Shit. Is this my punishment for inappropriately fantasizing about Garrett’s girlfriend? Getting stranded on a Friday night with no phone or ride home? I guess I deserve it.
“Fuck it. I’ll call a cab,” I finally decide. Luckily, I know the number for the campus taxi service, so I dial that instead, only to be placed on hold immediately. As elevator music chirps in my ear, I smother a groan.
“You’re on hold, huh?”
“Yup.” I glance over at her again. “I’m Logan, by the way. Thanks for letting me use your phone.”
“No problem.” She pauses. “I’m Grace.”
A click sounds in my ear, but instead of the dispatcher’s voice coming on the line, there’s another click followed by another swell of music. I’m not surprised, though. It’s Friday night, the busiest night for the campus taxis. Who knows how long I’ll have to wait.
I sink down on the edge of one of the beds—the one that’s perfectly made—and try to remember the number for the cab service in Hastings, the town where most of the off-campus housing is, including my townhouse. But I’m drawing a blank, so I sigh and endure some more elevator music. My gaze drifts to the open laptop on the other side of the bed, and when I notice what’s on the screen, I look at Grace in surprise.
“Are you watching Die Hard?”
“Die Hard Two, actually.” She looks embarrassed. “I’m having a Die Hard night. I just finished the first one.”
“Do you have a thing for Bruce Willis or something?”
That makes her laugh. “Nope. I just like old action movies. Last weekend I watched the Lethal Weapon franchise.”
The music in my ear stops again, then starts over, bringing a curse to my lips. I hang up and turn to Grace. “Do you mind if I use your computer to get the number for the taxi service in Hastings? Maybe I’ll have better luck there.”
“Sure.” After a beat of hesitation, she sits next to me and reaches for the laptop. “Let me pull up a browser for you.”
When she goes to minimize the video, the movie unpauses, and sound blasts out of the speakers. As the opening fight scene in the airport fills the computer screen, I immediately lean closer to watch it. “Oh shit, this is such a great fight sequence.”
“I know, right?” Grace exclaims. “I love it. Actually, I love this whole movie. I don’t care what anyone says—it’s awesome. Obviously not as good as the first one, but it’s really not as bad as people think.”
She’s about to pause the movie, but I intercept her hand. “Can we finish watching this scene first?”
Her expression fills with surprise. “Um…yeah, okay.” She visibly swallows, adding, “If you want, you can stay and watch the whole movie.” Her cheeks flush the moment she voices the invitation. “Unless you have somewhere you need to be.”
I think it over for a second before shaking my head. “Naah, I have nowhere else to be. I can hang out for a while.”
Really, what’s the alternative? Go home to watch Hannah and Garrett hand-feed pizza to each other and sneak kisses during the movie?
“Oh. Okay,” Grace says warily. “Uh…cool.”
I chuckle. “Were you expecting me to say no?”
“Kind of,” she admits.
“Why would I? Seriously, what guy turns down Die Hard? The only thing that could sweeten this deal is if you offered me some booze.”
“I don’t have any.” She stops to think. “But I’ve got a whole bag of gummy bears hidden in my desk drawer.”
“Marry me,” I say instantly.
Laughing, she wanders over to the desk, opens the bottom drawer, and, sure enough, pulls out a huge bag of candy. As I slide up the bed and lean back on the stack of pillows at the head of it, Grace kneels in front of the mini-fridge next to the desk and asks, “Water or Pepsi?”
“Pepsi, please.”
She hands me the massive bag of gummy bears and a can of soda, then settles on the bed beside me and positions the laptop on the mattress between us.
I shove a gummy bear in my mouth and focus my gaze on the screen. Okay, then. This definitely wasn’t the way I expected this evening to go, but hell, might as well roll with it.
3
Grace
John Logan is in my dorm room.
No, John Logan is on my bed.
I am so not prepared for this. In fact, I’m tempted to secretly text Ramona with an SOS and beg for advice, because I have no idea what to do or say. On the plus side, we’re watching a movie, which means I don’t have to do or say anything except stare at the laptop, laugh at the appropriate one-liners, and pretend that the hottest guy at Briar isn’t sitting on my bed.
