“I left my phone at home.” Fuck. As I mull over my options, I run a hand through my hair. It’s growing out and I desperately need to get it buzzed, but I keep forgetting to do it. “Is it cool if I use yours?”
“Um…sure.”
Even though she looks hesitant, she opens the door wider and gestures for me to come in. Her room is a typical double with two of everything, but while one side is neat as a pin, the other is slob central. Clearly this girl and her roommate have very different philosophies about tidiness.
For some reason, I’m not surprised when she walks over to the tidy side. She definitely seems like she’d be the neat one. She goes to the desk and unplugs a cell phone from its charger, then holds it out to me. “Here.”
The second the phone exchanges hands, she creeps back toward the door.
“You don’t have to stand all the way over there,” I say dryly. “Unless you’re debating making a run for it?”
Her cheeks turn pink.
Grinning, I swipe the phone screen and pull up the keypad. “Don’t worry, gorgeous. I’m just using your phone. I’m not going to murder you.”
“Oh, I know that. Or at least I think I know that,” she stammers. “I mean, you seem like a decent guy, but then again, lots of serial killers probably seem decent too when you first meet them. Did you know that Ted Bundy was actually really charming?” Her eyes widen. “How messed up is that? Imagine you’re walking along one day and you meet this really cute, charming guy, and you’re like, oh my God, he’s perfect, and then you’re over at his place and you find a trophy dungeon in the basement with skin suits and Barbie dolls with the eyes ripped out and—”
“Jesus,” I cut in. “Did anyone ever tell you that you talk a lot?”
Her cheeks are even redder now. “Sorry. Sometimes I babble when I’m nervous.”
I shoot her another grin. “I make you nervous?”
“No. Well, maybe a little. I mean, I don’t know you, and…yeah. Stranger danger and all that, though I’m sure you’re not dangerous,” she adds hastily. “But…you know…”
“Right. Ted Bundy,” I supply, fighting hard not to laugh.
She fidgets with her braid again, and her averted gaze gives me the opportunity to study her more closely. Man, she really is pretty. Not drop-dead gorgeous or anything, but she has a fresh-faced, girl-next-door look that’s seriously appealing. Freckles on her nose, delicate features, and smooth, creamy skin right out of a makeup commercial.
“Are you going to call?”
I blink, suddenly remembering why I came inside in the first place. I look down at the phone in my hand, and now I’m examining the number pad as intently as I was examining her moments before.
“Here’s a tip—you use your fingers to dial, and then you press send.”
I lift my head, and her barely restrained grin summons a laugh from my throat. “Great tip,” I agree. “But…” I let out a glum breath. “I just realized I don’t know his number. It’s saved in my phone.”
Shit. Is this my punishment for inappropriately fantasizing about Garrett’s girlfriend? Getting stranded on a Friday night with no phone or ride home? I guess I deserve it.
“Fuck it. I’ll call a cab,” I finally decide. Luckily, I know the number for the campus taxi service, so I dial that instead, only to be placed on hold immediately. As elevator music chirps in my ear, I smother a groan.
“You’re on hold, huh?”
“Yup.” I glance over at her again. “I’m Logan, by the way. Thanks for letting me use your phone.”
“No problem.” She pauses. “I’m Grace.”
A click sounds in my ear, but instead of the dispatcher’s voice coming on the line, there’s another click followed by another swell of music. I’m not surprised, though. It’s Friday night, the busiest night for the campus taxis. Who knows how long I’ll have to wait.
I sink down on the edge of one of the beds—the one that’s perfectly made—and try to remember the number for the cab service in Hastings, the town where most of the off-campus housing is, including my townhouse. But I’m drawing a blank, so I sigh and endure some more elevator music. My gaze drifts to the open laptop on the other side of the bed, and when I notice what’s on the screen, I look at Grace in surprise.
“Are you watching Die Hard?”
“Die Hard Two, actually.” She looks embarrassed. “I’m having a Die Hard night. I just finished the first one.”
“Do you have a thing for Bruce Willis or something?”
