As far as I'm concerned, the kiss didn't happen. Our lips didn't touch, and my body didn't ache. He didn't groan when my tongue filled his mouth, and I didn't whimper when his lips latched onto that sensitive spot on my neck.
It didn't happen.
But … well, if it didn't happen, then there's no reason for me to bail on the party, now is there? Because no matter how confused and stricken the ki-the big mistake had left me, I'm still eager for a chance to see Justin outside of class.
I can't bring myself to tell Allie the truth, though. I'm usually so confident in other areas of my life. Singing, schoolwork, friends. When it comes to relationships, I revert back to that traumatized fifteen-year-old who required three years of therapy before she was able to feel normal again. I know Allie would disapprove if she knew I was using Garrett to get to Justin, and right now, I'm not in the mood to be lectured.
"Trust me, shenanigans are Garrett's middle name," I say dryly. "The guy treats life like a game."
"And you, Hannah Wells, are playing along?" She shakes her head, incredulous. "Are you sure you don't have a thing for this guy?"
"Garrett? No way," I say immediately.
Uh-huh. Because you alwaaaaaays make out with guys you don't like.
I banish the internal taunt. Nope, I didn't make out with Garrett. I was simply meeting a challenge.
The mocking voice rears its head again. And you felt absolutely nothing, right?
Argh, why isn't there an off switch for that sarcastic part of your brain? Except I know that doing that won't erase the truth. I did feel something when we kissed. Those tingles that Justin evokes in me? I felt them the other night with Garrett. They were different, though. The butterflies didn't just float around in my belly-they took flight and raced through my entire body, making every inch of me pulse with pleasure.
But it meant nothing. In the span of ten days, Garrett went from being a stranger to a nuisance to a friend, but that's as far as I'm willing to take it. I don't want to date him, no matter how good a kisser he is.
Before Allie can grill me further, Garrett texts to inform me he's here. I'm about to tell him to wait in the car, but I guess we have different definitions of here, because a loud knock sounds on the door a second later.
I sigh. "That's Garrett. Can you let him in? I just want to put my hair up."
Allie grins and disappears. As I run a brush through my hair, I hear voices in the living area, followed by a squeaky protest and then heavy footsteps heading to my bedroom.
Garrett appears in the doorway wearing dark blue jeans and a black sweater, and something terrible happens. My heart turns into a dolphin and does a stupid little flip of excitement.
Excitement, for fuck's sake.
God, that ki-mistake really messed with my head.
He scrutinizes my clothes before raising one eyebrow. "Is that what you're wearing?"
"Yes." I bristle. "Got a problem with that?"
He tilts his head to the side like he's Tim fucking Gunn judging an outfit on Project Runway. "I'm totally digging the jeans and boots, but the shirt has gotta go."
I examine my loose blue-and-white striped sweater but I honestly don't see the issue. "What's wrong with it?"
"It's too baggy. I thought we talked about how you need to show off your stripper tits."
A strangled cough comes from behind him. "Stripper tits?" Allie echoes as she steps into the room.
"Ignore him," I tell her. "He's a chauvinist."
"No, I'm a guy," he corrects, then proceeds to flash his trademark grin. "I want to see some cleavage."
"I like this sweater," I protest.
Garrett glances at Allie. "Hi, I'm Garrett. What's your name again?"
"Allie. Hannah's roommate and BFF."
"Great. Well, can you tell your roomie and BFF that she looks like a reject from a sailing show?"
She laughs, and then, to my horror-Benedict Arnold!-she agrees with him. "It wouldn't hurt to wear something more form-fitting," she says tactfully.
I scowl at her.
Garrett beams. "See? We're all in agreement. Go big or go home, Wellsy."
Allie looks from me to Garrett, and I know exactly what she's thinking. But she's wrong. We're not into each other, and we're certainly not dating. But I suppose it's better she think that than know I'm going out with him to impress someone else.
Garrett strides to my closet like he owns it. When he pokes his dark head inside, Allie shoots me a grin. She seems highly entertained by all this.
