Told you cuddling was a mistake, dude.
My inner cynic wreaks havoc on my brain, bringing a rush of weariness to my chest. No, Kohl had to have been bullshitting. There's no way Hannah would agree to go out on a date with him without telling me.
Right?
"Anyway, just thought you should know," Logan says.
It's damn difficult to speak past my tight-as-fuck throat, but I manage one mumble of a word. "Thanks."
31
Hannah
GARRETT TEXTS ME just as I'm getting ready for bed. Allie and I literally walked through the door five minutes ago, and I'm surprised to hear from him again tonight. I figured he'd crash the moment he got home from the game.
Him: Need to talk to u.
Me: Now?
Him: Yes.
O-kay. It might be a text message, but it's hard not to extrapolate his tone. And his tone is most definitely pissed off.
Me: Um, sure. Call me?
Him: Actually, I'm at your door.
My head snaps toward my open doorway, half expecting to find him there. Then I feel silly because I realize he means the door to our dorm and not my bedroom. Still, this must be serious, because Garrett doesn't usually show up unannounced.
Queasiness eddies in my stomach as I walk past the common area to answer the door. Sure enough, Garrett is standing behind it. Still wearing his hockey jacket and sweatpants, as if he rushed right over instead of going home to change first.
"Hi," I greet him, gesturing for him to come inside. "What's going on?"
He gazes past me at the empty living room. "Where's Allie?"
"She went to bed."
"Can we talk in your room?"
The queasiness gets worse. I can't decipher his expression at all. His eyes are shuttered, and his tone is completely devoid of emotion. Does this have something to do with his father? I couldn't hear their conversation earlier, but their body language had conveyed some serious aggression. I wonder if maybe they-
"Are you going out with Justin this weekend?"
Garrett voices the demand the moment I close my bedroom door, and I realize in dismay that this has nothing to do with his dad.
And everything to do with me.
Surprise and insta-guilt war inside me as I meet his eyes. "Who told you that?"
"Logan. But he heard it from Kohl."
"Oh."
Garrett doesn't move. He doesn't unzip his jacket. He doesn't even blink. He just keeps his gaze locked on mine. "Is it true?"
I gulp. "Yes and no."
For the first time since he got here, his expression flashes with emotion-annoyance. "What the hell does that mean?"
"It means he asked me out, but I haven't decided if I'm going or not."
"Did you say you would?" There's a grim edge to his tone.
"Well, yes, but-"
Garrett's eyes blaze. "You actually said yes? When did he ask you?"
"Last week," I admit. "The day after Beau's party."
His face relaxes. Just slightly. "So it was before Dean's thing? Before you and I … ?"
I nod.
"Okay." He takes a breath. "Okay. Not as bad as I thought." But then his features turn to stone again and his nostrils flare. "Wait-what do you mean, you haven't decided if you're going?"
I give a helpless shrug.
"You're not fucking going, Hannah!"
His sharp voice makes me wince. "Says who? You? Because last I checked, you and I aren't dating. We're just fooling around."
"Is that what you really-" He stops, his mouth twisting in a scowl. "You know what? I guess you're right. I guess we're just fooling around."
I can barely keep up with the jumbled thoughts racing through my brain. "You said you don't do girlfriends," I say weakly.
"I said I don't have time for a girlfriend," he shoots back. "But guess what-priorities change."
I falter. "So you're saying you want me to be your girlfriend?"
"Yeah, maybe that's what I'm saying."
My teeth sink into my lower lip. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why would you want that?" I bite my lip harder. "You're all one-track about hockey, remember? And besides, we argue too much."
"We don't argue. We bicker."
"It's the same thing."
He rolls his eyes. "No, it's not. Bickering is fun and good-natured. Arguing is-"
"Oh my God, we're arguing about the way we argue!" I interrupt, unable to stop from laughing.
Garrett's shoulders relax at the sound of my laughter. He takes a step toward me, searching my face. "I know you're into me, Wellsy. And I'm definitely into you. Would it really be so bad if we made this thing official?"
