The Mistake (Off-Campus #2)(80)

Once we recover from our respective orgasms, we decide to finally drag ourselves out of bed. It’s almost noon and we haven’t eaten since we woke up, and my stomach rumbles like the engine of a muscle car. We throw on some clothes, because no matter how many times I try to convince her, Grace refuses to walk around naked in case my roommates come home. I’ve been teasing her mercilessly about her unwarranted modesty, but I’m quickly discovering that Grace has one incredibly annoying trait—she’s always right.

We’ve just entered the kitchen when footsteps echo from the front hall.

“See!” she gloats at me. “They would have caught us!”

“Trust me, the guys have seen me naked on multiple occasions,” I answer dryly.

“Well, they’re never going to see me naked, not if I can help it.”

I suddenly picture Dean ogling her bare tits, and the hot streak of jealousy it triggers makes me realize just how grateful I am that she decided to wear clothes.

But it’s not Dean who strides into the kitchen a minute later. It’s Garrett, with Hannah on his tail. Although they look startled to find Grace at the counter, they greet her with warm smiles before turning to smirk at me. Smug bastards. I know exactly what’s going through their heads—a singsong taunt. Lo-gan has a girrrrl-friend.

“Hey.” I narrow my eyes. “I thought you guys were crashing at the dorm this weekend.”

“I bet you did,” Garrett mocks, his gray eyes gleaming.

“Yes, because that’s what you told me,” I say pointedly.

Hannah walks up to Grace and sticks out her hand. “Hi. We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Hannah.”

“I’m Grace.”

“I know.” Hannah can’t seem to wipe the big, stupid smile off her face. “Logan talks about you all the time.”

Grace glances at me. “You do?”

“All the livelong day,” Garrett confirms, flashing his big, stupid smile. “He also writes long, sweeping poems about you and recites them to us in the living room every night.”

Hannah snorts.

I give him the finger.

“Oh, I know about the poems,” Grace tells my best friend. “I’ve already submitted the one he sent me to an anthology press in Boston.”

I whirl around to glare at her. “You better be kidding about that.”

Garrett gives a hoot of laughter. “Doesn’t matter if she is. Because now I’ll be submitting it.”

“I feel left out,” Hannah announces. “Why am I the only one who hasn’t read this poem?”

“I’ll email it to you,” Grace offers, which brings a hell-no growl from my lips.

“So what are we eating?” Garrett marches over to the fridge. “I’m starving, and someone didn’t want to stop at the diner for brunch.”

“I’m there four days a week,” his girlfriend protests. “It’s the last place I want to go on my days off.”

He pulls out two cartons of eggs. “You guys feel like omelets?”

We’re all in agreement, so Garrett gets busy cracking eggs while Hannah and Grace chop vegetables at the counter. My job is to set the table, which takes all of thirty seconds. Smirking, I plop down on a stool and watch them work.

“You’re doing dishes,” Hannah warns as she hands Garrett a cutting board laden with green peppers.

I’m cool with that. I lean my elbows on the counter and ask, “So why’d you guys come back early?”

“Because Allie and Sean are currently engaged in an epic fight.” She glances at Grace. “My roommate and her boyfriend.”

“Soon-to-be ex from the sounds of it,” Garrett remarks from the stove. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard two people yell at each other like that before.”

Hannah sighs. “Sometimes they really bring out the worst in each other. But on the flip side, they also bring out the best in each other. That’s why they keep breaking up and getting back together. I thought for sure it would stick this time, but who knows.”

A mouthwatering aroma begins wafting through the kitchen. Garrett’s not the greatest cook, but he makes damn good omelets. Ten minutes later, he serves us fluffy, golden goodness loaded with cheese, mushrooms, and peppers, and the four of us settle around the table. It feels like a double date, which is surreal as hell. Up until last year, Garrett wasn’t interested in girlfriends, and up until last month, neither was I.

I like it, though. Hannah and Grace are getting along. The conversation’s lively. We laugh a lot. I can’t remember the last time I felt so at peace, and by the time we finish eating, I don’t even care that I’m stuck doing dishes.

Grace takes pity on me and helps me clear the table, then follows me to the sink, where I quickly rinse each plate before loading them in the dishwasher.

“I can see why you wanted her.” Her voice is barely audible, but wistful enough that it makes my shoulders go rigid.

When I realize she’s gazing at Hannah, guilt pricks my heart, bringing a sharp sting of pain. I hadn’t mentioned Hannah’s name when I told Grace about her in April, but I had admitted to liking my best friend’s girlfriend. Clearly Grace has put two and two together.

“She’s funny. And really pretty,” Grace says awkwardly.