The Deal (Off Campus #1)(12)

But then I think of my team, and all the guys that are counting on me, and I force myself to ignore my misgivings.

"Think about it," I coax. "The makeup is next Friday, which gives us a  week and a half to study. I'll write the exam, and then on Saturday  night we'll go to Maxwell's party and show Loverboy how sexy and  desirable you are. He won't be able to resist, trust me."

"One, don't call him that. Two, stop telling me to trust you. I don't  even know you." But despite the grumbling, I can see her capitulating.  "Look. I can't commit to tutoring you for the whole semester. I honestly  don't have time."

"It'll just be this week," I promise.

She hesitates.

I don't blame her for doubting me. Truth is, I'm already thinking of how  I can convince her to hold my hand for the duration of Tolbert's  course, but … one battle at a time.

"So do we have a deal?" I prompt.

Hannah stays quiet, but just when I've given up hope, she sighs and says, "All right. We've got a deal."

Hot damn.

A part of me is genuinely shocked that I managed to wear her down. I've  been badgering her for what feels like an eternity, and now that I've  won, it's almost like experiencing a sense of loss. Figure that out.

Nevertheless, I give myself a mental high five as I drive into the lot  behind the dormitories. "What dorm are you in?" I ask as I put the Jeep  in park.

"Bristol House."

"I'll walk you in." I start to unbuckle my seatbelt, but she shakes her head.

"It's fine. I don't need a bodyguard." She holds up her phone. "All prepped to dial 911, remember?"

A short silence falls over us.

"Well." I stick out my hand. "It was a pleasure doing business with you."

She stares at my hand like I'm a carrier for Ebola. I roll my eyes and withdraw the gesture.

"I work until eight tomorrow," she says. "We can meet up when I'm done. You don't live in the dorms, right?"

"No, but I can come to you."

She blanches as if I've offered to shave her head. "And have people  think we're friends? No way. Text me your address. I'll come to your  place."

I've never met anyone who's so repulsed by my popularity, and I have no idea what to make of it.

I think I might like it.

"You'll be the most popular girl on your floor if I came over, you know."

"Text me your address," she says firmly.

"Yes, ma'am." I beam at her. "I'll see you tomorrow night."

All I get in return is a sour look and a flash of her profile as she  turns to open her door. She hops out of the car without a word, then  reluctantly taps on the passenger window.

Stifling a grin, I press the button to roll down the window. "Forget something?" I mock.

"Thank you for the ride," she says primly.

And then she's gone, her green dress fluttering in the night breeze as she hurries toward the darkened buildings.





7

Hannah


NORMALLY I PRIDE myself on having a good head on my shoulders and making  sound decisions, but agreeing to tutor Garrett? Stupider than stupid.

I'm still cursing myself for it as I make the drive over to his house  the following evening. When he cornered me at the Sigma party, I had  every intention of telling him to fuck off and leave me alone, and then  he'd dangled Justin under my nose like a carrot, and I caved like a  cheap tent.





  

Great. And now I'm mixing metaphors.

I think it might be time for me to face a grim truth: I have zero common  sense when it comes to Justin Kohl. Last night I left the party with  the sole purpose of forgetting about him¸ and instead of doing that, I  allowed Garrett Graham to fill me with the most destructive emotion  known to mankind-hope.

Hope that Justin might notice me. Hope that he might want me. Hope that I  might've finally met someone who can make me feel something.

It's embarrassing how besotted I am with the guy.

I park my borrowed car in the driveway behind Garrett's Jeep and next to  a shiny black pick-up, but I leave the engine running. I keep wondering  what my old therapist would think if she knew about the deal I'd struck  with Garrett. I want to say she'd be against it, but Carole was all  about empowerment. She always encouraged me to take control of my life  and grab hold of any opportunity that allows me to put the attack behind  me.

So here's what I know: I've dated two guys since the rape. I slept with  both of them. And neither of them made me feel as hot and achy as Justin  Kohl does with one heavy-lidded look.

Carole would tell me that's an opportunity worth exploring.

