsasshehandsGarrettacuttingboardladenwithgreenpeppers.
I’mcoolwiththat.Ileanmyelbowsonthecounterandask,“Sowhy’dyouguyscomebackearly?”
“BecauseAllieandSeanarecurrentlyengagedinanepicfight.”SheglancesatGrace.“Myroommateandherboyfriend.”
“Soon-to-beexfromthesoundsofit,”Garrettremarksfromthestove.“Idon’tthinkI’veeverheardtwopeopleyellateachotherlikethatbefore.”
Hannahsighs.“Sometimestheyreallybringouttheworstineachother.Butontheflipside,theyalsobringoutthebestineachother.That’swhytheykeepbreakingupandgettingbacktogether.Ithoughtforsureitwouldstickthistime,butwhoknows.”
Amouthwateringaromabeginswaftingthroughthekitchen.Garrett’snotthegreatestcook,buthemakesdamngoodomelets.Tenminuteslater,heservesusfluffy,goldengoodnessloadedwithcheese,mushrooms,andpeppers,andthefourofussettlearoundthetable.Itfeelslikeadoubledate,whichissurrealashell.Upuntillastyear,Garrettwasn’tinterestedingirlfriends,andupuntillastmonth,neitherwasI.
Ilikeit,though.HannahandGracearegettingalong.Theconversation’slively.Welaughalot.Ican’trememberthelasttimeIfeltsoatpeace,andbythetimewefinisheating,Idon’tevencarethatI’mstuckdoingdishes.
Gracetakespityonmeandhelpsmeclearthetable,thenfollowsmetothesink,whereIquicklyrinseeachplatebeforeloadingtheminthedishwasher.
“Icanseewhyyouwantedher.”Hervoiceisbarelyaudible,butwistfulenoughthatitmakesmyshouldersgorigid.
WhenIrealizeshe’sgazingatHannah,guiltpricksmyheart,bringingasharpstingofpain.Ihadn’tmentionedHannah’snamewhenItoldGraceaboutherinApril,butIhadadmittedtolikingmybestfriend’sgirlfriend.ClearlyGracehasputtwoandtwotogether.
“She’sfunny.Andreallypretty,”Gracesaysawkwardly.
Idrymyhandswithadishragandgraspherchin,drawinghergazetomine.“Ididn’twanther,”Imurmur.InudgeGrace’sheadinthedirectionofthetableagain.“Iwantedthat.”
GarretthasjusttuggedHannahintohislap,onearmwrappingaroundherasheplantsakissonthetipofhernose.Thefingersofhisfreehandthreadthroughherdarkhair,andsheleansclosertowhispersomethinginhisearthatmakeshimchuckle.Thewaytheylookateachother…thereverencewithwhichhetouchesher…they’redisgustinglyinlove,andanyonecanseeit.
IncludingGrace,whoturnsbacktomewithasmile.“Yeah.Whowouldn’twantthat?”
Oncethekitchenissqueakyclean,wedisappearupstairsagain,butnottohavesex.We’vebarelysleptthisweekendthankstoourfuck-a-thon—notcomplaining,bytheway—sowedecidetotakeanap.Isetthealarmtomakesurewedon’toversleep,becauseI’msupposedtodriveGracetoherdad’shouseatsix.
WeclimbunderthecoversandIyankherwarmbodytowardme,spooningherfrombehind.Acontentedsighslipsout,butrightasIstarttodriftoff,hervoiceteasesmebacktoastateofalertness.
“John?”shemurmurs.
Myheartsqueezes.Idon’tknowwhyitdoesthateverytimesheusesmyfirstname.ShecallsmeLogantoo,andJohnnywhenshe’smakingfunofme,butit’sonlyJohnthatfloodsmychestwithemotionlikethis.
“Mmmm?”
“Doyouwanttocomefordinner?”
Istiffen,andshedoesn’tmisstheresponse.Shereleasesasoftlaughandadds,“You’reallowedtosayno.But…Imean,you’vealreadykindofmetmymother,andjustsoyouknow,mydadisn’ttooscary.Ifanything,youmightfindhimboring.Hetalksaboutsciencealot.”
Right.She’dmentionedthathewasabiologyprofessor.That’snotwhatworriesme,though.ThelasttimeImetagirl’sparents,Iwasinhighschool,anditwasn’tabigdealbackthen.Ifanything,itwasunavoidable,consideringmygirlfriendandIlivedwithourparents.
Andyeah,I’vealreadySkypedwithGrace’smom,butthathadn’tfeltlikeanofficialmeetingoranything.Ithadbeenfunandcasual,nobigdealatall.ButmeetingGrace’sfather—inperson—feelslikeabigdeal.
Saystheguywho’sinlovewithher
Goodpoint.Hell,IventuredintoBIGDEALterritorythemomentIrealizedhowIfeelabouther.
“WillhemindifIcome?”
“Notatall.MomalreadytoldhimIhadaboyfriend,sohe’sactuallybeenbuggingmeaboutmeetingyou,”sheconfesses.
“Okay,thensure.”Myarmtightensaroundher.“I’dloveto.”
*
Grace
It’sapleasantlywarmevening,soDaddecidesweshouldeatonthepatio.Hegrillsupsomesteaksonthebarbecue,whileLoganandItakecareoftherestofdinner.I’minchargeofthebakedpotatoes,Logan’shandlingthesalad.Butwatchingthesheerconcentrationwithwhichheslicesthosetomatoes,you’dthinkhewasvyingforaslotonTopChef
“Relax,Johnny,”Itease.“Yoursaladpreparationexpertisehasnobearingonwhetherhe’lllikeyouornot.”
Besides,Ithinkmydadalreadylikeshim.Hehasn’tcross-examinedLoganlikeIexpectedhimto,andIthinkhewassecretlyrelievedwhenLogancrackedajokeduringtheirintroductions.MyfatheralwaysthoughtBrandonwascompletelylackinginpersonality—yep,Mr.I-teach-molecular-biologyactuallysatmedownonedayandinformedmethatmyboyfriendwasboring.Whichwastotallynotthecase.Brandonwasshy,notboring.Whenwewerealone,thatboyhadmedoubledoverinlaughter.
ButDadnevergottoseethat,andthere’snodenyingthatLoganpossessesfarmoreconfidencethanBrandoneverhad.Withinfiveminutesofmeetinghim,Logangavemydadagood-naturedreprimandforraisingmeto“hate”hockey,andDadbringsthatupagainoncewe’reseatedattheglasstableonthedeck.
“Here’sthething,John,”hesaysashecutsintohisT-bone.“Gracieissmartenoughtorecognizetheshockinglyinferiorlevelofskillthathockeydemonstrates.”Hiseyestwinkleplayfully.
Loganmockgasps.“Howdareyou,sir.”
“Faceit,kid.Footballrequiresawholeotherlevelofathleticism.”
Lookingpensive,myboyfriendchewsabiteofhisbakedpotato.“Allright,littlescenarioforyou.YoutakeeveryguyontheBruinsroster,throwfootballgearonthem,andstickthemonthefield.Iguaranteeyoutheyplayasolidfourquartersoffootballandkicksomeseriousass.”Hesmirks.“NowtakethePats,slaponsomeskatesandpads,andputthemontheice—canyouhonestlytellmethey’dbeabletoplayafullthreeperiods,anddoitwell?”
Dadnarrowshiseyes.“Well,no.Butthat’sbecausealotofthemprobablydon’tknowhowtoskate.”
Logan’ssmileistriumphant.“Butthey’reoperatingonasuperiorlevelofathleticism,”heremindsmyfather.“Whycan’ttheyskate?”
Dadsighs.“Touché,Mr.Logan.Touché.”
Isnicker.
Theremainderofthedinnergoesthesameway,animateddiscussionsthatendwithoneorbothofthemgrinning.Ican’tcontaintheburstofjoyinmyheart.Seeingthemgetalongissucharelief.NowI’vegottenthenodofapprovalfrombothmyparents,whoseopinionsmatterdeeplytome.
Dadbringsupmymotherasthethreeofusclearthetable.“Yourmom’sthinkingofcomingtoHastingsforThanksgiving.”
“Really?”I’mexcitedbythenews.“Willshestayattheinn,orhereatthehouse?”
“Here,ofcourse.Nosensespendingmoneyonahotelroomwhenshehasherpickofbedroomshere.”Dadbalanceshisplateandthesaladbowlinonehandsohecanopentheslidingdoor.“IwasthinkingoftakingafewdaysoffanddrivinguptoBostonwithher.Therearesomemutualfriendsweweretalkingaboutvisiting.”
Anyotherchildofdivorcemighthavegottentheirhopesuphearingtheirparentsmighttakearoadtriptogether,butthatshipsailedalongtimeagoforme.Iknowmyfolksarenevergettingbacktogether—they’remuchhappierapart—butIlovethatthey’restillsoclose.Bestfriends,even.It’sactuallykindofinspiring.
Tomysurprise,afterwe’vethankedDadfordinnerandclimbedintoLogan’spickup,myparents’relationshipisthefirstthingLogancommentson.
“It’sreallycoolthatyourfolksremainedfriendsafterthedivorce.”
Inod.“Iknow,right?Ithankmyluckystarsforiteveryday.I’dhateitiftheywerefightingallthetimeandusingmeasapawnorsomething.”ThenItense,realizingthatmaybetheaftermathofhisparents’divorceisexactlywhatI’vejustdescribed.Logandoesn’ttalkaboutitmuch,andIhaven’tpushedfordetailsbecauseit’sobviousheprefersnottodiscusshisfamily.
Especiallyhisfather.Butthat’sonesubjectIdefinitelydon’tbringup,notforhissake,butmyown.BecauseI’mterrifiedofrevealingmytruefeelingsonthematter—thatIthinkLoganismakingahugemistakequittinghockeyaftergraduation.
Heinsiststhatrunningthebusinessandtakingcareofhisfatheriswhat’sbestforthefamily,butIdisagree.What’sbestforWardLoganisalongstintinrehabfollowedbyextensiveaddictiontherapy,buthey,whatdoIknow?Ayearofpsychclassesdoesnotapsychologistmake.
“Yourdadisawesome.”Logan’sgazeisgluedtothewindshield,butthere’snomissingthesadnessinhisvoice.“Heseemslikethekindofmanwho’dalwaysbethereforyou.Youknow,likehewouldn’tdesertyouinthehospitalifyoubrokeyourankleorsomething.”
Hisexampleissoalarminglyspecificitmakesmefrown.“Did…didthathappentoyou?”
“No.”Hepauses.“Tomymom,though.”
Thefrowndeepens.“Yourfatherdesertedherinthehospital?”
“No,notreally.He—youknowwhat,don’tworryaboutit.Longstory.”
Hishandrestsonthegearshift,andIreachoverandcoveritwithmine.“Iwanttohearit.”
“What’sthepoint?”hemumbles.“It’sinthepast.”
“Istillwanttohearit,”Isayfirmly.
Heletsoutawearybreath.“IthappenedwhenIwassevenoreight.IwasinschoolsoIdidn’tseehowitwentdown,butIheardaboutitfrommyauntafterward.Actually,thewholeneighborhoodheardaboutit,that’showloudshewasscreamingwhenmydadfinallydraggedhisasshome.”
“Stillnottellingmewhathappened…”
Hekeepshiseyesontheroad.“Itwaswinter,theweatherwasshit,andMomslippedonapatchoficewhileshovelingthedriveway.”Bitternesslineshistone.“Dadwasinside,notplastered,buthe’dhadafew.Couldn’tevenbebotheredtodotheshoveling,oratleasthelpher.Anyway,shefuckedupheranklerealbad,prettymuchshatteredit,andheheardheryellingforhelpandranoutside.Hedidn’twanttomoveherbecausetheyweren’tsurehowbadthedamagewas,buthedidthrowablanketonherwhiletheywaitedfortheambulance.”
Logan’sshouldersaresetinatightline,asinflexibleashisjaw.I’mnotsureIwanttoheartherestofthestory.
“Sotheambulanceshowedup,butDaddidn’tridewithher.Hetoldherhe’dfollowherinthecar,thatwayhe’dbeabletopickmeandJeffupfromschool.Andthatwasthelastanyofussawofhimforthreedays.”
Loganangrilyshakeshishead.“Hegotinthecarandtookoff.Ihavenoideawherehewent.AllIknowisthathedidn’tgotothehospital,wherehiswifehadtohavetwosurgeriestofixherankle.Andhedidn’tgototheschool,becauseJeffandIwaitedforhoursandhedidn’tshow.Oneoftheteachersfinallynoticedwewerestillthere,madesomecalls,andtookustothehospital,andmyauntdrovedownfromBostonandstayedwithuswhileMomwasrecovering,becauseDadhadgoneAWOL.”
Isuckinabreath.“Whydidhedoit?”
“Whofuckingknows?Iguessherealizedhe’dhavetostepupandtakecareofthekidsandthehouseandher,andthepressurefreakedhimout.Hewentonathree-daybenderanddidn’tvisitheratthehospitalonce.”
IndignationonLogan’sbehalfseizesmychestandmakesmyhandstremble.Whatthehellkindofhusbanddoesthat?Whatthehellkindoffather?