I gulp again. I hate being put on the spot, and I'm too confused to make sense of anything right now. Acting on impulse isn't something I do often. I never make decisions without giving them careful thought, and although other girls might break out in cartwheels at the thought of making things "official" with Garrett Graham, I'm more pragmatic than that. I didn't expect to like this guy. Or to have sex with him. Or to be in the position where he might be my boyfriend.
"I don't know," I finally say. "I mean, I didn't really think about you and me in terms of dating. I just wanted to … " My cheeks grow warm " … explore the attraction and see if … you know. But I didn't think any farther ahead than that." My confusion triples, turning my mind to mush. "I have no idea what this even is, or where it could go, or … "
As I trail off, I notice Garrett's expression, and the hurt in his eyes cuts into me like a knife.
"You don't know what this is or where it could go? Jesus, Hannah. If you … " He lets out a shaky breath, his broad shoulders sagging. "If you honestly don't know, then we're wasting our time. Because I know exactly what it is. I-" He halts so abruptly it gives me whiplash.
"You what?" I whisper.
"I-" He stops again. His gray eyes darken. "You know what? Forget it. I guess you're right. This was all about exploring the attraction." He sounds increasingly bitter. "I'm just your sex therapist, right? Actually, no, I'm your fucking fluffer."
"Fluffer?" I say blankly.
"Like in porn," he mutters. "They bring in the fluffer to suck off the dudes between takes so they stay hard." Anger colors his tone. "That was my job, right? To get you nice and hot for Kohl? To get you ready to bone him?"
Indignation prickles my skin. "One, that's disgusting. And two, that's not fair and you know it."
"I don't know a damn thing, apparently."
"He asked me out before I slept with you! And I probably wasn't even going to go!"
Garrett barks out a harsh laugh. "You probably weren't going to? Yeah. Thanks for that." He takes a step to the door. "You know what? Just go on the damn date. You got what you wanted from me. I guess Justin can take it from here."
"Garrett-"
But he's already gone. Not just gone, but making his exit known as he slams my door, thuds through the suite, and slams that door too.
I stare at the empty space he was taking up a second ago.
I know exactly what it is.
Garrett's hoarse words echo in my head, and a vise of emotion constricts my heart, because I'm pretty sure I know exactly what it is too.
And I'm scared that because of my split-second moment of indecision, I just threw it all away.
32
Garrett
THE TEMPERATURE SEEMS to have dropped twenty degrees from when I walked into Bristol House to when I stormed out of it. A frigid gust of wind blasts me in the face and chills the tips of my ears as I trudge toward the parking lot.
See? This is why I avoid the whole girlfriend drama. I should be over the fucking moon tonight because the team crushed Harvard. Instead, I'm pissed off and frustrated and more upset than I expected to be. Hannah's right-we were just fooling around. Same way I was fooling around with Kendall, or the chick before her, or the chick before that. I didn't even bat an eye when I ended it with any of them, so why the hell am I so bummed right now?
Thank fuck I got out of there, though. I had been seconds away from making a complete fool of myself. Saying things I shouldn't be saying, maybe even begging. Jesus. If that's not a sign of some serious pussy-whipping right there then I don't know what is.
I'm halfway to my Jeep when I hear Hannah call out my name.
My chest clenches. I turn around and see her racing down the path from Bristol to the lot. She's still in her PJ's-plaid pants and a black T-shirt with yellow music notes decaled on the front.
I'm tempted to keep walking, but the sight of her bare arms and cold-flushed cheeks pisses me off even more than our fight had. "Jesus Christ, Hannah," I mutter when she reaches me. "You're gonna catch a cold."
"That's a myth," she shoots back. "Cold weather doesn't cause colds."
But she's visibly shivering, and when she wraps her arms around herself and starts rubbing her bare skin to keep warm, I rumble in annoyance and hurriedly unzip my jacket.
Gritting my teeth, I drape the coat over her shoulders. "Here."