The Deal(56)

Then I quickly gather up my things and hurry out of the room.





17




Hannah


“You lost a bet,” Allie says dubiously.

“Yep.” I sit at the edge of the bed and lean over to zip up my left boot, deliberately avoiding my roommate’s gaze.

“And now you’re going out with him.”

“Uh-huh.” I rub my thumb over the side of the boot and pretend I’m wiping away a smudge on the leather.

“You’re going out with Garrett Graham.”

“Mmm-hmmm.”

“I call shenanigans.”

Of course she does. A date with Garrett Graham? I might as well have announced I’m marrying Chris Hemsworth.

So no, I don’t blame Allie for looking so flabbergasted. The I lost a bet excuse was the best one I’d been able to come up with, and it’s feeble at best. Now I’m wondering if I should just fess up and tell her about Justin.

Or better yet, if I should cancel the date altogether.

I haven’t seen Garrett since…the big mistake…as I’m now referring to the kiss. He texted me yesterday after he wrote the makeup exam. Four measly words, two of which aren’t even real: “easy peasy lemon squeezy.”

I won’t lie, I was thrilled to hear it had gone well. But not thrilled enough to initiate an actual conversation, so I simply sent back one word—“nice”—and that was the only contact we had up until twenty minutes ago, when he messaged to say he was on his way to pick me up for the party.

As far as I’m concerned, the kiss didn’t happen. Our lips didn’t touch, and my body didn’t ache. He didn’t groan when my tongue filled his mouth, and I didn’t whimper when his lips latched onto that sensitive spot on my neck.

It didn’t happen.

But…well, if it didn’t happen, then there’s no reason for me to bail on the party, now is there? Because no matter how confused and stricken the ki—the big mistake had left me, I’m still eager for a chance to see Justin outside of class.

I can’t bring myself to tell Allie the truth, though. I’m usually so confident in other areas of my life. Singing, schoolwork, friends. When it comes to relationships, I revert back to that traumatized fifteen-year-old who required three years of therapy before she was able to feel normal again. I know Allie would disapprove if she knew I was using Garrett to get to Justin, and right now, I’m not in the mood to be lectured.

“Trust me, shenanigans are Garrett’s middle name,” I say dryly. “The guy treats life like a game.”

“And you, Hannah Wells, are playing along?” She shakes her head, incredulous. “Are you sure you don’t have a thing for this guy?”

“Garrett? No way,” I say immediately.

Uh-huh. Because you alwaaaaaays make out with guys you don’t like.

I banish the internal taunt. Nope, I didn’t make out with Garrett. I was simply meeting a challenge.

The mocking voice rears its head again. And you felt absolutely nothing, right?

Argh, why isn’t there an off switch for that sarcastic part of your brain? Except I know that doing that won’t erase the truth. I did feel something when we kissed. Those tingles that Justin evokes in me? I felt them the other night with Garrett. They were different, though. The butterflies didn’t just float around in my belly—they took flight and raced through my entire body, making every inch of me pulse with pleasure.

But it meant nothing. In the span of ten days, Garrett went from being a stranger to a nuisance to a friend, but that’s as far as I’m willing to take it. I don’t want to date him, no matter how good a kisser he is.

Before Allie can grill me further, Garrett texts to inform me he’s here. I’m about to tell him to wait in the car, but I guess we have different definitions of here, because a loud knock sounds on the door a second later.

I sigh. “That’s Garrett. Can you let him in? I just want to put my hair up.”

Allie grins and disappears. As I run a brush through my hair, I hear voices in the living area, followed by a squeaky protest and then heavy footsteps heading to my bedroom.

Garrett appears in the doorway wearing dark blue jeans and a black sweater, and something terrible happens. My heart turns into a dolphin and does a stupid little flip of excitement.

Excitement, for f*ck’s sake.

God, that ki—mistake really messed with my head.