His light-green eyes gleam in amusement. "Uh … he might have forgotten."
"Well, then I'll go up and remind him."
A minute later, I completely regret that course of action.
"Yo, Graham, let's get this over with so I can-" I halt midsentence, freezing like a deer in headlights after I open the door.
Embarrassment slams into me when I register what I'm seeing.
Garrett is lying on the bed in all his bare-chested glory … while a naked girl straddles his thighs.
Yep, Miss Thang is buck-naked, and she whirls around in a cloud of blond hair at the sound of my voice. Perky breasts assault my vision, but I don't have time to judge them one way or the other because her ear-piercing screech cuts through the air.
"What the hell!"
"Shit. I'm so sorry," I blurt out.
Then I slam the door and race downstairs like I'm being chased by a serial killer.
When I stumble into the living room a moment later, I'm greeted by two grinning faces. "We told you not to go up there," Tucker says with a sigh.
Dean's grin widens. "How was the show? We can't hear much from down here, but I have a feeling she's a screamer."
I'm so mortified that my cheeks feel like they're burning from the inside out. "Can you tell your slutty friend to call me when he's done? Actually, no. Tell him he's out of luck. My time is precious, damn it. I'm not tutoring him anymore when he obviously doesn't take my schedule seriously."
With that, I march out of the house, my emotions alternating between embarrassment and anger. Unbelievable. How is fooling around with some girl more important to him than passing his midterm? And what kind of jerk would do that when he knows I'm coming over?
I'm halfway to Tracy's car when the front door bursts open, and Garrett rushes out. He at least had the decency to put on a pair of jeans, but he's still not wearing a shirt. Or shoes, for that matter. He hurries over to me, his expression a mixture of sheepish and annoyed. "What the hell was that?" he demands.
"Are you kidding me?" I retort. "I should be asking you that question. You knew I was coming over!"
"You said nine!"
"I changed it to seven, and you know it." My lips twist in a scowl. "Maybe next time you should pay more attention to me when I call you."
He rakes a hand through his short hair, and his biceps bulge as he does it. The cold air causes goose bumps to rise on his smooth, golden skin, and my gaze is unwittingly drawn to the thin line of hair that arrows toward his unbuttoned waistband.
At the sight, an odd flicker of heat travels from my breasts to my core. My body suddenly feels tight and achy, my fingers tingling with the urge to … oh, for fuck's sake. No. So what if the guy is totally cut? That doesn't mean I want to ride him like a cowgirl.
He already has someone else doing that to him.
"I'm sorry, okay?" he grumbles. "I screwed up."
"No, not okay. One, you clearly don't respect my time, and two, you clearly don't want to pass this class, otherwise your pants would be zipped and your textbook would be open."
"Oh really?" he challenges. "So you expect me to believe that you study twenty-four-seven and never hook up with anyone?"
Discomfort churns in my stomach, and when I don't answer, suspicion floods his eyes. "You do hook up, don't you?"
An irritable breath escapes my lips. "Of course I do. Just … not in a while."
"What's a while?"
"A year. Not that it's any of your business." I set my jaw and unlock the driver's door. "Go back to your floozy, Garrett. I'm going home."
"Floozy?" he echoes. "That's a rude assumption, don't you think? She could be a Rhodes scholar, for all you know."
I raise one eyebrow. "Is she?"
"Well, no," he relents. "But Tiffany-"
I snort. Tiffany. Of course her name is Tiffany.
"-is a very smart girl," he finishes darkly.
"Uh-huh, I'm sure she is. Go back to Ms. Smart then. I'm outta here."
"Can we reschedule for tomorrow?"
I open the car door. "No."
"Is that so?" He clamps his hand over the doorframe. "Then I guess our date on Saturday is off too?"
He stares at me.
I stare right back.
But we both know he won't be the one backing down.