He flips through the hangers to examine my wardrobe, then pulls out a sheer black top. "How about this?"
"No way. It's see-through."
"Then why do you own it?"
Good question.
He holds up another hanger, this time a red sweater with a gaping V-neck. "This one," he says with a nod. "You look great in red."
Allie's eyebrows hit the ceiling, and I curse Garrett for putting all these unnecessary ideas in her head. But at the same time, my chest goes warm and gooey, because … he thinks I look great in red? As in, he's actually noticed what I've worn in the past?
Garrett tosses me the shirt. "Okay, get changed. We want to be fashionably late, not asshole late."
Allie snickers.
I glare at them both. "Can I please have some privacy?"
They're either oblivious to my annoyance or they're choosing to ignore it, because I hear them chatting easily in the living room. I suspect Allie is grilling him about our "date," and I hope to God that Garrett sticks to the bet story. When his husky laughter floats into my bedroom, an involuntary shiver skitters up my spine.
What is happening to me? I'm losing sight of what I want. No, of who I want. Justin. Justin frickin' Kohl. I shouldn't be kissing Garrett-or Dean, for that matter-and getting distracted by the strange rush of heat he unleashes inside me.
It's time to get my head on straight and remember why I agreed to this charade in the first place.
Starting right now.
*
Garrett
BEAU MAXWELL LIVES off campus with four of his teammates. Their house is only a few blocks from mine, but a helluva lot bigger, and it's packed like a hockey arena on game night when Hannah and I walk inside. Deafening hip-hop blasts from the speaker system, and several warm, sweaty bodies jostle us as we venture deeper into the house. All I can smell is alcohol, sweat, and cologne.
I pat myself on the back for convincing Hannah to wear that red top, because holy fucking hell, it looks amazing on her. The material is so thin it outlines every sweet curve of her chest, and that neckline … Sweet Jesus. Her tits are practically pouring out of it, like they're trying to pop out and say hello. I don't know if she's wearing a pushup bra or if her breasts are really that big, but either way, they're bouncing like crazy with every step she takes.
Several people wander over to say hello to me and there's a shit ton of curious stares in Hannah's direction. She fidgets at my side, clearly feeling out of place. My chest goes softer than butter when I glimpse the deer-in-the-headlights look in her eyes.
I reach for her hand, which prompts her gaze to fly up to mine in surprise.
Bringing my lips close to her ear, I murmur, "Relax."
Leaning in is a big mistake, because she smells fantastic. That sweet, familiar cherry fragrance mingles with the faint hint of lavender and something uniquely feminine. It takes a serious amount of willpower not to press my nose into her neck and inhale her. Or taste her with my tongue. Lick and kiss the hot flesh of her throat until she moans.
Oh man. I'm in big trouble. I haven't been able to stop thinking about that kiss. Every time the memory floats into my head, my pulse races and my balls tighten, and all I want to do is kiss the crap out of her again.
The overpowering lust, however, is accompanied by a sense of crushing rejection. Because, clearly, I was the only one affected by that damn kiss. If Hannah had felt something, even in the slightest, she wouldn't have stuck her tongue down Dean's throat two seconds later. Dean. One of my best friends.
But she's not here with Dean tonight, now is she? Nope, she's my date, and we're here to make another guy jealous-why can't I give in to temptation? This might be the only chance I get.
So I plant a soft kiss on the side of her throat before whispering, "You're gonna be the center of attention tonight, babe. Smile and pretend you're enjoying it."
I steal another kiss, this time on the corner of her jaw, and she sucks in a breath. Her eyes widen, and either I'm imagining it, or there's a glimmer of heat there.
Before I can interpret what I'm seeing, one of the linebackers interrupts us. "Graham! Yo, good to see you, man!" Ollie Jankowitz lumbers over and slaps my back, and the contact jars my entire body because the dude is monster-sized.
"Hey, Ollie," I say before nodding at Hannah. "Do you know Hannah?"
He wears a blank look for a second. Then his eyes dip to her chest, and a slow smile stretches across his bearded face. "I do now." He sticks out one meaty paw. "Hey, I'm Oliver."