Loganhasreadmythoughts,becauseheturnshisheadwithagentlelook.“Iknowyou’rehatingonhimrightnow,butyouneedtounderstandsomething.He’snotabadman—he’sgotadisease.Andtrustme,hehateshimselfforit.MorethanyouorIcouldeverhatehim.”Hisbreathcomesoutwobbly.“Whenhewassober,hewasactuallyareallygooddad.Hetaughtmehowtoskate,taughtmeeverythingheknowsaboutcars.WefixedupthissweetGTOonesummer.Spenthourstogetherinthegarage.”
“Sowhydidhestartdrinkingagain?”
“Idon’tknow.Idon’tthinkheevenknows.It’sthekindofthingwhere…likeifyouwerestressedout,youmighthaveaglassofwine,right?Orabeer,awhiskey,somethingtocalmyoudown.Buthecan’thavejustone.Hehastwo,orthree,orten,andhejustcan’tstop.It’sanaddiction.”
Ibitemylip.“Iknowthat.Buthowlongdoeshegettokeepusingthataddictionasanexcuseforhisactions?Ithinktherecomesapointwhereyouhavetostopenablinghim.”
“We’vedraggedhimtorehabbefore,Grace.Itdoesn’tstickunlesshechoosestodoithimself.”
“Thenmaybeyouneedtocuthimoff.Lethimhitrockbottomsohe’llchoosetogetbetter.”
“And,what,makehimhomeless?”Logansayssoftly.“Havebillcollectorspoundingonhisdoorandrepomenshowingupatthehouse?Lethisbusinesscrashandburn?Iknowyoudon’tunderstandit,butwecan’twritehimoff.Maybeifhebeattheshitoutofusortreateduslikepiecesofgarbage,thenitmightbeeasiertodothat,buthe’snotabusive,he’sself-destructive.Wecanencouragehimtogetsober,wecanhelphimkeepthingsafloat,butwewon’tdeserthim.”
“You’reright.Idon’tunderstand,”Iadmit.“Idon’tgetwherethisunfailingloyaltyiscomingfrom.Especiallywhenyouconsidertheexamplehesetforyou—where’shisloyalty?Where’shisselflessness?”
Loganflipshispalmoverandlaceshisfingersthroughmine.“That’stheotherreasonI’mdoingthis.Becauseoftheexampleheset.IfIabandonhim,thenI’mnobetterthanheis.ThenI’mselfish,andthat’ssomethingIneverwanttobe.SometimesIhatehimsomuchIwanttokickhisteethin,sometimesIevenfindmyselfwishinghe’ddie,butnomatterhowfrustratingitgets,he’sstillmyfather,andIlovehim.”Hisvoicecracks.“ItreathimthewayI’dwanttobetreatedifIwaseverinhisposition.Withpatienceandsupport,evenwhenhedoesn’tdeserveit.”
Loganfallssilent,andmyheartconstricts,thenswells,overflowingwithemotion.Thisguycontinuestosurpriseme.Toaweme.He’sabetterpersonthanIam,betterthanhegiveshimselfcreditfor,andifIwasn’tsureaboutitbefore,thenI’mdamnwellsureofitnow.
Ilovehim.31
Logan
“BeersatMalone’s?”Deanasksasweleavethearenaafterwhatmightpossiblybetheworstgameofmyentirehockeycareer.
Igritmyteeth.“IhaveplanswithGrace.AndevenifIdidn’t,Iwouldn’tbecelebratingatthegoddamnbartonight,man.”
Herunsahandthroughhisshower-dampblondhair.“Yeah,itwasroughoutthere.Butit’sdone.Gameover.Nopointindwellingonit.”
Timeslikethese,Iwonderwhyheevenplayshockey.Forthepussy,maybe?Becausefromthedayhejoinedtheteam,Deanhasshownalackofintensityaboutoursport,whichisadamnshamebecausehehappenstobeanamazingplayer.Buthehasnointerestinplayinghockeyaftercollege,atleastnotprofessionally.
“Seriously,dude,quitscowling,”Deanorders.“Cometothebarwithus.IsetthefreshmanupwithafakeID,soI’mshowinghimsomemovestonight.Icouldusemywingman.”
The“freshman”,ofcourse,isHunter,whoDeanhastakenunderhiswingandiswellonhiswaytocorrupting.
“Naah,I’llpass.GraceandIarehavingamovienight.”
“Boring.Unlessit’snakedmovienight.ThenIapprove.”
I’mkindahopingitisnakedmovienight.Idesperatelyneedtoreleaseallthepent-uptensionthat’sbeenplaguingmesincewelumberedintothelockerroomafterthatfinalbuzzer,leavingthesourstenchofa0-5scoreinourwake.
Granted,it’sjustapre-seasongame,doesn’tcounttowardourstandings,butifwe’retotakeanythingfromtonight’sloss,it’sthis:we’renowherenearready—andourfirstgameisnextfuckingweek.Plus,wegotshutoutbySt.Anthony’s,whichonlypissesmeoffmore,becauseSt.A’steamhasarosterofdickheadsanddouchebags.
I’mstillstewingaboutthegamewhenIwalkthroughGrace’sdoorashortwhilelater,andsheclucksinsympathywhensheseesmyface.
“Didn’tgowell,huh?”Shecomesupandwrapsherarmsaroundme,hersoftlipsbrushingasoothingkissatthebaseofmythroat.
“Theteam’sstillnotgelling,”Ianswer,aggravated.“Coachkeepsrearrangingthelines,tryingtofindagoodfit,buthemightaswellbejammingrandompuzzlepiecestogether.”
It’sfrustrating,especiallysinceDeanandIareawell-oiledmachinewhenweplayonthesameline.Butwe’realsothebestD-menontheroster,soCoachsplitusupinthehopesthatwe’dhelptheotherlinesnotsucksohard.I’mpairedupwithBrodowskinow,whoneedssomuchworkI’mprettymuchmanningourdefensivezonealone.
“I’msureit’llgetbetter,”sheassuresme.“AndIpromise,I’llbecheeringforyouinthestandsnextweek.”
Igrin.“Thanks.Iknowwhatabigsacrificeitisforyou.”
Gracesighs.“Thebiggest.”SheswipesaT-shirtoffthefloorandtossesitinthelaundrybasket.“Ijustwanttofinishtidyingup,andthenwecanputonthemovie.Isthatokay?”
“Sure.”
Ikickoffmyshoesandunzipmyjacket,watchingasshewandersaroundpluckingrandomitemsofclothing—allbelongingtoherroommate,Irealize.God,Daisymustloveher.AwesomeroommateandOCD-riddenmaidallrolledintoonecutepackage.
Gracebendsovertograbasockthat’swedgedbetweenDaisy’sdeskandbed,andthesightofherroundassjuttingoutmakesmegroan.
Sheglancesoverhershoulder.“Youokay?”
“Ohyeah.Stayinthatpositionforaminute.Thatexactposition.”
“Perv.”
“You’reright.HowdareIenjoythesightofmygirlfriend’ssexyassstickingupintheair?”Mythroatrunsdry.“Iwanttofuckyoujustlikethattonight.”
Herbreathcatches.“Icanlivewiththat.”
Ichuckleattheteasingresponse.“Thengetonthebed.Naked.Now.Bonusorgasmsforspeed.”
Shegetsridofhertop,leggingsandpantiesinrecordtime,andIsnickerasIreachformyzipper.“Jeez,onewouldthinkIhaven’tbeenmeetingyourneeds.”
HergazetracksthemovementofmyfingersasIdragmyflydown.Ilovethewayshelooksatme.Hungryandappreciative,likeshecan’tgetenough.
Aminutelater,I’mnakedandcoveredwithacondom.Noforeplaynecessaryformetonight—I’mhardasarockandraringtogo—butthatdoesn’tstopmefromplayingwithherforabit.
Icrawlbetweenherlegsandkissherinnerthighs.Herskinisbaby-smooth,silkybeneathmytongue,andwhenIlickmywayuptoherclit,herfingerstangleinmyhairtotrapmethere.Chuckling,Igiveherwhatshewants.Soft,slowlicksandgentlekisses,untilshe’ssquirmingonthemattress.Idon’tletherfinish,though.Herfirstorgasmisalwaysthemostintense,andIwanttofeelhersqueezingmydickandhearhermoanmynamewhenshecomes.
Iplantonelastkiss,thengripherhipsandrollherover.“Allfours,baby.Bringthatsweetasstowardme.”
Bringitshedoes.HerfirmbottombumpsmygroinasIriseonmykneesbehindher,andthensherubsitagainstmyshaft,sendingaboltofheatupmyspine.Twomonthstogetherandshe’sstilldrivingmecrazy.Meltingmygoddamnbrainwiththepleasureshebringsme
Ifistmyerectionandguideittothecreaseofherass,slidingloweruntilitnudgesheropening.Anticipationheatstheair.Thisismyfavoritemoment,thehintofsuctionaroundmytip,theknowledgethatsoonshe’llbeclutchingmetight,surroundingmewiththewarmthofherpussy.
She’ssowetIsliderightinwithmyfirstthrust,fillinghertothehilt.Ifuckherslowlyatfirst,wantingtoprolongit,buteachdeepstrokescramblesmybrainmoreandmore,andsoontheslowpaceturnsintoafast,relentlessrhythmthatmakesmegroanwithabandon.Butforallmytalkaboutscrewingherfrombehind,thispositionfeelstoo…impersonal.Iyankherupsoherbackisflushagainstmychest,andIfillmypalmswithhertits,teasinghernipplesasIgiveanupwardthrust.
Herheadlollstotheside,andItakeadvantageofit,pressingmylipstoherneck.Ibreatheherin,suckingonhersmooth,fragrantfleshasIdrivemycockinsideher.Quick,shallowthruststhatmakebothofusgasp.Iskimonehanddownherbody,grazinghertits,dancingoverherbelly,untilIfindherclitandrubitwithmyindexfinger,gentlecirclesthatcontrastthefaststrokesofmycock.
We’vegottengoodattimingourresponses,synchronizingourbodiessothatweshudderinreleaseatthesametime.Wecollapseinasweatytangleoflimbs,breathinghardfromtheorgasms,kissingfranticallyevenaswecomedownfromtheeuphorichigh.
Afterward,shegetsherlaptop,andwecuddleundertheblanketandstartthemovie.It’sherpick,sonaturallywe’rewatchinganoldJean-ClaudeVanDammecheesefestthat’sboundtoputusinhysterics.We’reonlyfiveminutesin,however,whenGrace’scellphonerings.
Shedrapesacrossmychesttocheckthedisplay,butdoesn’tanswerthecall.“It’sRamona,”shesayswhenIofferaquizzicallook.“Notinthemoodtotalktoherrightnow.Let’skeepwatching.”
Thephoneringsagain.
Gracemakesafrustratednoiseandpressesignore
I’mnotsureIblameher.DeantoldmeheranintoRamonaatthebarafewtimes,butIhaven’tseenhersincelastsemester.AndIdon’tparticularlywantto.
“Sheprobablyjustwantstohangout,”Gracesays,thenswitchesthephonetovibrate.
She’sabouttorestherheadonmychest,butshebarelymakescontactbeforealoudbuzzshakesthemattress.“O-kaythen,guessIshould’vepickedsilentinsteadofvibrate.”Shesitsupagain,snatchesthecell,andfreezes.
“What’swrong?”Itrytopeekatthephone.
SheflipsitoversoIcanseethescreen.SOSisallitsays.Sentby—whoelse?—Ramona.
MaybeI’macynicalbastard,butthissmacksofmanipulationtome.Gracewasn’tanswering,soRamonadecidedtomakeheranswer.
“Ihavetocallherback.”
Ismotherasigh.“Babe,she’sprobablytryingtoscareyouintocalling—”
“She’snot.”Grace’sexpressionisstricken.“Wedon’tabusetheSOS.Ever.Inalltheyearswe’vebeenfriends,we’veonlySOS’deachothertwice.IdiditwhenIthoughtIwasbeingfollowedbysomecreepinBostonthisonetime,andshediditwhensheblackedoutatapartysenioryearandwokeupwithnoideawhereshewas.Thisisreal,Logan.”
EvenifI’dwantedtoargue,she’salreadyhoppingoffthebedandmakingthecall.
*
Grace
I’mactuallyfrightened.Palmssweating,heartracing,lungsburning.ButIguessthat’stheappropriateresponsetofindingoutyourfriendisbeingheldagainstherwillbyabunchofthugs.Whenshehadtosneakintothebathroomtocallyoubecausethethugsinquestiontriedconfiscatingherphoneaftersheannouncedshewantedtoleave.
InthepassengersideofLogan’struck,Idrummyfingersagainstmythighsinananxiousrhythm.Iwanttobeghimtodrivefaster,buthe’salreadyspeeding.Andhewon’tstopbarkingoutquestionsatme,questionstowhichIhavenofuckinganswers,becauseRamonahunguponmefiveminutesagoandisnolongerpickingupherphone.
“Whathockeyplayers?”Logandemandsforthethirdtimeintenminutes.“Briarguys?”
“Forthelasttime,Idon’tknow.Itoldyoueverythingshetoldme,Logan,sopleasestopharassingme.”