That makes her laugh. “Nope. I just like old action movies. Last weekend I watched the Lethal Weapon franchise.”
The music in my ear stops again, then starts over, bringing a curse to my lips. I hang up and turn to Grace. “Do you mind if I use your computer to get the number for the taxi service in Hastings? Maybe I’ll have better luck there.”
“Sure.” After a beat of hesitation, she sits next to me and reaches for the laptop. “Let me pull up a browser for you.”
When she goes to minimize the video, the movie unpauses, and sound blasts out of the speakers. As the opening fight scene in the airport fills the computer screen, I immediately lean closer to watch it. “Oh shit, this is such a great fight sequence.”
“I know, right?” Grace exclaims. “I love it. Actually, I love this whole movie. I don’t care what anyone says—it’s awesome. Obviously not as good as the first one, but it’s really not as bad as people think.”
She’s about to pause the movie, but I intercept her hand. “Can we finish watching this scene first?”
Her expression fills with surprise. “Um…yeah, okay.” She visibly swallows, adding, “If you want, you can stay and watch the whole movie.” Her cheeks flush the moment she voices the invitation. “Unless you have somewhere you need to be.”
I think it over for a second before shaking my head. “Naah, I have nowhere else to be. I can hang out for a while.”
Really, what’s the alternative? Go home to watch Hannah and Garrett hand-feed pizza to each other and sneak kisses during the movie?
“Oh. Okay,” Grace says warily. “Uh…cool.”
I chuckle. “Were you expecting me to say no?”
“Kind of,” she admits.
“Why would I? Seriously, what guy turns down Die Hard? The only thing that could sweeten this deal is if you offered me some booze.”
“I don’t have any.” She stops to think. “But I’ve got a whole bag of gummy bears hidden in my desk drawer.”
“Marry me,” I say instantly.
Laughing, she wanders over to the desk, opens the bottom drawer, and, sure enough, pulls out a huge bag of candy. As I slide up the bed and lean back on the stack of pillows at the head of it, Grace kneels in front of the mini-fridge next to the desk and asks, “Water or Pepsi?”
“Pepsi, please.”
She hands me the massive bag of gummy bears and a can of soda, then settles on the bed beside me and positions the laptop on the mattress between us.
I shove a gummy bear in my mouth and focus my gaze on the screen. Okay, then. This definitely wasn’t the way I expected this evening to go, but hell, might as well roll with it.
3
Grace
John Logan is in my dorm room.
No, John Logan is on my bed.
I am so not prepared for this. In fact, I’m tempted to secretly text Ramona with an SOS and beg for advice, because I have no idea what to do or say. On the plus side, we’re watching a movie, which means I don’t have to do or say anything except stare at the laptop, laugh at the appropriate one-liners, and pretend that the hottest guy at Briar isn’t sitting on my bed.
And he’s not just physically hot. He’s also temperature hot. Seriously, his body heat is like a blast from a furnace, and since I’m already hot and tingly from his mere presence, the warmth he’s radiating is starting to make me sweat.
Trying to be inconspicuous, I wiggle out of my sweatshirt and tuck it beside me, but the movement causes Logan
to turn his head toward me. Those deep blue eyes focus on my tight tank top, resting briefly on my chest.
Oh God. He’s checking out my boobs. And even though I’m only rocking a B-cup, the way his expression smolders, you’d think I had a porn star rack.
When he realizes I’ve caught him staring, he just winks and turns back to the screen.
It’s official: I’ve actually met a guy who can pull off a wink.
Paying attention to the movie is impossible. My eyes are on the screen, but my mind is somewhere else. Focused wholly on the guy beside me. He’s a lot bigger than I thought. Impossibly broad shoulders, muscular chest, long legs stretching out in front of him. I’ve seen him play hockey so I know he’s aggressively physical on the ice, and having that powerful body inches from mine shoots a thrill up my spine. He looks so much older and more masculine than the freshmen guys I’ve hung out with all year.
Well, duh. He’s a junior.