I suddenly flash back to the conversation I had with Justin in the hallway the other day. My cheeks heat up again, but this time it has nothing to do with the fact that I just caught Garrett with his pants down. Literally. Justin has finally acknowledged my existence, and if I bail on this party, I'll be passing up the opportunity to talk to him outside of school. It's not like we travel in the same circles, so unless I want to limit myself to a once-a-week interaction in Ethics, I need to be proactive and seek him out away from the lecture hall.
"Fine," I mumble to Garrett. "I'll see you tomorrow. At seven."
His mouth curves in a self-satisfied smile. "That's what I thought."
15
Garrett
I MAKE SURE to be home-and alone-when Hannah shows up on Thursday night. I'm more amused than embarrassed that she walked in on Tiff and me yesterday, and hey, at least it hadn't been for the money shot. Hannah's face would've been a hundred times redder if she'd heard Tiffany's screams of orgasm.
Honestly, a part of me wonders if Tiff had been faking those porn star moans. I don't claim to be a stud in bed, but I'm attentive as hell and I've never had any complaints in the past. But last night was the first time I felt like the chick in my bed was putting on a show. There'd been something incredibly … unsatisfying about the whole thing. I don't know if she was faking it or simply exaggerating her pleasure, but either way, I'm not too eager for a repeat performance.
Hannah knocks on my door, but she doesn't stop at one knock. She does it at least ten more times, and then two more even after I've shouted for her to come in.
The door swings open and Hannah stumbles inside, tightly covering her eyes with both palms. "Is it safe?" she asks loudly. Eyes still shut, she stretches her arms out in front of her like a blind person feeling their way through the darkness.
"You're such a fucking brat," I say with a sigh.
Her eyelids pop open, and she fixes me with a dark look. "I'm just being careful," she answers in a haughty tone. "God forbid I walk in on another one of your sex fests."
"Don't worry, we hadn't even gotten to the sex part. If you must know, we were still in the foreplay stage. Second and third base, to be exact."
"Gross. TMI."
"You asked."
"I did not." She settles cross-legged on the bed and pulls the class binder out of her bag. "Okay, enough chit chat. Let's read over your revised essay and then we'll outline a few practice ones."
I hand over the paper I'd fixed up, then lean back on the pillows as Hannah reads it. Once she's done, she looks over at me, and I can tell she's impressed. "This is pretty good," she admits.
Damned if I don't experience a burst of pride. I slaved over this Nazi paper, and Hannah's praise not only pleases me, but it also confirms that I'm getting better at putting myself in someone else's headspace.
"Actually, it's really good," she amends as she skims the conclusion again.
I mock gasp. "Holy shit. Was that a compliment?"
"Nope. I take it back. It sucks ass."
"Too late." I wag my finger at her. "You think I'm smart."
She lets out a heavy sigh. "You're smart when you apply yourself." She pauses. "Okay, so this might be a total dick thing to say, but I always assumed the school was easier on athletes. Academically, I mean. You know, handing out free A's because you guys are so important."
"I wish. I know a few guys on the Eastwood team whose professors don't even read their papers-they just slap an A on them and hand them back. But the Briar profs make us work for it. Assholes."
"How are you doing in your other courses?"
"A's across the board, and a pesky C in Spanish history, but that'll change once I turn in my final paper." I smirk. "Guess I'm not the dumb jock you thought I was, huh?"
"I never thought you were dumb." She sticks out her tongue. "I thought you were a jackass."
"Thought?" I pounce on her use of the past tense. "Does that mean you've seen the error of your ways?"
"Naah, you're still a jackass." She grins. "But at least you're a smart one."
"Smart enough to ace this midterm?" My spirits sink as I voice the question. The makeup is tomorrow, and I'm starting to stress about it again. I'm not sure I'm ready, but Hannah's confidence eases some of my uncertainty.
"Definitely," she assures me. "As long as you keep your own bias out of it and stick to what the philosophers would do, I think you'll be fine."
"I better be. I really need this grade, Wellsy."
Her voice softens. "The team's that important to you?"