“Sorry,”hemutters.
We’rebothonedge.Neitherofusknowswhatwe’llfindwhenwereachthemotel,andasweracetowardHastings,myconversationwithRamonabuzzesthroughmymindlikeaswarmofbees.
“Ithoughttherewouldbeotherpeoplehere,butit’sjusttheplayers.Andtheywon’tletmeleave,Gracie!Theypromisedtogivemearidehomeandnowthey’resayingIshouldcrashintheirroom,andIdon’twantto,andIdon’tevenhavemypursewithme!Justmyphone!Idon’thavemoneyforacab,andnobodywillcomegetme…and…”
Atthatpointshe’dstartedtocry,andfearhadfloodedmystomach.I’veknownRamonaalongtime.Iknowthedifferencebetweenhercrocodiletearsandherrealones.Iknowwhenshe’sfake-panicking,orfreakingthefuckout.Iknowwhatshesoundslikewhenshe’scalm,andwhatshesoundslikewhenshe’sterrified.
Andrightnow,she’sterrified.
Therideintotownisthickwithtension.Mymusclesarecoiledsotight,mybodyactuallyfeelssorebythetimewereachthemotel.TheL-shapedbrickbuildingislocatedontheoutskirtsofHastings,andalthoughit’snowherenearasniceastheinnonMainStreet,it’snotafleabagshitholeeither.
WhenLoganpullsintotheparkinglot,hisblueeyesimmediatelydarken.Ifollowhisgazeandnoticetheshinyredbusparkedonthepavement.
“That’stheSt.Anthony’sbus,”hesaysinacurtvoice.“They’replayingBostonCollegetomorrow,soIguessitmakessenseforthemtocrashhereforthenight.”
“Wait,thisistheteamyouplayedagainsttonight?”
Henods.“They’reassholes,eachandeveryoneofthem,coachingstaffincluded.”
Myconcernescalates.I’veheardLogantrash-talkopponentsbefore,butevenwhenhedoesit,Icantellthere’salevelofrespectthere.LiketherivalrywithHarvard—Loganwillbitchaboutit,butyou’llnevercatchhimsayingtheHarvardplayersarehacks,orattackingtheircharacterthewayhejustdidwiththeseSt.Anthony’sguys.
“Aretheyreallythatbad?”Iask.
Hekillstheengineandunbuckleshisseatbelt.“TheiroldcaptainwassuspendedlastseasonforbreakingaBriarplayer’sarm.Ourguydidn’tevenhavethepuckwhenBraxtonsmashedintohim.TheirnewcaptainisanentitledshitheadfromConnecticutwhospitontheguysonourbenchtonighteverytimeheskatedbythem.DisrespectfulPOS.”
WehopoutofthepickupandmarchrightuptoRoom33,whichwasoneofthefewdetailsI’dmanagedtopryoutofRamonawhileshe’dbeensobbing.Logangraspsmyarmandmovesmebehindhiminaprotectivegesture.
“Letmehandlethis,”heorders.
Thedeadlygleaminhiseyesistooterrifyingtoarguewith.
Hepoundshisfistonthedoor,sohardherattlesthedoorframe.Loudmusicblaresinsidetheroom,alongwithraucousmalelaughterthatturnsmyveinstoice.Itsoundslikethey’rehavingaragingpartyinthere.
Amomentlater,atallguywithdarkhairandagoateeappearsinthethreshold.HetakesonelookatLogan’sBriarjacketandcurlshislipsintoasneer.“Whatthefuckdoyouwant?”
“I’mheretopickupRamona,”Logansnaps.
Rapmusicblastsfromtheopendoor,thebasslinevibratingbeneathmysneakers.IpeekfrombehindLogan’sbroadshoulders,tryingtoseewhat’shappeninginsidetheroom.AllIcanmakeoutisawallofbig,bulkybodies.Four,maybefiveofthem.Horroreddiesinmybelly.OhGod.Where’sRamona?Andwhythehelldidshethinkitwasagoodideatopartywiththeseguys—alone?
“Gohome,asshole.”TheSt.Anthony’splayersmirks.“Shejustgothere.Shedoesn’tneedaride.”
Logan’sjawturnstostone.“Getoutofmyway,Keswick.”
Themusicdiesabruptly,replacedbyabeatofsilence,thenthemenacingthumpofheavyfootstepsasKeswick’steammatescomeupbehindhim.
Ablondbehemothwithice-blueeyesgivesLoganamockingsmile.“Awww,howsweet.Youcrashingourafter-party,Logan?Yeah,Igetit.Youwantatasteofwhatit’sliketobeachampion,huh?”
Logan’sansweringlaughishumorless.“Yeah,I’msofuckingjealousofyouforwinningapre-seasongame,Gordon.NowmoveasidesoIcanmakesureRamonaisallright,orGodhelpme,I’ll—”
“You’llwhat?”anotherplayerjeers.“Beatusdown?Goaheadandtry,buddy.Notevenabruiserlikeyoucantakeonfivedudesatonce.”
“Unlessit’sintheass,”someonepipesup.“Ibethelikesituptheass.”
Theotherplayerssnickerloudly,butLoganisunfazed.Heflashesapleasantsmileandsays,“Astemptingasitistobeattheshitoutofyou—allofyou—IthinkI’dratherstayoutofjailtonight.ButI’mhappytoknockoneverygoddamndoorinthisplaceuntilIfindCoachHarrison’sroom,andthenI’mgoingtoblowthewhistleonthislittlesausagepartyyou’rehavingandlethimdealwithyou.”
Keswickissmug.“He’llprobablyjoinus.Coachdoesn’tgiveashitifwegetwastedafteragame.”
“Yeah?Well,I’msurehe’llgiveashitaboutwhatyou’reshovingupyournose.”
Logantakesastepforward,andIinstinctivelytense,expectinghimtothrowapunch.ButwhathedoesistapKeswickonthesideofhisnose.DrawingmyattentiontothewhitespecksthatarecakedunderKeswick’snostrils.
Loganbareshisteethinaharshsmile.“Yourcokeisshowing,asshole.Nowgetthefuckoutofmyway.Stayouthere,Grace.”
Hechargesintotheroom,andI’mleftoutside,forcedintoastare-downwithfourverypissedoffhockeyplayers.Who,apparently,areallhoppeduponcocaine.Panicscampersupanddownmyspine,fastandincessant,anditdoesn’teaseuntilLoganreappearslessthanaminutelater.
Tomyoverwhelmingrelief,Ramonaisathisside.HercheeksarewhiterthanthecokeonKeswick’sface,hereyesredderthanthebusparkedbehindus,andsherunsintomyarmsthemomentsheseesme.
“OhmyGod,”shewhimpers,squeezingmetothepointofsuffocation.“I’msogladyou’rehere.”
“It’sokay.You’reokaynow.”Igentlystrokeherhair.“Comeon,let’sgo.”
Itrytoleadheraway,butshehalts,herdesperateeyesshootingtowardthedoorway.“Myphone,”shestammers.“Hetookit.”
ShepointsattheplayerLoganreferredtoasGordon,andagrowlripsoutofLogan’smouthashechargesbacktothedoor.“Youtookhergoddamnphone?Why?Soshewouldn’tbeabletocallforhelpwhileyoumotherfuckersgangbangedher?”
I’veneverseenLoganthisenraged.Hisblueeyesarewild,hisbroadshoulderstrembling.“Givemethephone.Now.”
TheassholesatthedoordoalittleshufflingaroundbeforeoneofthemfinallypullsRamona’siPhonefromhisbackpocket.HehurlsitatLoganwithlightningspeed,butmyboyfriendhasquickreflexes,andhecatchestheplasticcasebeforeitslapshimintheface.
“Getinthecar,”hetellsuswithoutturningaround.
I’mapprehensivetoleavehim,butRamonaisshakinglikecrazy,soIforcemyselftowalkaway.Ikeepmygazefixedonthemotelroomtheentiretime,watchingasLoganmovesincloserandhissessomethingIcan’tmakeout.Whateveritis,itcauseseverySt.Anthony’splayertoglarebloodymurderathim,butnoneofthemactontheirvolatileimpulses.Theysimplystalkbackinsideandslamthedoorbehindthem.
IslideontothemiddleseatofthepickupandRamonasettlesinbesideme,pressinghercheekagainstmyshoulder.“Iwassoscared,”shemoans.“Theywouldn’tletmegohome.”
Iforcehertobuckleup,thenwrapmyarmaroundhershoulders.“Didtheyhurtyou?”Iaskquietly.“Forceyou…?”
Sheferventlyshakesherhead.“No.Iswear.Iwasonlythereforaboutanhour,andtheyweretoobusysnortingcokeanddrinkingvodkastraightfromthebottle.Itwasn’tuntilrightbeforeIcalledyouthattheystartedpawingatmeandtryingtoconvincemetostripforthem.AndwhenItoldthemIwantedtoleave,theylockedthedoorandwouldn’tletmeout.”
Disapprovalhardensmyjaw.“God,Ramona.Whatwereyouevendoingwiththeseguys?Whywouldyouagreetohangoutwiththemonyourown?”
Anothersobfliesoutofhermouth.“Iwasn’tsupposedtobeonmyown.JessandIranintothemafterthegameandtheyinvitedustothemotel,butJesshadtomeetupwithherdealerfirst,soshegavemesomecabmoneyandsaidshe’dmeetmethere.ButfiveminutesafterIgothere,shetextedtosayshewasn’tcoming.”
Myupperarmfeelswet,andIrealizeRamona’stearshavesoakedthroughmysleeve.
“Shebailedonmeandleftmealonewiththem.Whatkindoffrienddoesthat?”
Aselfishone
Ibitemytongueandrubhershoulder,andapartofmecan’thelpbutfeelresponsibleforwhathappenedtohertonight.Iknowit’sstupidtothinkthat,butIalsoknowIcould’vepreventedthisifI’dbeenmoreofapresenceinherlife.RamonaandIhada…balance,Iguess.Sheencouragedmetobeimpulsiveandstopsecond-guessingmyself,andIencouragedhertonotbeimpulsiveandstartsecond-guessingherself.
Iforcemyselftobanishtheguilt.No.Irefusetotakeresponsibilityforthisnear-catastrophe.Ramonaisanadult.Shemadethedecisiontopartywiththoseguys,andshe’sfuckingluckythatIstillfeelsomeshredofloyaltytowardherandcametoherrescue.
Thatlastthoughtgivesmepause,asitsuddenlyoccurstomethatwhatIdidtonightisthesamethingI’vebeencriticizingLoganfordoing—helpingsomeonewhomightnotdeserveit.AllowingyearsofhistoryandlingeringloyaltytodrivemetodosomethingIdidn’tnecessarilywanttodo,butfeltIhadto.
Ijerkwhenthedriver’sdoorflingsopen,butit’sLogan,slidingbehindthewheelwithastonylook.WhenheaddressesRamona,however,histoneisinfinitelygentle.“Areyouokay?Theydidn’thurtyou?”
“No,”shesaysweakly.“I’mfine.”Sheliftsherhead,andthelookshegivesusisswimmingwithshame.“Thankyouforcomingtogetme.I’msorryifIruinedyourevening.”
“You’rewelcome,”Logananswers.“Anddon’tyoufuckingworryaboutourevening,Ramona.Theonlythingthatmattersrightnowisthatwegotyououtoftherebeforeshitgotoutofhand.”
Hisgruffwordscirclemyheartandfillitwithwarmth.God,Ilovethisguy.IknowhisopinionofRamonaisn’texactlypositive,buthestillcametoheraidtonightinspiteofthat,andIlovehimevenmoreforit.
I’mtemptedtoleaninandwhisperitinhisear.JusttellhimhowmuchIlovehim,butcourageeludesme.
Truthis,I’mwaitingforhimtosayitfirst.Idon’tknow,maybeit’sleftoverinsecuritiesfromwhathappenedinApril.Loganrejectedme,andI’msoafraidofithappeningagain.I’mafraidofbeingvulnerable,givinghimmyheart,onlytohavehimthrowitbackinmyface.
SoIstayquiet.SodoRamonaandLogan,andthedrivebacktocampusisasilentone.32
Logan
Threedaysbeforeourfirstgame,theteamfinallyclicks.It’slikesomeoneflickedaswitchfromoh-God-we-sucktowe-might-have-a-chance.Istilldon’tthinkwe’reonehundredpercentthereyet,butwe’veshownimprovementduringourpracticesthisweek,andCoachisn’tyellingatusasoften,so…progress.
Sincemidtermsareinfullswing,GraceandIhaven’tseeneachotherinafewdays,butwe’retakingabreakfromstudyingtohavedinnerwithherdadtonight.AndbecauseIhadpractice,shecabbedittoHastingswithRamona,who’svisitingherownparents.I’mstillnotsurehowIfeelaboutthemrekindlingtheirfriendship,butGracekeepsinsistingthatshewon’tletRamonagettoocloseagain,andIguessIhavetoacceptthat.Besides,afterFridaynight’ssexual-assault-waiting-to-happen,I’mfeelingalotmoresympathytowardRamona.NottomentionalotmoreragetowardSt.Anthony’s.