Right. But…he seems older than that too. He’s got this whole manly thing going on that makes me want to rip his clothes off and lick him like an ice cream cone.
I pop a gummy bear in my mouth, hoping the act of chewing will bring some much-needed moisture to my dry throat. On the screen, McClane’s wife is on the plane arguing with the pesky news reporter who caused trouble for the McClanes in the first movie, and suddenly Logan glances over at me, curiosity flickering in his expression.
“Hey, do you think you could land a plane if you had no other choice?”
I laugh. “I thought you said you’ve seen this movie. You know she doesn’t have to land the plane, right?”
“No, I know that. But it made me wonder what I’d do if I was on a plane and I was the only one who could land it.” He sighs. “I don’t think I’d be able to do it.”
I’m surprised he’s so quick to admit that. Other guys might try to act all macho and scoff about how they could land that thing in their sleep or something.
“Me neither,” I confess. “If anything, I see myself making it worse. I’d probably accidently depressurize the cabin by touching the wrong control. Actually, no. I’m scared of heights, so I’m pretty sure I’d pass out the second I stepped into the cockpit and looked out the windshield.”
He chuckles, and the husky sound sets off another round of tingles. “I might be able to fly a helicopter,” he muses. “That’s probably easier than a jet, right?”
“Maybe? Honestly, I know nothing about aviation.” It’s my turn to sigh. “Don’t tell anyone, but sometimes I’m not sure I understand how planes even stay in the air.”
He laughs, and then we both focus on the movie again, and I give myself a mental pat on the back. I just had an entire conversation with a cute guy without babbling incoherently. I deserve a frickin’ gold star for that.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m still nervous as all get out. But something about Logan puts me at ease. He’s so laidback, and besides, it’s hard to feel intimidated by a guy when he’s chomping away on gummy bears.
As we watch the movie, my gaze darts toward him every few seconds to admire his chiseled profile. His nose is slightly crooked, as if it’s been broken once or twice before. And the sexy curve of his lips is…pure temptation. I want to kiss him so badly I can’t think straight.
God, and I’m such a loser, because kissing me is probably the last thing on his mind. He stuck around to watch Die Hard, not to fool around with a freshman who compared him to Ted frickin’ Bundy an hour ago.
I force myself to concentrate on the film, but I’m already dreading the moment it ends, because then Logan will have to leave.
But when the credits scroll up on the screen, he doesn’t make a single move to get up. Instead, he looks over and asks, “So what’s your deal?”
I furrow my brow. “What do you mean?”
“It’s Friday night—how come you’re sitting around watching action movies?”
The question makes me bristle. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing.” He shrugs. “I’m just wondering why you’re not out partying or something.”
“I was at a party last night.” Don’t remind him you saw him, don’t remind him you saw him—“I saw you there, by the way.”
He seems startled. “You did?”
“Yeah. At the Omega Phi house.”
“Huh. I don’t remember seeing you.” He gives me a sheepish look. “I don’t remember much, actually. I got pretty shitfaced.”
It stings a little that he doesn’t remember our encounter outside the bathroom, but I quickly chastise myself for feeling insulted. He was drunk, and he’d just hooked up with someone else. Of course I hadn’t made an impression on him.
“Did you have fun at the party?” For the first time since he walked into my dorm room, his tone contains an awkward note, as if he’s trying to make small talk and isn’t comfortable with it.
“Sure, I guess.” I pause. “Actually, I take that back. It was fun until I totally humiliated myself in front of this guy.”
The discomfort on his face dissolves as he chuckles. “Yeah? What’d you do?”
“I babbled. A lot.” I offer a little shrug. “I have a really bad habit of doing that around guys.”
“You’re not babbling right now,” he points out.
“Yeah, now. Do you not remember the serial killer rant I gave you two hours ago?”
“Trust me, I remember.” His answering grin speeds up my pulse. God, he’s got a sexy smile. Slightly crooked, and every time he flashes it, his eyes twinkle playfully. “I don’t make you nervous anymore, do I?”