And he’s not just physically hot. He’s also temperature hot. Seriously, his body heat is like a blast from a furnace, and since I’m already hot and tingly from his mere presence, the warmth he’s radiating is starting to make me sweat.
Trying to be inconspicuous, I wiggle out of my sweatshirt and tuck it beside me, but the movement causes Logan to turn his head toward me. Those deep blue eyes focus on my tight tank top, resting briefly on my chest.
Oh God. He’s checking out my boobs. And even though I’m only rocking a B-cup, the way his expression smolders, you’d think I had a porn star rack.
When he realizes I’ve caught him staring, he just winks and turns back to the screen.
It’s official: I’ve actually met a guy who can pull off a wink.
Paying attention to the movie is impossible. My eyes are on the screen, but my mind is somewhere else. Focused wholly on the guy beside me. He’s a lot bigger than I thought. Impossibly broad shoulders, muscular chest, long legs stretching out in front of him. I’ve seen him play hockey so I know he’s aggressively physical on the ice, and having that powerful body inches from mine shoots a thrill up my spine. He looks so much older and more masculine than the freshmen guys I’ve hung out with all year.
Well, duh. He’s a junior.
Right. But…he seems older than that too. He’s got this whole manly thing going on that makes me want to rip his clothes off and lick him like an ice cream cone.
I pop a gummy bear in my mouth, hoping the act of chewing will bring some much-needed moisture to my dry throat. On the screen, McClane’s wife is on the plane arguing with the pesky news reporter who caused trouble for the McClanes in the first movie, and suddenly Logan glances over at me, curiosity flickering in his expression.
“Hey, do you think you could land a plane if you had no other choice?”
I laugh. “I thought you said you’ve seen this movie. You know she doesn’t have to land the plane, right?”
“No, I know that. But it made me wonder what I’d do if I was on a plane and I was the only one who could land it.” He sighs. “I don’t think I’d be able to do it.”
I’m surprised he’s so quick to admit that. Other guys might try to act all macho and scoff about how they could land that thing in their sleep or something.
“Me neither,” I confess. “If anything, I see myself making it worse. I’d probably accidently depressurize the cabin by touching the wrong control. Actually, no. I’m scared of heights, so I’m pretty sure I’d pass out the second I stepped into the cockpit and looked out the windshield.”
He chuckles, and the husky sound sets off another round of tingles. “I might be able to fly a helicopter,” he muses. “That’s probably easier than a jet, right?”
“Maybe? Honestly, I know nothing about aviation.” It’s my turn to sigh. “Don’t tell anyone, but sometimes I’m not sure I understand how planes even stay in the air.”
He laughs, and then we both focus on the movie again, and I give myself a mental pat on the back. I just had an entire conversation with a cute guy without babbling incoherently. I deserve a frickin’ gold star for that.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m still nervous as all get out. But something about Logan puts me at ease. He’s so laidback, and besides, it’s hard to feel intimidated by a guy when he’s chomping away on gummy bears.
As we watch the movie, my gaze darts toward him every few seconds to admire his chiseled profile. His nose is slightly crooked, as if it’s been broken once or twice before. And the sexy curve of his lips is…pure temptation. I want to kiss him so badly I can’t think straight.
God, and I’m such a loser, because kissing me is probably the last thing on his mind. He stuck around to watch Die Hard, not to fool around with a freshman who compared him to Ted frickin’ Bundy an hour ago.
I force myself to concentrate on the film, but I’m already dreading the moment it ends, because then Logan will have to leave.
But when the credits scroll up on the screen, he doesn’t make a single move to get up. Instead, he looks over and asks, “So what’s your deal?”
I furrow my brow. “What do you mean?”
“It’s Friday night—how come you’re sitting around watching action movies?”
The question makes me bristle. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing.” He shrugs. “I’m just wondering why you’re not out partying or something.”
“I was at a party last night.” Don’t remind him you saw him, don’t remind him you saw him—“I saw you there, by the way.”