DidImentionwe’refacingthemintheseasonopener?Coachisn’tgonnalikeit,butI’mfairlycertainI’llbespendingalotoftimeinthesinbinthatnight.
IcheckmyphoneasIleavethearena.There’samessagefromGrace,sayingshegottoherdad’sokay.
AndamessagefromJeff,askingmetocallhimASAP.
Shit.
Jeffdoesn’tusuallythrowaroundASAPsunlessit’sserious,soIdon’twastetimecallinghimback.Ittakesfiveringsbeforeheanswers,andwhenhedoes,hesoundsagitated.
“Wherethehellhaveyoubeenthelasthour?”hedemands.
“Practice.Coachdoesn’tletusbringourphonesontheice.What’sup?”
“IneedyoutogohomeandcheckonDad.”
“Why?”Isayuneasily.
“BecauseI’matthehospitalwithKylie,andIcan’tfuckingdoitmyself.”
“Thehospital?Whathappened?Issheokay?”
“Sheslicedherhandopenmakingdinner.”Jeffsoundspanicked.“TheERdoctorsaidit’snotasbadasitlooks—she’lljustneedsomestitches.ButJesus,I’veneverseensomuchblood,Johnny.Theytookherinnow,soI’moutinthewaitingroompacinglikeacrazyperson.”
“She’llbeokay,”Iassurehim.“Trustthedoctors,allright?”ButIknowJeffwon’trelaxuntilheandKyliearewalkingoutofthatemergencyroom.Thetwoofthemhavebeenmadlyinlovesincetheywerefifteenyearsold
“WhatdoesthishavetodowithDad?”Iask.
“IwasoveratKylie’s,andhecalledwhenwewereleavingfortheER.Hewasslurringandmumblingand,Idon’tknow,hemighthavefallendown?Icouldn’tunderstandafuckingwordhewassaying,andI’monlyonefuckingperson,John.Ican’tdealwithtwoemergenciesatonce,okay?Soplease,justgohomeandmakesurehe’sallright.”
Reluctancejamsinmythroatlikeawadofgum.Christ.Idon’twanttodothat.Atall.Exceptthere’snowayIcanpickafightwithJeffrightnow,notwhenhe’sfreakingoutabouthisgirlfriendbeinginthehospital.
“I’lltakecareofit,”Isayroughly.
“Thanks.”Jeffhangsupwithoutanotherword.
Witharaggedbreath,ItextGracetoletherknowImightbelatefordinner,thenheadfortheparkinglot.
ItapmyfingersonthesteeringwheelduringtheentiredrivetoMunsen.Dreadgathersinsideme,growingandtanglinginmygutuntilitbecomesatightknotthatbringsarushofnauseatomythroat.Idon’trememberthelasttimeIhadtocleanuponeofmydad’smesses.Highschool,Iguess.OnceIleftforBriar,Jeffbecamethesolecleaner-upper.
Ikilltheengineoutsidethebungalowandapproachthefrontporchthewaythoseparanormalexpertsinthatshittymovieapproachedtheghosthouse.Wary,slowwithtrepidation.
Pleaselethimbealiveandwell.
Yup,forallmyselfishprayersaboutwantingmyfathertodie,Ican’tstomachthethoughtofwalkingintothehouseandfindinghisbody.
Iusemykeytounlockthedoor,thenstepintothedarkenedfronthall.“Dad?”Icallout.
Noanswer.
Pleaselethimbealiveandwell.
Iinchtowardthelivingroom,myheartracingamileaminute.
Pleaselethimbe—
Oh,thankChrist.He’salive.
Buthe’snotwell.Notbyalongshot.
MychestclenchessohardI’msurprisedIdon’tcrackaribortwo.Dadissprawledonthecarpet,facedownandshirtless,hischeekrestinginapoolofvomit.Onearmisflungouttotheside,theotheristuckedclosetohim—cradlingafuckingbottleofbourbonlikeit’sanewbornbaby.Jesus,hadhetriedtoprotecthispreciousalcoholduringhisdrunkentumbletotheground?
IfeelnothingasItakeinthepitifulsceneinfrontofme.Anacridodorfloatstowardme.Iwrinklemynose,almostgagwhenIrealizeit’surine.Urineandalcohol,thefragranceofmychildhood.
Apartofmewantstoturnonmyheelandwalkaway.Walkawayandnotlookback.
Instead,Ishrugoutofmyjacket,tossitonthearmchair,andcarefullyapproachmypassed-outfather.“Dad.”
Hestirs,butdoesn’tanswer.
“Dad.”
Anagonizedmoanripplesfromhisthroat.Christ,hispantsaresoakedwithpiss.Andbourbonleaksfromthebottle,stainingthebeigecarpet.
“Dad,Ineedtocheckifanything’sbroken.”Irunmyhandsoverhisbody,startingfromhisfeetandmovingupward,makingsurehedidn’tbreakanyboneswhenhefell.
Myexaminationjoltshimoutofhishaze.Hiseyelidspopopen,revealingdilatedpupilsandaforlornlookthatfracturesapieceofmyachingheart,thepartofmethatremembersidolizinghimasakid.
Hegroansinpanic.“Where’syourmother?Don’twant’ertoseemelikethis.”
Crack.Theregoesanothershardofmyheart.Atthisrate,mychestwillbeahollowcavernbythetimeIleavehere.
“She’snothome,”Iassurehim.ThenIsnakemyhandsunderhisarmpitssoIcanprophimintoasittingposition.
Helooksdazed.Ihonestlydon’tthinkheknowswhereheisorwhoIam.“Shewentgroceryshopping?”heslurs
“Yeah,”Ilie.“Shewon’tbehomeforhours.Plentyoftimetogetyoucleanedup,okay?”
He’sswayinglikecrazy,andhe’snotevenonhisfeet.Thecombinedstenchofvomit,alcoholandpissmakesmyeyeswater.Ormaybethat’snotwhythey’rewatering.MaybeI’monthevergeoftearsbecauseI’mabouttohaulmyownfatherinafiremanholdandhelphimtakeashower.AndthenI’mgoingtodresshimasifhe’sagoddamntoddlerandtuckhimintobed.Maybethat’swhymyeyesarestinging.
“Don’ttell’eraboutthis,Jeffy.She’sgonnabesomadatme.Don’twant’ertobemadatme.Don’twannawakeupJohnny…”Hestartsmumblingincoherently.
It’shardtobreatheasIliftthestinking,blubberingmessthatismyfatherintomyarmsandcarryhimtothebathroomattheendofthehall.Onlyonethoughtrunsthroughmyhead.
Mybrotherisasaint.
He’sagoddamnsaint.
He’sbeendoingthis,dayinanddayout,sinceIleftforBriar.He’sbeenmoppingupmydad’svomit,andrunningtheshop,andtakingcareofshitwithoutasinglecomplaint.
God,whatiswrongwithme?FucktheNHL.Jeffdeservesthechancetogetoutforawhile.Totravelwithhisgirlfriendandliveanormallifethatdoesn’tinvolvestrippinghisownfathernakedandliftinghimintotheshower.
Mylungsareburningnow,becausecoldrealityhassunkin.JesusChrist.Thisismyfuture.Inlessthanayear,thiswillbemyfull-timejob.
I’veneverhadapanicattackbefore.I’mnotsurewhattheyinvolve.Out-of-controlheartbeat—isthatasymptom?Cold,clammyhandsthatwon’tstopshaking?Awindpipethatwon’tletasingleburstofairthrough?Becauseallthosethingsarehappeningtomerightnow,andit’sscaringtheshitoutofme.
“Johnny?”Dadblinksasthehotwatersprayshishead,plasteringhisdarkhairtohisforehead.“When’dyagethere?”Hestaggersinthetiledstall,hisgazedartinginalldirections.“Lemmegetyouabeer.Haveabeerwithyouroldman.”
Ialmostthrowup.
Okay,yeah.IthinkImightbehavingapanicattack.
I’mthreehourslatetopickupGrace.
MyphonediedwhenIwasinMunsen,andIdon’thavehernumbermemorizedbecauseit’sstoredinmyphone,soIcouldn’tevencallherfromthelandlinetoletherknowI’dbelate.
Mypanichassubsided.Somewhat.OrmaybeI’vegonenumb.AllIknowisthatIneedtoseemygirlfriend.Ineedtoholdheranddrawwarmthfromherbody,becausegoddamn,Ifeellikeablockoficerightnow.
TheporchlightisonwhenIparkinherfather’sdriveway,buttheyellowglowjustignitesasparkofguilt.It’spastteno’clock.I’msofuckinglate,andshe’shadtowaitaroundforhours.
Practice,acynicalvoicetaunts.Forallthetimesshe’llhavetodoitnextyear
Mylungsseize.Jesus.It’strue.HowmanytimeswillsomethinglikethishappenonceI’minMunsenfull-time?HowmanyplanswillIbelatefororhavetocancelaltogether?
Howlongbeforeshedumpsmyassforit?
IpushasidethefearfulnotionasIringthebell.Grace’sdadanswersthedoor,afrownpuckeringhismouthwhenheseesme.
“Hi.”Myvoiceishoarse,linedwithregret.“I’msorryIcouldn’tmakeittodinner,sir.Iwould’vecalled,butmyphonediedandI…”No.NowayamItellinghimwhatIwasforcedtoenduretonight.“Anyway,I’mheretotakeGracebacktocampus.”
“Shealreadyleft,”Mr.Iverssaysruefully.“Ramona’smotherdrovethemback.”
Disappointmentcrashesintome.“Oh.”
“Graciewaitedaslongasshecouldforyou…”Anotherfrown,aclearrebuke.“Butsheneededtogohomeandstudy.”
Shamefunnelsdownmythroat.Ofcourseshewaited.Andofcoursesheleft.
“Ah…okay.”Iswallow.“IguessI’llheadhomethen.”
BeforeIcango,Mr.Iversasks,“What’sgoingon,John?”
Theacheinmychestgetsworse.“Nothing.It’snothing,sir.I,uh…hadafamilyemergency.”
Helooksconcerned.“Iseverythingallright?”
Inod.
ThenIshakemyhead.
ThenInodagain.
Christ,makeupyourfuckingmind
“Everything’sfine,”Ilie.
“No,it’snot.You’rewhiteasasheet.Andyoulookexhausted.”Hesoftenshistone.“Tellmewhat’swrong,son.MaybeIcanhelp.”
Myfacecollapses.Ohshit.Ohfuck,why’dhehavetocallmeson?Thestinginmyeyesisunbearable.Mythroatsqueezesshut.
Ineedtogetoutofhere.
“Whydon’tyoucomein?”heurges.“We’llsitdown.I’llmakesomecoffee.”Awrysmileliftshislips.“I’dofferyousomethingstronger,butyou’restillaminor,andIhaveastrictruleaboutgivingalcoholto—”
Iloseit.
Ijust.Fucking.Loseit.
Yup,Ibawllikeanhonest-to-Godbaby,rightthereinfrontofGrace’sfather.
Hefreezes.
Onlyforamoment,andthenhespringsforwardandputshisarmsaroundme.HetrapsmeinahugIcan’tescapefrom,asolidwallofcomfortIfindmyselfsagginginto.I’msogoddamnembarrassed,butIcan’tfightthetearsanymore.IheldthembackinMunsen,butthepanicisback,andsoisthefear,andGrace’sfathercalledmeson,andholyhell,I’mamess.
I’matotalfuckingmess.33
Grace
ThemomentIfinishwritingmyAbnormalPsychologymidterm,IraceoutofthelecturehalllikeI’mtryingtooutrunaforestfire.
Myfatherisnotthekindofmanwhooverreactsordabblesinmelodrama.He’sincrediblylevelheadedandannoyinglystraightforward,buthehastheinfuriatingtendencytodownplayacrisisinsteadofadmittingwhenshithashitthefan.SowhenhephonedmethismorningandcasuallysuggestedthatIshouldcheckinonmyboyfriendtoday,Iimmediatelyknewsomethingwaswrong.
Actually,Iknewitevenbeforethephonecall.TheapologetictextLogansentmelastnighthadtriggeredmyconcern,butwhenI’dpushedhim,heinsistedthateverythingwasokay,claiminghehadtostaywithhisdadlongerthanhe’danticipated.He’dalsomadesuretoreiteratethathewastrulysorryfornotmakingittodinnerorbeingabletodrivemehome.
Iwenttobedunabletofightthegnawingsuspicionthatsomethingbadhadhappened,andnow,combinedwiththevagueheadsupfrommyfather,I’mcertainofit.WhichiswhyIopttocabittoLogan’shouseinsteadofwalkingortakingthebus.Iwanttoseehimassoonaspossible,beforethecrushingworryI’mfeelingstartsflashingworst-casescenariosinmyhead.
AsIsettleinthebackseatofthetaxi,IpulloutmyphoneandtextLogan
Me:I’monmywaytoyourplace.
Nearlyaminutegoesbybeforeherespondswith:Don’tknowifthat’sagoodidea,babe.I’minalousymood.
Me:Fine.ThenI’llcheeruup.
Him:Notsureifucan.
Me:Stillgonnatry.
