The Deal (Off Campus #1)(38)

I glance at the open doorway, then lower my voice. "This has to stay between us, okay?"

A wry grin lifts his lips. "Dude, if you knew how many secrets are  floating around in this thick skull of mine, you'd freak. Trust me, I  know how to keep my mouth shut."

I sink onto the long wooden bench against the wall and rest my hands on  my knees. I don't know where to start, but I do know I can't tell him  the truth. That's something only Hannah has the right to share.

"Have you ever slept with a virgin?" I hedge.

He blinks. "Uh. Okay. Well, yeah. I have." Birdie sits beside me. "Between you and me?" he says.

"Of course."

"Nat was a virgin when we first hooked up." Nat is actually Natalie,  Birdie's girlfriend since freshman year. The two of them are one of  those "it" couples that everyone makes fun of for being so nauseatingly  perfect together while secretly envying their relationship.





  

I have to ask, "Were you?"

He grins. "Naah. I punched in my V-card at fifteen."

Fifteen. That's how old Hannah was when she …  I suddenly wonder if that  had been her first time, and horror claws up my throat. Jesus. Losing  your virginity is a huge deal for some chicks-I can't even imagine  what'd it feel like having it taken from you.

"Why? You've got a date with a hot virgin?" Birdie teases.

"Something like that." Considering he met Hannah last night at Malone's,  I'm sure Birdie is putting two and two together in his head, but I know  he won't blab about this to anyone.

And I figure this virgin story is safer than uttering the words rape  victim. Because really, the approach to sleeping with the former can't  be all that different from doing it with the latter. In both instances,  you need to be patient and respectful and thorough, right?

"So what did you do for Nat's first time?" I ask awkwardly.

"Honestly? I just tried to make her comfortable." Birdie shrugs. "She's  not into all that mushy shit, like flowers and candles and rose petals  all over the bed. She didn't want it to be a big deal." Another shrug.  "Some girls do want to make a big production outta it, though. So in  your case, I think the first thing you need to do is figure out what  kind of girl she is. Low-key or mega romantic."

I think about Hannah and all the pressure she's under to be  "normal"-which is probably a million times worse than the pressure I'm  feeling at the moment-and I immediately know the answer.

"Low-key, definitely. I think candles and rose petals would make her nervous."

Birdie tips his head. "Then just go slow and make sure she's  comfortable. That's the only advice I can give you." He pauses. "And  include lots of foreplay, dude. Chicks need that shit. Got it?"

I chuckle. "Yes, sir."

"Any more questions? Because I stink to high heaven, and I desperately need a shower."

"Naah, that's it. Thanks, man."

Birdie slaps me on the shoulder and rises to his feet. "Don't stress too  much about it, G. Sex is supposed to be fun, remember?" Then he winks  and lumbers out of the weight room.

Don't stress? Jeez, how can I not?

I groan out loud, grateful that nobody is around to hear the panicky sound.

Make her comfortable. Go slow. Lots of foreplay. Don't stress.

Okay. I can do that.

Or at least I damn well hope I can.





24

Hannah


I ALMOST THROW up three times on the way over to Garrett's, but I choke  back the nerves because I'm driving Tracy's car, and the last thing I  want to do is pay to have my vomit scrubbed off her upholstery.

I honestly don't remember a second of my five-hour shift at Della's. Or  my one-hour rehearsal with Cass earlier. Or how I got from one place to  the other today. I've been on autopilot since I left Garrett's bedroom  earlier, every conscious thought focused on what I'm about to do  tonight.

Did I mention I'm nervous?

I shouldn't be, though. It's just sex. It's sex with a guy I'm attracted to, a guy I genuinely like and trust.

My hands shouldn't be trembling this badly, and my heart shouldn't be  beating this fast. And yet intertwined with the nervousness is a sense  of excitement. Anticipation. I'm even wearing matching bra and panties  beneath my waitressing uniform. Yep, you know you're about to have sex  when you're rocking black lace top and bottom, and your skin is silky  smooth and ready to be touched.

