The Mistake: Chapter 2

I’ve decided to ease back on the partying. And that’s not just because I got so trashed last night that Tucker had to haul me over his shoulder and cart me upstairs to my bedroom because I was too dizzy to walk.

Though that was a major factor in the decision-making process.

So now it’s Friday night, and not only did I turn down a party invite from one of the guys on the team, but I’m still nursing the same glass of whiskey I poured more than an hour ago. I also haven’t taken a single hit off the joint Dean keeps shoving in my direction.

We’re hanging out at our place tonight, braving the early-April chill as we huddle together in the small backyard. I take a drag of my cigarette while Dean, Tucker and our teammate, Mike Hollis, pass around the joint, and I’m only half-listening to Dean’s incredibly raunchy recap of the sex he had last night. My mind keeps wandering back to my own hook-up—the sexy-as-sin sorority sister who’d lured me into one of the upstairs bathrooms and had her way with me.

I might have been drunk and my memory might be a bit hazy, but I definitely remember fingering her until she came all over my hand. And I absolutely remember being on the receiving end of a pretty spectacular BJ. I don’t plan on telling Tuck about it, though. You know, since apparently he’s keeping a tally of my hook-ups. Nosy bastard.

“Wait, back up. You did what?”

Hollis’s exclamation jars me back to the present.

“I sent her a dick pic.” Dean says this as if it’s something he does every day.

Hollis gawks at him. “Really? You sent her a picture of your junk? What, like some kind of fucked-up sex souvenir?”

“Naah. More like an invitation for another round,” Dean answers with a grin.

“How the hell will that make her want to sleep with you again?” Hollis sounds doubtful now. “She probably thinks you’re a douche.”

“No way, dude. Chicks appreciate a nice cock shot. Trust me.”

Hollis presses his lips together like he’s trying not to laugh. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

I flick my ash on the grass and take another drag. “Just out of curiosity, what constitutes a ‘nice cock shot’? I mean, is it the lighting? The pose?”

I’m being sarcastic, but Dean responds in a solemn voice. “Well, the trick is, you’ve gotta keep the balls out of it.”

That gets a loud hoot out of Tucker, who chokes mid-sip on his beer.

“Seriously,” Dean insists. “Balls aren’t photogenic. Women don’t want to see them.”

Hollis’s laughter spills over, his breaths coming out in white puffs that float away in the night air. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this, man. It’s kinda sad.”

I laugh too. “Wait, is that what you do when you’re in your room with the door locked? Take photos of your cock?”

“Oh, come on, like I’m the only one who’s ever taken a dick pic.”

“You’re the only one,” Hollis and I say in unison.

“Bullshit. You guys are liars.” Dean suddenly realizes that Tucker hadn’t voiced a denial, and wastes no time pouncing on our teammate’s silence. “Ha. I knew it!”

I arch a brow and glance at Tuck, who may or may not be blushing under the five inches of beard growth on his face. “Really, man? Really?”

He offers a sheepish grin. “Remember that girl I was dating last year? Sheena? Well, she texted me a picture of her tits. Said I had to return the favor.”

Dean’s jaw falls open. “Dick for tits? Dude, you got played. No way are those even remotely comparable.”

“What’s the equivalent of tits then?” Hollis asks curiously.

“Balls,” Dean declares, before taking a deep pull of the joint. He blows out a ring of smoke as everyone laughs at his remark.

“You just said women don’t want to see balls,” Hollis points out.

“They don’t. But any idiot knows that a dick pic requires a full frontal shot in return.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s common sense.”

Someone clears their throat from the sliding door behind me. Loudly.

I turn around to find Hannah standing there, and my chest squeezes so tight my ribs ache. She’s wearing leggings and one of Garrett’s practice jerseys. Her dark hair is loose and falling over one shoulder. She looks gorgeous.

And yup, I’m a total asshole friend, because suddenly I’m picturing her in my jersey. With my number scrawled across it.

So much for accepting and moving on.

“Um…okay,” she says slowly. “Just making sure I’m not misunderstanding, but…you guys are talking about sending pictures of your penises to girls?” Amusement dances in her eyes as she glances around the group.

Dean snorts. “We sure are. And don’t roll your eyes like that, Wellsy. Are you really gonna stand there and tell us that G hasn’t sent you pictures of his cock?”

“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.” She sighs and rests her forearm on the edge of the door. “Garrett and I are ordering pizza. Do you guys want to pitch? Oh, and we’re putting on a movie in the living room. It’s his turn to pick so it’ll probably be some God-awful action movie, if you guys want to watch with us.”

Tuck and Dean instantly pipe up with yeses, but Hollis shakes his head regretfully. “Maybe next time. My last final is on Monday so I’m spending the rest of the weekend cramming.”

“Eek. Well, good luck.” She smiles at him before releasing the doorframe and taking a step back. “If you guys want a say in the pizza toppings, you better come inside now, otherwise I’m going to load it with veggies. Oh, and what the hell, Logan?” Those green eyes narrow at me. “I thought you said you only smoke at parties. Am I going to have to beat you up now?”

“I’d like to see you try, Wellsy.” My tone is filled with humor, but the second she ducks back inside, the humor fades.

Being around her is like a punch to the gut. And the thought of sitting in the living room with her and Garrett, eating pizza and watching a movie and seeing them all cuddly and in love…a hundred times worse than a gut punch. It’s an entire hockey team slamming you into the boards.

“You know what? I think I might go to Danny’s thing after all. Can I catch a ride with you to the dorms?” I ask Hollis. “I’d drive over myself but I don’t know if I’ll end up drinking.”