Ituckmycellawayandbitemylip,wishingIknewwhatwasgoingonwithhim.Obviouslyithassomethingtodowithhisvisithomelastnight,butwhatthehellhadhappened?
Aburstofangergoesoffinsideme.I’mrunningoutofsympathyforLogan’sfather.Ireallyam,andit’smakingmequestionhowgoodofatherapistI’mgoingtobe.Granted,Idon’tplanonspecializinginaddictionissues,butwhatdoesitsayaboutmethatIcan’tfeelanycompassionforLogan’salcoholicfather?
Fuck,andnowisnotthetimetobesecond-guessingmycareerpath.I’monlyequippedtodealwithonecrisisatatime.
ThecabdriverhastostopatthecurbinfrontofLogan’shousebecausethedrivewayisfull.Logan’spickupandGarrett’sJeepareside-by-side,withDean’ssportysomething-or-otherandHannah’sborrowedToyotabehindthem.
WhenIringthebell,itisn’tLoganwholetsmein,butTucker.Agrooveofdismaydigsintohisforeheadasheclosesthedoorbehindme.
“Areyouguysinafightorsomething?”heasksinalowvoice.
“No.”Isuddenlyfeelcold.“Didhesaywewere?”
“No,buthe’sbeenrudeandbitchyallmorning.Deanthoughtmaybethetwoofyouwerefighting.”
“We’renot,”Isayfirmly.Thenanunnervingthoughtoccurstome.“Hashebeendrinking?”
“Ofcoursenot.It’sone-thirtyintheafternoon.”Tuckersoundsconfused.“He’supstairs.LastIchecked,hewasworkingonhismarketingmidterm.”
Hisanswerrelievesme,butI’mnotsurewhy.Loganhastoldmeonnumerousoccasionsthathedoesn’tdrinkwhenhe’supset.Iknowhe’safraidhemighthaveinheritedhisfather’saddictivetendencies,andsuddenlyIfeellikeajerkforaskingTuckerthatquestioninthefirstplace.
“I’llgoupandtalktohim.Maybehe’lltellmewhat’sbugginghim.”
IleaveTuckerinthefronthallandheaduptoLogan’sroom,whereIexperienceanotherrushofrelief.
Helooksokay.Shortdarkhairlooksthesame.Blueeyesarealert.SexymusclesripplingbeneathhissweatsandT-shirt.Therearenooutwardsignsofinjury,butwhenourgazeslock,there’saworldofpaininhisexpression.
“Hey,”Isaysoftly,walkingovertogivehimakiss.“What’sgoingon?”
Hislipsbrushmine,butthekisslackshisusualwarmth.“Yourdadcalledyou,huh?”hesayswryly.
“Yep.”
Ashadowcrosseshiseyes.“What’dhesay?”
“Hardlyanything.Hetoldmeyoustoppedbylastnight,thathegotthesenseyouwereupset,andthatIshouldcheckonyou.”Isearchhisface.“WhathappenedinMunsen?”
“Nothing.”
“Logan.”
“Itwasnothing,babe.”Heletsoutatiredbreath.“Oratleast,nothingoutoftheordinary.”
Itakehishand.God,it’slikeice.Whateverwentdownlastnight,he’sstillexhibitingtheeffectsofit.
“Sitdown.”Ihavetoforciblytughispowerfulbodybesidemeonthebed,butevenafterhesubmits,hestaresstraightaheadinsteadofmeetingmyeyes.“Willyoupleasetellmewhathappened?”
“Jesus.Whatdoesitmatter?”
“Becauseitmatters,John.”Istarttofeelaggravated.“Clearlyyou’reupsetaboutit,andIthinkit’llhelpifyoutalkaboutit.”
Hisbitterlaughterechoesbetweenus.“Talkingaboutitwon’tachieveadamnthing.Butfine.Youwanttoknowwhathappenedlastnight?Isawmyfuture,that’swhathappened.”
Iflinchatthesharpnessofhistone.“Whatdoyoumean?”
“ImeanIsawmyfuckingfuture.Itraveledforwardintime,IgotavisitfromtheGhostofChristmasFuture—howelsedoyouwantmetophraseit,Grace?”
Myspinestiffens.“Youdon’thavetobesarcastic.Igetit.”
“No,youdon’t.Youdon’tgetit.IhavenolifeafterIgraduate.Nofuture.ButI’mdoingitformybrother,becauseJeffhasdealtwithitforalmostfouryearsnow.Andnowit’smyturn,andIdon’tfuckinglikeit,butI’mgoingtosuckitupandmovebackhome,becausehe’smygoddamnfatherandheneedsmyhelp.”
Hishoarseoutburstcracksmyheartintwo.
“Iknowwhatit’lldotome,”hecontinues,soundingmoreandmoredespondent.“Iknowit’llmakememiserableandI’llprobablygrowtohatemydad,andI’lleventuallyloseyou—”
“What?”Iinterruptinshock.“Whatmakesyouthinkyou’llloseme?”
Helooksmyway,hisblueeyesfilledwithregret.“Becauseyou’llwakeuponedayandrealizeyoudeservebetter.Don’tyousee?Lastnightwasapreviewofwhatit’sgoingtobelike.We’llhaveplans,butI’llenduphavingtoworklate,ormydadwillgetwastedandfalldownthestairs,andthenI’llhavetocancelonyou,orworse,keepyouwaitinglikeIdidlastnight.Howlongdoyouthinkyou’llputupwiththat?”
Disbeliefhurtlesthroughme.“YouhonestlythinkI’mgoingtobreakupwithyoubecauseyoumightbelateacoupletimes?”
Logandoesn’trespond,buthisstonyexpressiontellsmethatyes,hedoesbelievethat.
“Doesn’tyourbrotherhaveagirlfriendhe’sbeenwithforever?”Ipointout.
“Kylie,”hemumbles.
“Well,didKyliebreakupwithhim?No,shedidn’t.Becausesheloveshim,andshe’swillingtostandbyhimnomatterwhat.”I’mangrynow.SoangryIshoottomyfeet,fightingtheurgetosmacksomesenseintohim.“SowhatmakesyouthinkIwon’tstandbyyou?”
Hissilenceirksthelivingfuckoutofme.
“Youknowwhat,John?Screwyou.”Istruggletocontrolmybreathing.“Clearlyyoudon’tknowmeatallifyouthinkI’mthekindofpersonwhowouldgiveuponarelationshipthemomentithitsafewobstacles.”
Hefinallyanswers,hisvoicelowandsullen.“Canwepleasenottalkaboutthisanymore?”
Un-fucking-believable.
Igapeathim,unabletofathomwhatI’mhearing.Andunabletolistentoitforevenasecondlonger.
“You’reright.Wewon’ttalkaboutitanymore.”IgrabmypursefromwhereIdroppeditonthefloorandslingthestrapovermyshoulder.“BecauseI’mleaving.”
Thatgetshisattention.Frowning,heslowlyrisestohisfeet.“Grace—”
Icuthimoff.“No.I’mnotlisteningtothisbullshitanymore.I’mgoingtoleaveyoutoyoursulking,andmaybewhenyou’refinishedwithyourone-manpityparty,wecanactuallyhavearationalconversation.”I’mspittingmadasImarchtowardthedoor.“Andjustincasemyreactiontoyouridiocydidn’tmakeitclearwhereIstandwithus,thenletmespellitoutforyou.”Iwhirlaroundtoscowlathim.“Iloveyou,youstupidjackass.”
ThenIstormoutofhisroomandslamthedoorbehindme.
*
Logan
Ittakesmemuch,muchlongerthanitshouldtosnapoutoftheshockedtranceI’vefalleninto.Mymouthkeepsopeningandclosing,myeyelidsblinkingatarapidpaceasIstareatthedoorGracejusttoreoutof.
She’sabsolutelyright.Iamajackass.AndIdiddoubthercommitmenttoourrelationship.And—
Wait.Shelovesme?
Mymouthopensagain.Andstaysopen.Agape,infact,becauseherlastwordshavefinallyregisteredinmyextremelyidioticbrain.Shelovesme.EvenafterIindictedherforahypotheticalfuturebreak-upandprettymuchtoldhershewasgoingtodesertmewhenthegoinggetstough,shestilltoldmeshelovedme.
AndIletherwalkaway.
Whatthehellisthematterwithme?
Iboltoutofmyroomandtakethestairstwoatatime.There’snowayGracecouldhavecalledacabormadeittothebusstopyet,whichmeansshe’sprobablyonthefrontstoopornearingtheendofthestreet.WhichmeansIcanstillcatchher.
Iskidintothefronthalllikeagoddamncartooncharacter,onlytofreezewhenIfindGarrettatthedoor.ThenIhearacarenginefromoutside,andmyhearthitsthefloorlikeasackofbricks.
“Hannah’sdrivingherhome,”Garrettsaysquietly.
Icurseinfrustration,flingingopenthedoorintimetoseetheretreatingtaillightsofHannah’scar.Damnit.
Ispinaroundandhurrybackupstairs,whereIgrabmyphoneanddialGrace’snumber.Afteritgoesstraighttovoicemail,Ishootoffaquicktext.
Me:Baby,pleasecomeback.I’msuchanass.Needtomakethisright.
There’salongdelay.Fiveseconds.Ten.Andthenshetextsback.
Her:Ineedsometimetodigestyourstupidity.I’llcalluwhenI’mreadytotalk.
Damnit.Idragbothhandsovermyscalp,fightingtheurgetostranglemyselftodeath.WhydoIalwaysscrewupwhenitcomestothisgirl?
Footstepsechointhehallway,andwhenGarrettappears,Istifleanothercurse.“Ican’tdealwithalecturerightnow,man.Ireallycan’t.”
“Wasn’tgonnalectureyou.”Heshrugs.“Justwantedtoseeifyou’reokay.”
Isinkdownontheedgeofthebed,slowlyshakingmyhead.“Notintheslightest.Ifuckedupagain.”
“Damnrightyoudid.”Mybestfriendpropshiselbowagainstthewallandsighs.“WellsyandIheardherreamingyouout.”
“Ithinkthewholeneighborhoodheardit,”comesTucker’svoice.Heentersmyroomandleansagainstthedresser.“ExceptmaybeDean,butthat’sbecausehe’sballs-deepinapuckbunnydowninthelivingroom.”
Igroan.“Seriously?Whycan’theeverfuckinhisroom?”
“Dowereallywanttodiscussthatperv’ssexlife?”Tuckcounters.“BecauseIdon’tthinkthatshouldbeatthetopofyourprioritylistrightnow.”
Hemakesagoodpoint.Atthemoment,myonlypriorityisfixingthingswithGrace.
Christ,Ishouldn’thavespewedallthatbullshit.Ihadn’tevenmeantit,atleastnotthepartaboutherbreakingupwithme.Thatwasmyfeartalking.Andshe’sright—Iwashavingapityparty.Iwassofreakedoutabouteverythingthathappenedwithmydadlastnight,nottomentioneverythingthathappenedafterward.WhenIcriedinherfather’sarms.
Icriedinherfather’sarms
Iletoutanothergroan.“WhatifIlostherforgoodthistime?”
GarrettandTuckerinstantlyshaketheirheads.“Youdidn’t,”Garrettassuresme.
“Howcanyoubesosureofthat?”
“Becauseshetoldyoushelovesyou.”
“Youstupidjackass,”Tuckeraddswithagrin.
Iloveyou,youstupidjackass.Notthewordsamanwantstohear.Thefirstthree,sure.Thelastthree?Pass.
“HowdoIfixthis?”Iask,sighing.
“Quick.Writeheranotherpoem,”Garrettsuggests.
Iscowlathim.
“No,IthinkG’sontosomething,”Tucksays.“Ithinktheonlywaytosavethisistobustoutanothergrandgesture.Whatelsewasonherlist?”
“Nothing,”Imoan.“Idideverythingonthelist.”
Tuckershrugs.“Thencomeupwithsomethingelse.”
Agrandgesture?I’maguy,damnit.Ineeddirection.“IsWellsycomingbackhere?”IaskGarrett.
Hesmirksatmypleadingtone.“Evenifsheis,I’mnotlettingyoupickherbrain.You’regonnahavetofixthisoneallonyourown.”
There’sapause,andthen…
“Youstupidjackass,”myfriendssayinunison.34
Grace
I’mstillfumingasIwalkintothemediabuildingseveralhoursafterstormingoutofLogan’shouse.NormallyIdon’tstayangryforlong,butthistimeI’mhavingtroubleexpellingthevolatileenergycoursinginsideme.Ican’tbelieveheactuallythinksI’lldumphimoncehe’sinMunsenfull-time.ThatI’llthrowhimawaylikeanoldbusted-uptoyandfindsomethingshinyandnewtoplaywith.
Jerk.
WhenIburstintothestation,IspotMorrisintheproducer’sbooth,balancingthetelephonehandsetonhisshoulderashejotssomethingdownonanotepad.Ifrown,noticingthatPaceandEvelynarealreadyintheirseatsintheotherbooth.Pacesnapshisearphonesoverthebackwardbaseballcaponhishead,whileEvelynbendsoverasheetofpaperinconcentration.
AmIlate?Iglanceattheclockonthefarwall.Nope.I’mearly,actually.SowhyisMorrisinmybooth?
