The Mistake (Off-Campus #2)(53)

“Go away, G. I’m wooing.”

His friend snickers, then turns to me. “Hey, I’m Garrett.”

Right. As if I don’t know who he is. Garrett Graham is a legend at this school, for f*ck’s sake. He’s also incredibly good-looking, the kind of good-looking that brings a blush to my cheeks despite the fact I’m not even interested in the guy.

“I’m Grace,” I answer politely.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He edges away, a barely restrained smile on his lips. “I’ll wait outside so my boy can keep, ah, wooing.”

“No need. We’re all done here.” I scrape my chair back and hop to my feet.

“We most certainly are not,” Logan mutters.

Amused, Garrett glances from me to Logan. “I took a mandatory conflict resolution seminar back in high school. Do you guys need a mediator?”

I pick up my coffee. “Well, the stenographer who follows me around is on a lunch break, but I can catch you up no problem. Logan asked me out, and I solved the conflict by respectfully declining. There. I did all the work for you.”

Garrett laughs loud enough to attract the attention of everyone around us, including the three hockey players who wander over from the counter.

“What’s so funny?” Dean asks curiously. He notices me and offers a delighted smile. “Grace. Long time. I’m loving the hair.”

I’m surprised he even remembers my name. “Thanks.” I inch closer to the door. “I’ve gotta go. See you around, Logan. And, uh, you too, Logan’s friends.”

I’m halfway out the door when I hear him call, “You forgot your muffin.”

“No, I didn’t,” I answer without turning around.

Male laughter tickles my spine as the door closes behind me.


“Here’s what you’re gonna do. Pick up a bottle of wine, invite him over to your place, and make sure some old-school Usher is playing when he walks in. Then, you take off all your clothes and—you know what, baby girl?” Pace Dawson drawls into the microphone on Friday afternoon. “Forget the wine and Usher. Just be naked when he shows up and there’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll be ready to go to the bone zone.”

Pace’s co-host, Evelyn Winthrop, pipes up in agreement. “Naked never fails. Guys like it when you’re naked.”

In the privacy of the producer booth, I do my best not to gag. Through the glass that separates my booth from the main one, I see Pace and Evelyn grinning at each other as if they’ve just dispensed Dr. Phil-worthy advice to the freshman who’d called in for “seduction” tips.

It’s my first week at the station, and the second segment of “Whatcha Need” that I’ve heard Pace and Evelyn host. So far, I’m not blown away by the caliber of wisdom they’re handing out, but according to Daisy, the bi-weekly advice show gets more listeners than all the other student shows combined.

“All right, next caller,” Evelyn announces.

Which is my cue to take the caller off hold and put him on the air. One of my other tasks is screening the calls to ensure the people calling in have real questions and/or aren’t cuckoo-bananas.

“Hey, caller,” Pace says. “Tell us whatcha need.”

The sophomore who’s been waiting on the line wastes no time getting down to business. “Pace, my man,” he greets the host. “I wanted to hear your thoughts about manscaping.”

In his plush seat, the rugby-shirt-wearing frat boy snorts. “Dude, totally against it. Downstairs grooming is for chicks and sissies.”

Evelyn speaks up as if she’s leaving a comment on a blog post. “Strongly disagree.”

As the hosts start bickering about the pros and cons of male pubic hair, I choke down laughter and concentrate on monitoring the time. Each caller is allowed five minutes, tops. This one still has four left in the allotted five.

My gaze drifts to the other window in the booth, and I watch as Morris organizes a stack of CDs in front of the massive wall of music. Shelf after shelf holds hundreds and hundreds of albums, which is a strange sight to behold. I can’t remember the last time I listened to an actual CD—I figured they were as obsolete as VCRs and cassette tapes by now. But the station is old school and so is Morris. He’s already confessed to having a record player and a rare Underwood typewriter in his dorm room, and he’s also rocking a retro fashion sense I find sexy as hell. Part hipster, part newsie, part punk, part—I could go on forever, actually. There’s a little bit of everything in the guy’s style.

It suits his quirky personality, though. I’ve only known him a week, but I’m quickly discovering that Morris can’t go an hour without making a dry quip, a dirty joke, or at least one groan-worthy pun.

I’m also fairly certain he has a thing for me, if his constant flirting and readily available compliments are any indication.

I think I’d be open to it if he asked me out, but every time I consider it, a part of me raises a protest and encourages me to go out with Logan instead. I won’t lie—that muffin stunt had been…charming. Presumptuous, sure, but adorable enough that I couldn’t stop smiling during the entire walk back to my dorm.

But that doesn’t mean I’m giving him a second chance.

I shift my gaze back to the main booth and force myself to concentrate on the radio show. For the next thirty-five minutes, I fight hard not to laugh as I listen to quite possibly the two dumbest people on the planet give advice. Seriously, if their combined IQ is in the double digits, I’ll eat my hat. Proverbial hat, of course, since I can’t for the life of me pull off hats. My head refuses to look good in them.