Dean stabs out the joint in the ashtray on top of the closed barbecue lid. “You won’t end up drinking, dude. Danny’s RA is a total Nazi. He patrols the halls and does random room checks. No joke.”

I don’t care. All I know is that I can’t stay here. I can’t hang out with Hannah and Garrett, not until I manage to get a handle on my stupid infatuation with her.

“Then I won’t drink. I just need a change of scenery. I’ve been home all day.”

“A change of scenery, huh?” Tucker’s cloudy expression tells me he sees right through me.

“Yes,” I say coolly. “Got a problem with that?”

Tuck doesn’t answer.

Gritting my teeth, I mutter my goodbyes and follow Hollis out to his car.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m in the second-floor corridor of Fairview House, and it’s so eerily quiet that my spirits plummet even lower. Shit. I guess the resident advisor really is a hard-ass. I don’t hear a peep from any of the rooms, and I can’t even call Danny to find out if the party was canceled, because in my haste to escape my house, I forgot to grab my phone.

I’ve never been to Danny’s dorm before, so I stand in the hallway for a moment, trying to remember the room number he’d texted me earlier. Two-twenty? Or was it two-thirty? I wander past each door checking the numbers, and my dilemma solves itself when I realize there isn’t even a room two-thirty.

Two-twenty, it is.

I rap my knuckles against the door. Almost immediately, footsteps sound from behind it. Someone’s there, at least. That’s a good sign.

Then the door swings open, and I find myself looking at a total stranger. Granted, she’s a very pretty stranger, but a stranger nonetheless.

The girl blinks in surprise when she sees me standing there. Her light brown eyes are the same shade as her hair, which hangs in a long braid over her shoulder. She’s wearing loose plaid pants and a black sweatshirt with the university logo on the front, and from the utter silence in the room behind her, it’s obvious I knocked on the wrong door.

“Hi,” I say awkwardly. “So…yeah…I guess this isn’t Danny’s room?”

“Um, no.”

“Shit.” I purse my lips. “He said it was room two-twenty.”

“One of you must’ve gotten the number wrong then.” She pauses. “For what it’s worth, there’s no one named Danny on this floor. Is he a freshman?”

“Junior.”

“Oh. Well, then he definitely doesn’t live here. This is a freshman dorm.” As she speaks, she plays with the bottom of her braid and not once does she look me in the eye.

“Shit,” I mumble again.

“Are you sure your friend said it was Fairview House?”

I falter. I was sure, but now…not so much. Danny and I don’t hang out too often, at least not on our own. Usually I see him at post-game parties, or he comes over to my place with our other teammates.

“I have no idea anymore,” I answer with a sigh.

“Why don’t you call him?” She’s still not meeting my gaze. Now she’s staring down at her striped wool socks as if they’re the most fascinating things she’s ever seen.

“I left my phone at home.” Fuck. As I mull over my options, I run a hand through my hair. It’s growing out and I desperately need to get it buzzed, but I keep forgetting to do it. “Is it cool if I use yours?”

“Um…sure.”

Even though she looks hesitant, she opens the door wider and gestures for me to come in. Her room is a typical double with two of everything, but while one side is neat as a pin, the other is slob central. Clearly this girl and her roommate have very different philosophies about tidiness.

For some reason, I’m not surprised when she walks over to the tidy side. She definitely seems like she’d be the neat one. She goes to the desk and unplugs a cell phone from its charger, then holds it out to me. “Here.”

The second the phone exchanges hands, she creeps back toward the door.

“You don’t have to stand all the way over there,” I say dryly. “Unless you’re debating making a run for it?”

Her cheeks turn pink.

Grinning, I swipe the phone screen and pull up the keypad. “Don’t worry, gorgeous. I’m just using your phone. I’m not going to murder you.”

“Oh, I know that. Or at least I think I know that,” she stammers. “I mean, you seem like a decent guy, but then again, lots of serial killers probably seem decent too when you first meet them. Did you know that Ted Bundy was actually really charming?” Her eyes widen. “How messed up is that? Imagine you’re walking along one day and you meet this really cute, charming guy, and you’re like, oh my God, he’s perfect, and then you’re over at his place and you find a trophy dungeon in the basement with skin suits and Barbie dolls with the eyes ripped out and—”

“Jesus,” I cut in. “Did anyone ever tell you that you talk a lot?”

Her cheeks are even redder now. “Sorry. Sometimes I babble when I’m nervous.”

I shoot her another grin. “I make you nervous?”

“No. Well, maybe a little. I mean, I don’t know you, and…yeah. Stranger danger and all that, though I’m sure you’re not dangerous,” she adds hastily. “But…you know…”

“Right. Ted Bundy,” I supply, fighting hard not to laugh.

She fidgets with her braid again, and her averted gaze gives me the opportunity to study her more closely. Man, she really is pretty. Not drop-dead gorgeous or anything, but she has a fresh-faced, girl-next-door look that’s seriously appealing. Freckles on her nose, delicate features, and smooth, creamy skin right out of a makeup commercial.

“Are you going to call?”

I blink, suddenly remembering why I came inside in the first place. I look down at the phone in my hand, and now I’m examining the number pad as intently as I was examining her moments before.

“Here’s a tip—you use your fingers to dial, and then you press send.”

I lift my head, and her barely restrained grin summons a laugh from my throat. “Great tip,” I agree. “But…” I let out a glum breath. “I just realized I don’t know his number. It’s saved in my phone.”

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.