Itakeastepforward,onlytohaltwhenDaisywandersoutofthebackcorridor.Shepushesherbangsoffherforehead—they’reneon-bluenow—andgrinssheepishlywhensheseesme.
“Hey,”Igreetmyroommate.“Whatareyoudoinghere?”Shedoesn’tusuallyhangoutatthestationunlessshe’ssupposedtohostorproduce,andIknowforafactshe’sscheduledtodoneithertoday.
“Hey.”Forsomereason,shelooksalmost…guilty.“Ijustpoppedintodropoffcoffeeforeveryone.”
“Sincewhenareyouthestationgofer?”Inarrowmyeyes.“Yourshirtisinsideout.”Ipause.“Andbackwards.”
Sheglancesathertanktop,wincingwhenshenoticesthetagstickingoutfromhercollarbone.Thenhereyesflittowardtheproducer’sbooth.
Ifollowhergaze,gaspingwhenIfindMorrisgrinningatus.“Holyshit.YouandMorrisarehookingup?”
Daisysighs.“Maybe.”
MyangeratLoganismomentarilyeclipsedbyhernews.OurschedulesaresohecticthatDaisyandIarehardlyeverinourroomatthesametime,whichworksoutgreatforwhenIwantprivacy,butitalsomeansImissoutongirltalkandup-to-dategossip.
“Sincewhen?”Isquealinexcitement.
“Acoupleweeksnow?”Sheshrugs.“Ididn’ttellyoubecausewe’vebothbeensobusy.You’recoolwithit,though,right?”
“Ofcourse.Whywouldn’tIbe?”
“Youknow,becauseyouandMorriswentout.”
Ilaugh.“Once.Andmybehaviourdidn’texactlywarrantaseconddate.Ithinkthisisawesome.Youtotallyjustmademyday—andtrustme,mydayhasbeenshit,soitreallyneededtobemade.”
“Ohno.Whathappened?”
Mybadmoodreturnslikeanunwantedrash.“IgotinafightwithLogan.Andthat’sallI’msayingonthesubject,becauseifItalkaboutitrightnow,it’lljustpissmeoffagainandthenI’llbetoodistractedtoproduceDumbandDumber’sshow.”
Webothglanceatthemainbooth,whereEvelynisusingthereflectiononherwaterglasstocheckhermakeup,dabbingdelicatelyathereyeshadow.Paceisengrossedwithhisphone,hischairtippedbacksofarthatIpredictaverylouddisasterinthenearfuture.
“God,Ilovethem,”Daisysayswithasnicker.“Idon’tthinkI’veevermettwomoreself-absorbedpeople.”
Morrissauntersoutoftheboothandwandersovertous.HenoticesDaisy’sshirtandsays,“Sweetheart,we’reatwork.Showsomedecorum.”
“Saystheguywhorippedthisshirtoffmeinthesupplycloset.”Rollinghereyes,shetakesastepaway.“I’mgoingtomakemyselfpresentableinthebathroom.I’ddoitouthere,butI’mscaredDumbermighttakeapictureandpostitonapornsite.”
“Wait,thenamesDumbandDumberactuallycorrespondtoeachofthem?”Morrissaysinsurprise.“Ithoughtitwasmoreofageneralthing.WhichoneisDumber?”
Thesecondthequestionleaveshismouth,amuffledcrashreverberatesfromthebooth,andweallturntoseePacetangleduponthefloor.Yup,theguywhospentanhourregalingmeabouthiscow-tippingdaysbackinIowa?Tippedhimselfrightover.
Frombehindtheglass,Pacebouncestohisfeet,noticesusstaring,andmouthsthewords,“I’mokay!”
Morrissighs.“Iwithdrawthequestion.”
AsDaisyleavestofixhershirt,Morriscasuallyfollowsmetotheboothdoor.“Firstcaller’salreadyonhold,”hetellsme.“Iscreenedherandwroteherinfoonthesheet.”
Myforeheadcreases.“DidyouopenthelinesbeforeIgothere?”
Hewearsasheepishlook.“Notonpurpose.Iwascallingmydadandpressedthewrongbutton,andthenthephonerangandIwasalreadyintheresoItookthecaller’sinfo.She’sgotanurgentG-spotquestionforEvelyn,sothisshouldbeinteresting.”
“Isn’titalways?”Isaywithagrin.
Itakemyseatandconductmypre-showcheck.Theblinkinglightsonthephonetellmetherearemorecallerswaitingtobescreened.Ichatwiththefirstone,verifyhismotives,thensendhimbackonhold.I’mabouttoscreenthenextonewhenPaceandEvelynkickofftheshow.
“What’sup,broskis!”Pacegreetstheradioaudience.“You’relisteningtoWhatchaNeedwithPace’NEvelyn.”
Cringing,Evelynleansintohermicrophone.“Beforewestart,I’dliketoaskeveryonetospeakintheirindoorvoicestoday,becauseIamcurrentlysportingabrutalhang-over.”Sheglaresatherco-host.“I’mtalkingtoyou,asswipe.”
Andsoitbegins.
“Let’schatwithourfirstcaller,”Pacesayscheerfully.“Whowetalkingtorightnow?”
SinceI’mnoteagertolistentoEvelyntalkaboutG-spots,Ileanforwardtotakeanothercall,onlytofreezeinmychairwhenafamiliarvoicewaftsoutofthespeakeroverthedoor.
“Hey,thisisLogan.”
Mypulsespeedsup.
OhGod.
Whatthehellishedoing?
“Telluswhatchaneed,myman.”
Myboyfriendaudiblyclearshisthroat.“Well,here’sthething,Pace.AndEvelyn—hey,Evelyn,femaleopiniondefinitelyappreciated.I’mhopingyouguyscangivemesomeadviceonhowtowinmygirlback.”
Pacechucklesintothemic.“Oooohboy.Someonefoundthemselvesinthedoghouse?”
“Big-time,”Loganconfirms.
“What’dyoudotopissoffyourlady?Weneedthedeetsbeforewedispensethewisdom.”
EveryinchofmetensesasIawaitLogan’sresponse.God.Ican’tbelievehe’sabouttoairourdirtylaundryonthisstupidcampusshow.
“Longstoryshort?Iprojectedmyownfearsandinsecuritiesonher,andmadesomepresumptionsthatIprobablyshouldn’t—”
“Gonnastopyourightthere,broski,”Pacesays,rubbinghisscruffybeardgrowthindismay.“Youjustthrewaroundalotofbigwords.How’boutyoudumbitdownforus—Imean,forpeepswhomightnotbegoodwiththeEnglishlanguage.ShoutouttoallourESLlistenersoutthere!”
Alaughripsoutofmythroat.Oh,Pace.Neverchange.
Logansoundslikehe’stryingnottolaughasherephraseshimself.“Bottomline?Iscrewedup.IsaidsomestupidshitIdidn’tmean,itpissedheroff,andshestormedoff.”
Pacesighs.“Bitchesbecray.”
“Hey,Logan?”Evelyndrawls.
“Yeah?”
“Yousoundhot.Areyousureyouevenwantthischick?BecauseI’mfreetonightifyou’reinterested.”
Astrangledcoughfillstheairwaves.“Um.Uh,thanksfortheoffer.Butyeah,Iwanther.”Hepauses.“I’minlovewithher.”
Myheartsoarslikeakiteinthewind.He’sinlovewithme?
Thenitsinkslikeastone.Wait.Whatifhe’sonlysayingitbecauseIsaidIlovedhim?
“I’vebeeninlovewithherforafewmonthsnow,”hecontinues,andhishuskyconfessionre-inflatesmyheart.“Ididn’ttellherbecauseIdidn’twanttoscareheroffbysayingittoosoon.”
“Dude,youshould’vetoldher.”
I’mstartledbyPace’searnestresponse.Touched,even.Atleastuntilhefinishesthatsentence.
“Ifyousayitrightoffthebat,theydroptheirpantiessuper-fast.Meansyoudon’thavetoputasmuchworkintobaggingthem.”
“Uh-huh,”Logansaysasifhe’sinagreement,butI’veknownhimlongenoughtobeabletopickuponhissarcasm.“Anyway,thisgirl…she’stheloveofmylife.She’ssmartandfunnyandunbelievablycompassionate.Sheforgivespeopleevenwhentheydon’tdeserveit.She—”
“Goodlay?”Paceinterrupts.
“Ohyeah.Thebest.”
God,mycheeksareonfirenow.
“Butthesexisjusticing,”Logansayssoftly.“It’severythingelsethatmattersmost.”
Ashadowcrossesmyperipheralvision.IturnmyheadexpectingtoseeDaisyorMorrisontheothersideoftheglassdoor.
MybreathhitcheswhenmygazelockswithLogan’s.He’sonhiscellphone,wearingfadedjeansandhishockeyjacket,andhisblueeyesshinewithsincerity.
Ouresteemedhostsnoticehimaswell,andagaspechoesintheair.
“Wait—we’vebeentalkingtoJohnLogan?”Evelynshrieks.
“Wait—you’retalkingaboutGretchen?”Paceexclaims,hisgazedartinglikeaPing-PongballfrommetoLogan.
“No,I’mtalkingaboutGrace,”Logansays,smilingatmethroughtheglass.“GraceElizabethIvers.ThewomanIlove.”
Idon’tknowwhethertostanduponmychairandshoutout“Iloveyoutoo,”orhideunderthedeskinembarrassment.Big,publicdisplaysfreakmeout.IfIownedacloakofinvisibility,I’dweariteverytimeabirthdayorsomeothermajoreventrolledaround,becauseIhate,hate,hatebeingthecenterofattention.
ButIcan’ttearmyeyesoffLogan.Ican’tbreathe,ormove,orformasinglethoughtotherthanHelovesme
“Anyway,I’mhangingupnow,”Logantellsthehosts.“I’mprettysureIcantakeitfromhere.”
Thelinecutsoff,andIshootapanickyglanceattheswitchboard.Shit.Theshowisstillontheair.I’msupposedtoputonthenextcaller.
Tomyrelief,Morrisappears,givingLoganafriendlythumponthearmashehurriesintotheproducer’sbooth.“Go,”Morrisorders.“I’llcovertherestoftheshow.”
“Areyousure?”
Hegrins.“Thatwasalwaystheplan.Whodoyouthinkscreenedthecall,Gretch?”Hepointstothedoor.“Go.”
Idon’tneedtobetoldtwice.
IhurryoutoftheboothandthrowmyarmsaroundLogan’sstrongshoulders.“Icannotbelieveyoujustdidthat,”Iblurtout.
Ashislaughterticklesthetopofmyhead,hisarmsslidedowntomyhips,largehandscurlingaroundmywaist.“IfigurednothingshortofagrandgesturewouldconvinceyouhowshittyIfeelaboutwhathappenedearlier.”
Ipullback,tippingmyheadtomeethisgorgeouseyes.“Youshouldfeelshitty,”Ichastise.“Ican’tbelieveyousaidallthatstuff.Idon’tplanoneverbreakingupwithyou.”
“Good.BecauseI’mneverbreakingupwithyou.”Hebringsonehandtomycheek,strokingitwithinfinitetenderness.“Actually,IthinkI’mgoingtomarryyouoneday.”
Shockjoltsthroughme.“What?”
“Oneday,”herepeatswhenheseesmyexpression.“Imeanit,Grace,I’minthisforthelonghaul.YoustillhavetwoyearsleftatBriar,andI’llbeinMunsenduringthattime,butIpromiseyou,I’llcomeseeyouasoftenasIcan.EveryavailablesecondIhavewillbeyours.”Hisvoicethickens.“I’myours.”
Iswallowalumpofemotion.“DidyoureallymeanwhatyoutoldPacejustnow?”
“Youmean…thatIloveyou?”
Inod.
“Imeanteverydamnword,gorgeous.”Hehesitates.Visiblyswallows.“Hannahwastryingtodescribelovetomelastsemester.Shesaiditfeelslikeyourheartisabouttooverflow,andthatwhenyoulovesomeone,youneedthemmorethananythingelseintheworld,morethanfoodorwaterorair.That’showIfeelaboutyou.Ineedyou.Ican’tstandthethoughtofbeingwithoutyou.”Hereleasesashakybreath.“You’rethelastpersonIthinkaboutbeforeIgotosleep,andthefirstpersonIthinkaboutwhenIopenmyeyesinthemorning.You’reitforme,baby.”
Theheartfeltwordsunleashafloodofwarmthinsideme,butdespitethat,Ican’thelpbutgazeathimwithprofoundsorrow.“Whatabouteverythingyousaidearlier…aboutyourfuture,andhowyou’regoingtobemiserableandhateyourlife…”Ibitemylowerlip.“Idon’twantthattohappen,Logan.Idon’twantyoutoturnbitter,andhateful,and…”Itrailoff.
Hisfingerstrembleagainstmycheek.“Iwon’t.Oratleast,I’lltrynotto.It’sgoingtosuck,Grace.Webothknowthat,butIpromisenottoletitdestroyme,orus.”Acrackwobbleshisvoice.“Anditwon’tbeforever,justuntilJeffcomesbackandtakesoveragain.Thenextfewyears,it’llprobablyfeellikeI’mwanderingaroundinapitch-blacktunnel,butthereisalightattheendofit.Andaslongasyou’rewithme,there’llbealightinsideofit,too.Withoutyou,it’lljustbedarkness.”