Garrett's roommates aren't home when I walk into the house. Unless  they're holed up in their bedrooms, but I don't think they are because  there's nothing but silence in the upstairs hallway as I head toward  Garrett's room.

I wonder if Garrett ordered them to disappear. Then I hope he didn't,  because … well, that's like holding up a neon sign announcing that he and I  are getting it on tonight.

"Hey," he says when I walk in.

My heart simultaneously does a nervous somersault and an appreciative  flip. I can tell he took the time to get ready because his hair is still  slightly damp from the shower, and his face is completely clean-shaven.  I glance at his black track pants and tight gray undershirt, then at my  garish uniform. Thanks to the jittery state I've been in all day, I  forgot to bring a change of clothes.

Then again, we probably won't be wearing clothes for much longer.

"Hey." I gulp. "So … how do you want to do this? Should I take my clothes  off?" I pause as something occurs to me. "Don't you dare ask me to do a  striptease, because I'm nervous enough as it is and there's no way I can  dance even remotely sexy right now."





  

Garrett bursts out laughing. "You have no idea how to set a mood, do you, Wellsy?"

I moan miserably. "I know. I'm just … nervous," I reiterate. Taking a  breath, I wipe my clammy palms on the front of my skirt. "Can we just  get started? You're standing there and looking at me, and it's freaking  me out."

He approaches with a quiet chuckle, cupping my chin in his hands.  "First, relax-there's nothing to be nervous about. Second, I don't  expect, or particularly want, a striptease." He winks. "At least not  tonight. And third, we're not starting anything right now."

I battle a pang of disappointment. "We're not?"

Garrett tosses me the same T-shirt I slept in last night. "Go change out  of that Grease costume and put this on. I'll get the next disc ready."  He wanders over to the TV and picks up the DVD case for Breaking Bad.

"You want to watch TV?" I say incredulously.

"Yup."

My mouth opens. Then closes. But it stays closed, because I suddenly  realize what he's doing, and I whole-heartedly appreciate it.

He's trying to put me at ease.

It's working.

I duck into the bathroom to change, returning a moment later to join  Garrett on the bed. He instantly puts his arm around me and pulls me  closer, and his familiar masculine scent relaxes me.

"Ready?" he says lightly, holding up the remote.

I find myself smiling. "Yep."

The episode fills the screen, and I lean my head against his shoulder as  I focus on the TV. Like the other times we've watched this show  together, neither of us say much aside from the occasional gasp from me  or a prediction from him, but unlike those other times, I'm only half  paying attention. Garrett rubs his palm over my shoulder in a light,  teasing caress that makes it incredibly hard to concentrate on the TV.

Halfway through the episode, he leans in and kisses my neck.

I don't say a word, but an involuntary sigh slips out. Goose bumps rise  in the spot his lips have touched, and when he rests one big hand on my  bare thigh, a jolt of heat singes my skin.

"What are you doing?" I murmur.

His lips travel along the length of my neck. "Setting the mood." He nips  at my earlobe. "Unlike some people, I happen to know how to do that."

I stick my tongue out at him even though he can't see it. He's too busy  tormenting me with his mouth, planting wet, open-mouthed kisses on the  side of my throat.

Arousal starts deep in my core and spreads outward, dancing through my  body and tingling in all my erogenous zones. Every time his lips kiss a  new patch of skin, I shiver with pleasure. When his tongue tickles my  jaw, I turn my head toward him and our mouths meet in the hottest kiss  on the planet.

I love the way Garrett kisses. It's not sloppy or hurried, but skillful  and slow and absolutely incredible. His lips brush mine, lazy and  teasing, while his tongue sneaks inside every so often for a fleeting  taste before seductively retreating. I slant my head and drive the kiss  deeper, and I moan when the minty flavor of him infuses my tongue. A  masculine rumble comes from the back of his throat, and my belly  clenches in response.

His mouth stays locked to mine as he gently pushes me onto my back,  settling on his side beside me. One warm hand cups my breast over the  thin material of my T-shirt, and the zing of pleasure makes me squeak in  joy.

"Tell me if I'm going too fast." His deep voice tickles my lips, and then his tongue spears through them to find mine again.