Garrett's townhouse is two stories tall, with a white stucco exterior, a  stoop instead of a porch, and a front lawn that's surprisingly tidy.  Despite my reluctance, I force myself to get out of the car and walk to  the door. Rock music blares inside the house. A part of me hopes that  nobody hears me ring the bell, but muffled footsteps echo behind the  door and then it swings open and I find myself looking at a tall guy  with spiky blond hair and a chiseled face right off the cover of GQ.

"Why, hello there," he drawls as he looks me up and down. "My birthday's  not until next week, but if this is an early b-day gift, I sure ain't  complaining, baby doll."

Of course. I should have known Garrett would be rooming with someone as obnoxious as he is.

I curl my fingers over the strap of my oversized messenger bag,  wondering if I can make it back to my car before Garrett knows I'm here,  but my dastardly plan is foiled when he appears in the doorway. He's  barefoot, clad in faded jeans and a threadbare gray T-shirt, and his  hair is damp as if he's just come out of the shower.

"Hey, Wellsy," he says breezily. "You're late."

"I said eight-fifteen. It's eight-fifteen." I stare coldly at Mr. GQ.  "And if you were implying that I was a hooker, then call me insulted."

"You thought she was a hooker?" Garrett turns to glare at his friend. "That's my tutor, bro. Show some respect."

"I didn't think she was a hooker-I thought she was a stripper," the  blond retorts, as if that makes it better. "She's wearing a costume, for  fuck's sake."

He does have a point. My waitress uniform isn't exactly subtle.

"PS, I want a stripper for my birthday," GQ announces. "Just decided now. Get on it."

"I'll make a couple calls," Garrett promises, but the second his friend  wanders off, he confides, "He's not getting a stripper. We all chipped  in to get him a new iPod. He dropped his in the koi pond behind Hartford  House."

When I snicker, Garrett pounces like a mountain lion. "Holy shit. Was  that a laugh? I didn't think you were capable of showing amusement. Can  you do it again and let me film it?"

"I laugh all the time." I pause. "Mostly at you, though."

He grabs his chest in mock pain as if I've shot him. "You're terrible for a guy's ego, y'know that?"

I roll my eyes and shut the door behind me.

"Let's go up to my room," he says.

Shit. He wants to study in his bedroom? While I'm sure that's probably a  wet dream for every girl at this school, I'm apprehensive about being  alone with him.

"G, is that the tutor?" a male voice shouts as we pass what I deduce is  the living room. "Hey, tutor, get in here! We need to have a little  chat."

My alarmed gaze flies to Garrett, but he just grins and guides me to the  doorway. The living room just screams bachelor pad with its two leather  couches set up in an L-shape, a complicated-looking entertainment  system, and a coffee table littered with beer bottles. A dark-haired guy  with vivid blue eyes rises from the couch. He's as handsome as Garrett  and GQ, and from the way his long body saunters my way, he's fully aware  of his appeal.

"So listen," Blue Eyes announces in a stern voice. "My boy needs to ace this test. You better make that happen."





  

My lips twitch. "Or what?"

"Or I'll be very, very upset." His sultry gaze does a slow and  deliberate sweep of my body, lingering on my chest before traveling back  up. "You don't want to upset me, do you, gorgeous?"

Garrett snorts. "Don't waste your time, man. She's immune to flirting.  Trust me, I've tried." He turns to me. "This is Logan. Logan, Wellsy."

"Hannah," I correct.

Logan thinks it over before shaking his head. "Naah. I like Wellsy."

"You met Dean in the hall, and that's Tucker," Garrett adds, pointing to  the auburn-haired guy on the couch, who-surprise, surprise-is as  good-looking as the rest of them.

I wonder if "sexy as fuck" is a requirement for living in this house.

Not that I'd ever ask Garrett. His ego is big enough as it is.

"'Sup, Wellsy," Tucker calls out.

I smother a sigh. Wonderful. I guess I'm Wellsy now.

"Wellsy is the star of the Christmas recital," Garrett tells his friends.

"Winter showcase," I grumble.

"Isn't that what I said?" He waves a dismissive hand. "Okay, let's do this shit. Later, boys."

I follow Garrett up the narrow staircase to the second floor. His room  is at the end of the hall, and from the sheer size of it and the private  bath, it must be the master bedroom.