Iburstoutlaughing,andahurtexpressionfillshiseyes.
“Youthinkthat’sfunny?”hesayssadly.
“No,Iwasthinkingit’sadamnshameyoudidn’tputeverythingyoujustsaidintothepoemyouwroteme.”
Atentativesmileliftshismouth.“Youlikedthat,huh?”
“Ilovedit.”Myheartconstricts.“Iloveyou.”
Thesmilewidens.“EvenafterIactedlikeastupidjackasstoday?”
“Yep.”
“EventhoughI’llprobablyactlikeastupidjackassagain?BecauseIcan’tpromisenotto.ApparentlyI’mhopelesswhenitcomestorelationships.”
“No,you’renot.”Ieaseuponmytiptoesandkissthecornerofhisjaw.“You’reabitinept,sure.Butyou’realsoridiculouslytalentedwhenitcomestoromanticgestures,soifyouscrewupagain,I’mninetypercentsureyou’llbeabletowinmeback.”
“Onlyninetypercent?”Helooksupset.
“Well,itdependshowbadlyyouscrewup.Imean,ifit’spickingafightwithmelikeyoudidtoday,thenobviouslywe’llbeabletoworkthroughit.ButifI’moveratyourhouseandIgodowntothebasementandfindaserialkillerlair?Nopromises.”
“JesusChrist,whatisyourobsessionwithserialkillers?”Hegrins.“Hey,thatshouldbeyourspecialty.Profilingkillers.”
Damn.Notabadidea.
Idecidetoputapininthat,thenloopmyarmsaroundhisneckagain.“Question.”
Hiseyestwinkle.“Hitme.”
“Canwekissnow,orareyoustillgroveling?”
“Dependsonwhethermygirlfriendrequiresmoregroveling.”
“Nope.Irequirethis.”Icupthebackofhisheadandyankhismouthdownonmine.
Thekissis…magic.It’salwaysmagicwhenwe’retogether.Asourtonguesmeetinarecklesstangle,mymindspinsandmybodysings.
“Loveyou,Johnny,”Imurmurintohislips.
Hislaughterwarmsmyface.Thenhebrusheshismouthovermineandwhispers,“Loveyoutoo,gorgeous.”35
Logan
Thenextmorning,IwakeupwithGracesnuggledupbesideme,andit’sthebestfuckingfeelinginthewholefuckingworld.Shesleptatmyplacelastnight,andwestayedupuntilfoura.m.,alternatingbetweentalking,cuddling,andhavingsex.Andnotthehollow,meaninglesskindI’vebeenindulginginsinceIstartedcollege.SexwithGracemeanssomething.Itdoesn’tmakemefeelhollow,butfull.BrimmingwithemotionsIcan’tevengivelabelsto.
Gracestirsinmyarms,andIabsentlytoywithastrandofherhair,twirlingitaroundmyfingers.
“Morning,”shesays,yawningassheliftsherhead.
“Morning.”
“Whattimeisit?”
“Ten-thirty.”
“Ohno.Wesleptin?Don’tyouhavepractice?”
“Notforafewhours.”
“Oh,okay,good.Westayedupwaytoolatelastnight.”
Shehopsoutofbedandstartssearchingtheroomforherclothes.Igrin,becauseI’mtheoneresponsibleforwhyherpantsareflungontopofthedresserandwhyherlacypantiesarescrunchedupinaballacrosstheroom.Sosueme.Grovelingmakesmehorny.
“IsitcoolifIinviteMorrisandDaisytothegametomorrow?”Sheeasesherpantiesuphersmooth,barelegs,andI’msodistractedbythesightthatIforgetwhatsheaskedananosecondaftersheasksit.
Mycockhardensbeneaththesheets,tentingupasiftryingtogetGrace’sattention.Shesighswhenshenoticesthecampsiteonthebed.
“Iswear,you’vegotsexonthebraineverysecondoftheday.”
“Prettymuch,”Iagree,thenwagglemyeyebrows.“Whyareyougettingdressed?Wouldn’tyourathercomehereandsitonmydick?”
Sherollshereyes.“Sure,ifyouwantmetopeealloveryou.”WhenIopenmymouth,sheraisesahandinwarning.“Anddon’tyoudaresayyou’reintothat,becauseIamnotincorporatingpeeintooursexlife.”
Iflopontomysideandlaughhysterically.“Relax,”Istutterbetweenchuckles.“Goldenshowersdon’tgetmeoff.”
Gracesnickers.“ThankGod.”
Aftersheducksintothehalltousethebathroom,Ireluctantlydragmyselfoutofbedandtrackdownapairofsweatpants.I’mthinkingofsuggestingthedinerforbreakfast.Afterlastnight’sstrenuoussexcapades,Icouldreallygoforahugegreasyplatterofbaconandsausageand—andCoachwillmurdermeifIshowuptopracticesluggishandcrashingfromagreasehigh.Frickin’in-seasonnutritionregimen.
IpacearoundasIwaitforGracetocomeoutofthebathroom,becausenowI’mtheonewhoneedstopisslikearacehorse.Mybuzzingphoneservesasadistractionfrommyabout-to-explodebladder,butwhenmybrother’snumberflashesonthescreen,mygoodmorningmoodfadesaway.
“Hey,”JeffsaysafterIpickup.“Canyoucomebytoday?”
Istifleagroan.“I’vegotpracticeatone-thirty,man.”
“Comenow,then.We’llbedonelongbeforethat.”
“Donewhat?”Iaskwarily.
“Noidea.Dadsayshehassomethingimportanttotellus,buthewon’tgivemeanymoredetailsthanthat.Marty’scoveringformeintheshoprightnow,sogetyourassoverhere.Itwon’ttakelong.”
Ihangupfeelingevenwarierthanbefore.Hehassomethingimportanttotellus?Whatthehellcoulditbe?Wehaven’thadafamilymeetingin…ever.Myfatherhasneversatusdownforatalk,seriousorotherwise.
I’mstillfrowningwhenGracereappears,andconcerninstantlycreasesherfeatures.“Everythingokay?”
Islowlyshakemyhead.“MydadwantstositdownwithmeandJefftoday.”
“Today?Butyouhavepractice.”
“Hesaiditwon’ttakelong.Hejustneedstotellussomething.”
“Tellyouwhat?”
“Idon’tknow.”
Shegoesquietforamoment.“Doyouwantmetogowithyou?”
I’mtouchedbytheoffer,butIshakemyheadagain.“Idon’tthinkhe’llwantanyoneelsethere.”
“Obviously,”shesayswithasmile.“IfiguredIcouldwaitinthecar.Thatwayifit’ssomethingbad,you’llhavesomeonetotalktoonthedriveback.”
Ihesitate.I’mnotsureIwanttotaketheriskofGracerunningintomydad.
ButIalsodon’twanttobealone.
“Okay,”Ianswer,releasingabreath.“Butonlyifyoustayinthecar.Idon’tknowwhatkindofstatehe’llbeinwhenwegetthere.”
We’rebothsomberasweleavethehousefifteenminuteslater,andtheweathermatchesourforebodingexpressions.Theskyisovercast,themetallicscentintheairhintingatadownpour.
MyuneasinessgrowsthecloserwegettoMunsen.BythetimeIreachtheendofthelongdrivewayandparkinfrontofthebungalow,mynerveshaveformedasolid,immovableballinthepitofmystomach.
“I’llberightback,”ItellGrace,leaningintokisshercheek.
Sheshakesherhead.“Takeyourtime.”Unzippinghercanvasbag,shepullsoutapsychtextbookandholdsitup.“I’llbefineouthere,Ipromise.Sodon’ttrytorushonmyaccount,okay?”
Iexhaleshakily.“Okay.”
Aminutelater,Iwalkthroughthefrontdoorwithoutknocking,flinchingwhenthefamiliarsmellofstalebeerfillsmynostrils.Iswear,it’slikethewallsinthishousearesoakedwithalcohol,slowlyreleasingthesourodorintotheair.
“John?”Mybrother’svoicedriftsthroughthehall.“We’reinthekitchen.”
Ikeepmyshoeson,ahabitleftoverfromchildhood.I’vesteppedonfartoomanypuddlesonthefloorsandcarpetsofthishouseandsoakedmysocks.Puddlesthatweren’talwaysofthealcoholicbeveragevariety.
Iknowsomething’supthesecondIenterthekitchen.JeffandDadareattheweatheredoaktable,sittingacrossfromeachother.Jeffissippingacoffee.MyfatherhasalongneckbottleofBudinfrontofhim,bothhandswrappedaroundthebase.
“Johnny.Sitdown,”Dadsays.
Thebeerisn’tapromisingsign,butatleasthelooksandsoundsrelativelysober.Andbysober,Imeannotpassedoutinapoolofhisownvomit.
Isinkintothenearestchairwithoutaword.Studyingmydad’sface.Waiting.StudyingJeff’sface.Waiting.
“ChadJensencametoseemeyesterday.”
Myheadswingsbacktowardmyfather.“What?Areyouserious?”WhythehellwouldCoachtalktomyfather?
Dadnods.“Hecalledahead,askedifhecouldstopbyforachat.Isaidsure,whynot,andhecamebyyesterdayevening.”
I’mstillbattlingmyshock.CoachJensendroveouttoMunsenandmetwithmyfather?
“Ididn’tknowaboutit,”Jeffspeaksuphastily,obviouslymisconstruingmyexpression.“IwasoveratKylie’swhenhestoppedby,andDadonlytoldmeaboutitthismorning.”
IignoreJeff’sassurances.“Whatdidhewant?”Iasksuspiciously.
Dad’scheekshollowasifhe’sgrindinghisteeth.“Todiscusspossiblesolutions.”
“Solutionsforwhat?”
“Fornextyear.”Hisgazestayslockedwithmine.“Heassuredmehewasn’ttryingtobedisrespectfuloroverstephisboundaries,thatheunderstoodthecaraccidentwasdifficultformeandmyfamily,andwhyyou’reneededattheshopafteryougraduate.”Myfather’shandstightenaroundthebeerbottle.“Buthewashopingtheremightbesomewayforyoutoplayhockeynextyearwhilestillhelpingoutyourfamily.”
Myhandscurlintofists,andIpressthemtighttothetable,tryingtocontrolmytemper.IknowCoachmeantwell,butwhatthehell?
“HealsoaskedmewhyIdidn’tgoondisability,ifmyinjuriesfromtheaccidentwerebadenoughtopreventmefromworking.”
FuckingJensen.Heabsolutelyoversteppedhisboundaries.
“YourcoachhasnoideaI’madrunk,doeshe?”Dadmutters,andnowhe’snolongerlookingatme.He’sstaringathishands.
“No,hedoesn’t,”Imutterback.“Ionlytoldhimabouttheaccident.AndthatwasjustbecauseIneededtotellhimsomethingsohe’dgetoffmycaseaboutnotenteringthedraft.”
Dadraiseshisgazetomineagain.“Youshould’vetoldmeyoudidn’tdeclare.”
“Whatdifferencewouldithavemade?”
“Ahugeone,”hesnaps.“It’sbadenoughthatIwokeuptheothermorningwearingcleanunderwearandalltuckedintobedlikeafuckingchild,withtheknowledgethatmytwenty-one-year-oldsonistheonewhoputmethere.”HisheadshiftstoJeff.“AndthatmyothersonisrunningmybusinessbecauseI’mtoomuchofamesstodoitmyself.Butnowyou’retellingmeyou’repassingupthechancetoplayforthegoddamnBruinssoyoucantakecareofmysorryass?”
He’sbreathinghard,hishandsshakingsowildlythebottleisclosetotopplingover.Heliftsittohislipsandtakesahurriedsipbeforeslammingitonthetable.
JeffandIexchangeawarylook.Seeinghimdrinkbringsidenticalfrownstoourfaces,whichcausesDadtogroaninanguish.
“Goddamnit,don’tlookatmelikethat.Ihavetofuckingdrinkthis,becausethelasttimeItriedtoquitcoldturkeyIendedupinthehospitalwithseizures.”
Isuckinashockedbreath.
SodoesJeff.
Dadlooksfrommetomybrother,thenaddressesusinavoicethatringswithdespair.“I’mgoingbacktorehab.”
Theannouncementisgreetedwithsilence.
“I’mserious.IspoketosomeoneatthestatefacilityIwenttolasttimeandaskedtobeputonthewaitinglist,buttheytoldmeaslotopenedupfiveminutesbeforeIcalled.”Hesnorts.“Ifthat’snotdivineintervention,Idon’tknowwhatis.”
MybrotherandIremainquiet.We’veheardthisspeechbefore.Manytimesbefore.Andwe’velearnednottogetourhopesupanymore.
Sensingourmisgivings,Dadsharpenshistone.“It’llstickthistime.I’mgoingtomakesureofit.”
There’sabeat,andthenJeffclearshisthroat.“Howlongistheprogram?”
“Sixmonths.”
Myeyebrowsflyup.“Thatlong?”