“No.” I’m lying. He absolutely makes me nervous. He’s John fucking Logan, one of the most popular guys at Briar. And I’m Grace fucking Ivers, one of thousands of girls who are crushing on him.
His gaze travels over me again, a hot, lingering perusal that crackles along my skin like an electric current. This time there’s no mistaking the interest in his eyes.
Should I make a move?
I should make a move, right?
Lean closer or something. Kiss him. Or maybe ask him to kiss me? My brain races back to my high school days, trying to pinpoint how all those kisses happened, if the guys I locked lips with made the first move, or if it was a mutual yeah-we’re-going-to-kiss-now sorta thing. Except none of those kisses were with guys even half as gorgeous as this one.
“Do you want me to go now?”
His gruff voice startles me, and I realize I’ve been staring at him for almost a full minute without saying a single word.
My mouth is so dry I have to swallow a few times before answering. “No. I mean, you can stay if you want. We can watch something else, or—”
I don’t get to finish that sentence, because he slides closer and touches my cheek, and my vocal cords freeze as my heart rate skyrockets.
John Logan is touching my cheek.
The pads of his fingers are calloused, a rough scrape against my skin, and he smells so good I feel light-headed when I inhale the faint scent of his aftershave.
He lightly strokes my cheekbone and I have to stop myself from purring like an affection-starved cat. “What are you doing?” I whisper.
“Well, you were looking at me like you wanted me to kiss you.” His blue eyes become heavy-lidded. “So I was thinking I might do that.”
4
Grace
My heartbeat is out of control. A fast drumbeat in my ears, a frantic hammering against my ribs.
Oh my God.
He wants to kiss me?
“Unless I misread the moment?” he prompts.
I gulp, desperately trying to control my careening pulse. Talking is not an option. My throat has clamped shut. Despite the fact that my motor skills aren’t operating at full capacity, I manage to shake my head.
His laughter heats the air between us. “Is that a no to misreading the moment, or a no to me kissing you?”
I’m miraculously able to produce an entire sentence in response. “I want you to kiss me.?
??
He’s still chuckling as he moves closer, stretching on his side beside me and gently nudging me onto my back. Every muscle in my body tenses with anticipation as he hovers over me, and when he rests one hand on my hip, I tremble hard enough for him to notice.
A smile curves his lips. Lips that are getting closer and closer to my lips. Inches away. Millimeters away.
And then his mouth brushes mine, and holy shit, I’m kissing John Logan.
Almost immediately, my mind is flooded with so many thoughts it’s hard to focus on just one. I hear my father’s endless lectures about respecting myself and behaving properly and not going wild in college. And then there’s my mother’s cheery voice, ordering me to have fun and live life to the fullest. And somewhere in between an excited voice is shouting, You’re kissing John Logan! You’re kissing John Logan!
His mouth is warm, his lips firm as he kisses me. Gently at first. A soft, sensual tease that makes me whimper. He licks my bottom lip, nips lightly at it before the tip of his tongue touches the seam of my lips. He tastes like candy, and for some reason that makes me whimper again. When his tongue finally slides inside my mouth, he lets out a raspy groan that vibrates through me and settles in my core.
Kissing Logan is the single most incredible thing I’ve ever experienced. Forget that family vacation to Egypt when I was nine. The glory of the pyramids and temples and the frickin’ Sphinx is nothing compared to the feel of this guy’s lips on mine.
Our tongues meet, and he makes another low, husky sound, gliding one hand up my body to cup my left breast. Oh shit. Boob groping alert. I thought we were just going to make out, but now we’re fooling around.
I’m not wearing a bra under my tank top, so when his thumb brushes the very thin fabric and presses down on my nipple, it sends a bolt of heat from the tips of my breasts right down to my clit. My entire body is hot and achy, tight with excitement. Logan’s tongue explores my mouth as he rubs my distended nipple, his hips moving slightly against my hip. His erection is like a hot brand on the side of my thigh, and I’m unbelievably turned on by the knowledge that I’m turning him on.