“Withmyhistory,theythinkthatwouldbebest.”
“In-patient?”Jeffasks.
“Yeah.”Dad’sfeaturesgrowpained.“Twoweeksforthedetox.Christ,I’mnotlookingforwardtothatpart.”Thenheshakeshishead,asifsnappinghimselfoutofit.“ButI’lldoit.I’lldoit,andit’llstick.Youknowwhy?BecauseI’myourfather.”
Shamepoursoffhiminpalpablewaves.“Mykidsshouldn’tbetakingcareofme.Ishouldbetakingcareyou.”Hegivesmeahardlook.“Youshouldn’tbegivingupyourdreamsbecauseofme.”HeturnstoJeff.“Andneithershouldyou.”
“That’sallgoodandwell,”Jeffsays,soundingtired.“Butwhataboutthegarage?Eveniftheprogramsticks,youstillwon’tbeabletoworkbecauseofyourlegs.Youcanhandletheadministrativestuff,sure.Butnotthelabor.”
“I’llapplyfordisability.”Dadpauses.“AndI’mgoingtosellthebusiness.”
Mybrotherdoesnotlookpleasedaboutthat.Me,I’mstillreelingfromeverythingelsehe’sjusttoldus.
“KylieandIareonlytravelingforacoupleyears,”Jeffsaysunhappily.“Iwanttoworkherewhenwegetback.”
“Thenwe’llhiresomeonetorunituntilyou’rereadytocomeback.Butthatsomeonewon’tbeyourbrother,Jeffrey.Anditwon’tbeyou,ifyoudon’twantittobe.”Heslideshischairbackandgingerlygetstohisfeet,thenreachesforthecaneleaningagainstthewall.“Iknowyouboyshaveheardthisbefore.Iknowit’lltakealotmorethanafewpromisestoproveI’mseriousaboutthis.”
He’srightaboutthat.
“Thecenterispickingmeupinanhour,”hesaysbrusquely.“Ihavetogopack.”
JeffandIstareateachotheragain
Sonofabitch.He’sreallygoingtorehab.
“Idon’texpectahuggoodbye,butit’dbeniceifyouboyscalledmeeveryonceinawhile,letmeknowhowyou’redoing.”HeglancesatJeff.“We’lltalkabouttheshopwhenI’mdonepacking.NotsureifweshouldcloseupwhileI’mgone,orifyouwanttostickaroundawhilelonger.Ifwedoclose,I’dappreciateitifyoucouldfinishupthecurrentworkordersforthisweek.”
Lookingslightlydazed,mybrothermanagesanod.
“Andyou…”Myfather’sbloodshoteyeszeroinonme.“YoubettermakeittothatProvidencepractice.Jensensaidit’sprettymuchatryout,sodon’tscrewitup.”
I’vebeensilentforsolongittakesmeamomenttofindmyvoice.“Iwon’t,”Isayhoarsely.
“Good.IexpectyoutotellmeaboutitwhenIcallyouintwoweeks.Youprobablywon’thearfrommebeforethat.Notduringthedetox.”Hisvoiceisequallyhoarse.“Nowgetouttahere,John.Yourbrothersaysyou’vegotshittodotoday.Jeffrey,we’lltalkshortly.”
Amomentlater,he’sgone,andwehearhislaboredfootstepsinthehallway,headingtowardhisbedroom.SuddenlyIfeelasdazedasJefflooks,andonceagain,wegapeateachotherforseverallongmoments.
“Youthinkhe’sforreal?”Jeffasks.
“Sureseemslikeit.”Olddoubtscreepin,bringingacageynotetomyvoice.“Thinkhe’llmanagetostayonthewagonthistime?”
“Fuck.Ihopeso.”
Yeah,metoo.ButI’vebeenburnedbymyfathertoomanytimesinthepast.Fooledbyhispromisesandhissupposedresolve.Thecynicinmethinkswe’llbehavingthissameconversationinayearortwoorfive,andmaybewewill.Maybehe’llsoberup,comehomeinsixmonths,andstartdrinkingagain.Ormaybenot.
Eitherway,I’mfree.
Therealizationslamsintomewiththeforceofatidalwave,nearlyknockingmeoutofmychair.Iwon’thavetolivehereinMay.Won’thavetoworkhere.Dad’llbeondisability,thegaragewilleitherbesoldormanagedbysomeoneelseuntilJeffisreadytotakeover,andI’llbefree
Ishoottomyfeet,startlingmybrother.“Ihavetogo.Mygirlfriend’swaitingformeinthecar.”
Heblinks.“Youhaveagirlfriend?”
“Yup.I’llintroduceyouanothertime.I’vereallygottago.”
“John.”HisvoicestopsmebeforeIreachthedoorway.
“Yeah?”
“You’llgivemeasignedjerseywhenyoumaketheteam,right?”
Asmilestretchesacrossmyentireface.“DamnrightIwill.”
Ileavethekitchenwiththesoundofmybrother’slaughteratmybackandsprintoutofthehouse.Fromtheporch,IseeGraceinthepickup,herfeetraisedonthedashboardandhernoseburiedinhertextbook.Herperipheralvisionmusthavecaughtthefrontdoorflyingopen,becausesheliftsherheadandturnsittowardtheporch,andImuststillbegrinninglikeafool,becausealittlesmilecurveshersexylips.
Iquicklydescendtheporchstepsandmakemywaytothetruck.It’sstillgloomyout.Thetreesareswayingominously.Thecloudsareathick,darkmassundulatingoverhead.Theskyismoreblackthangray.
Andyetmyfuturehasneverlookedbrighter.Epilogue
Grace
TwoYearsLater
Man,thisexecutivesuiteatTDGardenisfancy-pants.IfeellikeaqueenreigningoverherkingdomasIleanforwardinmyplushleatherseatandsweepmygazeoverthemassivearena.Thousandsofscreaminghockeyfansfilltheseats,anendlessseaoffaces,ablurofblackandyellowoccasionallybrokenupbythewhiteandturquoiseoftheSharksfanswhohappentobeinattendance.
“Thisissointense,”Hannahwhispersinmyear,andIknowshe’stryingtokeephervoicedownsothethreebeer-sippingwivesstandingfivefeetawaydon’tteaseusagainaboutournovicestatus.Ormine,atleast.ThisisLogan’sfirstseasonwithBoston—heplayedintheAHLforayearaftercollege,untiltheBruinsfinallydecidedhewasreadyandsignedhim.
SinceGarretthadanamazingrookieseasonlastyear,IfiguredHannahwouldbeanoldprobynow,butwhenwewerebeingledintotheprivatesuite,sheconfessedthatshe’dsatintheclubseatslastyearbecauseshe’dbeentoointimidatedtositupherealone.
Wehaven’tstoppedmarvelingsincewearrived.Eachtimetheotherpeoplemillinginthesuiteturnedtheirheads,thetwoofushaveoohedandaahedaboutsomethingelse.Theprivatebaracrosstheroom.Thegourmetspreadonthegranitecounter.Theseats.Theview.Nodetailhasgoneun-oohedorun-aahed
I’mhopingwe’lllearntorestrainourselvesafterwe’vehadafewgamesunderourbelts,butI’mnotsureI’llevergetusedtothiskindofluxury
“Apartofmekeepsexpectingsecuritytoshowupandthrowusout,”Iwhisperback.“I’veneverfeltsooutofplace.”
Shelaughssoftly.“Metoo.ButI’msurewe’lladjust.”Hergreeneyesfocusontherinkbelowus.Theplayersarestillwarmingup,andIknowthemomenthergazelandsonGarrett,becauseherentirefacelightsup.
I’mprettysurethesamethinghappenstomewhenIlookatLogan.
“Doyouthinkthey’llgetalotofplayingtime?”
Ithinkitover.“Logan…probablynot.Garrett…absolutely.HeandLukovwereanunstoppableforceofnaturelastseason.”ThinkingofShaneLukovbringsasmiletomyface.WhenImethiminpersonforthefirsttimethissummer,hespenttenminutesteasingmemercilesslyaboutthe“endorsement”hegave,andhowhecreditshimselfformyrelationshipwithhisnewteammate.
“Okay,Ineedtoaskyousomething,andnobullshittingme.”Hannahleansincloseagain.“Doyoureallylovehockeynow,oristhatjustthelineyou’refeedingLogan?”
Ipressmylipstogethertokeepfromlaughing.“Well,Idon’thateit.AndIdefinitelydon’tfinditasboringanymore,but…”Ilowermyvoice“…I’dstillratherwatchfootball.”
Shesnorts.
Thedark-hairedwomanwhoslidesintotheseatbesidemeisnotasamused.“Shameonyou,GraceIvers,”Logan’smotherchides.“Ithoughtwe’dsucceededinconvertingyou.”
“Sorry,Jean,notyet.”
Shesighs.“Well,I’mencouragedbythe‘yet’.Meansthere’sstillhopethatyou’llseetheerrorofyourways.”
HannahandIlaugh.
God,IadoreLogan’smom.She’ssweetandfunnyandsodamnsupportiveofhersons.HerhusbandDavid,ontheotherhand,isoneoftheblandestmenI’veevermetinmylife,buthe’ssogoodtoJeanthatIcan’thelpbutlikehim.
AndifI’mbeinghonest,Logan’sfatherisgrowingonmetoo.He’sbeensoberfornearlytwoyearsnow,andheseemsdeterminedtokeepitthatway.Thoughsometimesit’shardtoreconcilethecharmingmanI’vegottentoknowwiththedrunkenmessLoganusedtohavetoscrapeoffthefloor.
SinceJeanstillrefusestohavecontactwithWard,Logan’sparentshaveagreedtoalternatetheirvisitstohisgames.Sameruleappliestotheirvisitstoourapartment,whichislocatedhalfwaybetweenHastingsandBoston,makingitonlyathirty-minutecommuteforeachofus.OnceIgraduatethisyear,we’replanningonfindingaplaceinthecity.GarrettandHannahalreadylivehere,inagorgeousbrownstoneIhelpedHannahdecorate.
“It’ssofunny,”Hannahmuses.“GarretttoldmethatheandLoganhavetalkedaboutthetwooftheminBruinsjerseyseversincefreshmanyear.Andnowit’sactuallyhappening.”Shesmiles.“Iguesssomedreamsreallydocometrue.”
Ifollowhergaze,asmiletouchingmylipsasIwatchthemanIloveintheuniformheloves,flyingacrosstheicetotheroarofthecrowd.
“Yep,”Ianswersoftly.“Iguesstheydo.”OtherTitlesbyElleKennedy
IfyouenjoyedreadingaboutLogan’sbestfriendGarrettinTheMistake,pickupthefirstbookintheOff-Campusseries,TheDeal,toseehowGarrettandHannahfellinlove…
ForalltheDeanfansoutthere,thiscockyplayerwillbetheheroofBook#3intheOff-Campusseries!Makesuretosignupformynewslettertoreceiveupdatesaboutthereleasedateandexcerptsfromthebookwhentheybecomeavailable.
Andifyou’reinterestedinexclusiveteasersandjustplainfun,joinTheLockerRoom,thesuper-funFacebookgrouprunbyme,KristenCallihan,SarinaBowen,MonicaMurphy,andCoraCarmack!MakesuretosignupforTheLockerRoomnewsletterforupdatesandgiveaways!
*
Nextrelease:MidnightCaptive,featuringasexyIrishheroandthedeadlyassassinheroinehebetrayed…
Ifyou’reinterestedinmyeroticromanceand/orromanticsuspensetitles,checkoutthesebestsellingseries:
KillerInstincts
OutofUniform
AfterHours
DreamMakers(withVivianArend)
MoretitlesalsoavailableonmywebsiteAuthor’sNote
Oneofmyfavoritepartsofthewritingprocessisgettingtointeractwithsomeprettyawesomepeople.WitheverybookIwrite,Imeetnewpeopleandmakenewfriends,andIcan’tthankthemenoughfortheirsupport,assistanceandencouragement:
TheLockerRoomladies—Kristen,Sarina,MonicaandCora.Chattingwithyouguysisthehighlightofmyday!AndIhavesomuchloveforalltheamazingmembersinthegroupformakingmelaugh,introducingmetonewbooks,andpostingpicsofsuper-sexyathletes!
EarlyreadersViv,Jane,SarinaandKristenforhelpingmewhipLoganintoshape.
ExtrathankstoViv,thebestestbestieagirlcouldeverhave.
TheamazingandridiculouslypatientZoeYork,forholdingmyhandthroughtheawfulbusiness-ystuff!
NicoleSnyder,friend,assistantandoveralllifesaver—you’retheabsolutebest!
ThefabulousMs.KatyEvans,foryourendlesscheerleading,contagiousenthusiasm,andforconstantlyputtingabigsmileonmyface!
MyeditorGwenHayesandproofreaderSharonMuha—youguysknowhowmuchIloveyou!
SarahHansen(OkayCreations)forthegorgeouscover.
MypublicistNinaBocci—I’mnotsurehowIeversurvivedbeforewithoutyou.
Toallthebloggersandreviewerswhohelpedwithcoverreveals,postedreviews,andprettymuchtalkeduptheseriestoanyonewhowouldlisten—youareamazing.
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