The Deal (Off-Campus, #1)(90)

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the Justin date,” she says quietly. “But I’m not going to apologize for needing more than five frickin’ seconds to think about the possibility of you and me being a couple.”

My breath comes out in a white puff that quickly gets carried away by the wind. “I’m sorry I ran off,” I concede. “But I’m not sorry that I want to be with you.”

Those beautiful green eyes probe my face. “Do you still want that?”

I nod. Then I gulp. “Do you?”

“Depends.” She slants her head. “Will we be exclusive?”

“Fuck yeah,” I say without hesitation. The thought of her seeing anyone else is like a machete to the gut.

“Are you okay with taking it slow?” She shifts awkwardly. “Because with the showcase coming up, and the holidays, and exams, and your game schedule…we’ll both start to get busy and I can’t promise to see you every second of the day.”

“We see each other when we see each other,” I say simply.

I’m surprised by how calm I sound, how composed I’m staying when there’s a herd of excited butterflies thumping in my stomach and shouting hells yeah at top-volume. Jeez. I’m about to complicate my life by inviting a girlfriend into it, yet somehow I’m one hundred percent cool with that.

“Then okay.” Hannah smiles at me. “Let’s make it official.”

A dark cloud obscures some of my happiness. “What about Justin?”

“What about him?”

“You told him you’d go out with him,” I say through clenched teeth.

“Actually, I canceled the date before I came out here.”

The dumb butterflies inside me take flight again. “You did?”

She nods.

“So you’re not all hot for him anymore?”

Humor dances in her eyes. “I’m hot for you, Garrett. Only you.”

Just like that, my anxiety dissolves into a burst of pure joy that brings a grin to my lips. “Damn right you are.”

Rolling her eyes, she moves in and rubs her cold cheek against my chin. “Now can we please go inside? I’m freezing my butt off and I need my fluffer to warm me up.”

I narrow my eyes. “Excuse me?”

She blinks innocently. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I say fluffer?” Her smile lights up her whole face. “I meant boyfriend.”

Sweetest words I’ve ever heard in my life.





33




Hannah


Life is good.

Life is wonderfully, amazingly, scarily good.

These past two weeks of dating Garrett have been a blur of laughter and cuddling and hot sex, intermingled with real life events like classes and studying, rehearsals and hockey games. Garrett and I forged a connection that caught me by surprise, but even though Allie continues to tease me about my sudden about-face when it comes to the guy, I don’t regret my decision to date him and see where things go. So far, it’s been working out great.

But see, here’s the thing about life. When it’s this good?

Something inevitably goes bad.

“I know this is an inconvenience,” says Fiona, my performing arts advisor. “But I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do except advise you to speak directly to Mary Jane and—”

“No way,” I cut in, my stiff fingers curling around the arms of my chair. I stare at the pretty blond woman across the desk, and wonder how she can possibly describe this atom bomb of a disaster as an inconvenience.

And she wants me to talk to Mary Jane?

Fuck. That.

Because why the f*ck would I talk to the stupid, brainwashed bitch who just ruined any chance I had of winning a scholarship?

I’m still reeling from what Fiona told me. Mary Jane and Cass dumped me. They actually got permission to kick me out of the duet so that Cass can sing it as a solo.

What the hell.

Yet in the back of my mind, I’m not even surprised. Garrett had warned me something like this could happen. I had worried about it myself. But never in a million years had I expected Cass to do this four weeks before the showcase.

Or that my advisor would be totally f*cking cool with it.

I grit my teeth. “I’m not talking to Mary Jane. It’s obvious she’s made up her mind about this.”

Or rather, that Cass had made it up for her, when he’d cajoled her into speaking to our respective advisors and blubbering about how her composition is suffering in its duet form and that she’s pulling it out of the showcase if it’s not a solo. Of course, Cass had quickly pointed out that it would be egregious to waste a perfectly good song, and he’d graciously offered to let me sing it. At which point, Mary Jane insisted that it should be sung by a male voice.

Fuck you very much, MJ.

“So what am I supposed to do now?” I ask in a tight voice. “I don’t have time to learn a new song and work with a new songwriter.”

“No, you don’t,” Fiona agrees.

Normally I appreciate her no-nonsense approach, but today it makes me want to slug her.

“Which is why, given the circumstances, Cass’s advisor and I agreed to bend the rules for you. You won’t be teaming up with a composition major. We’ve agreed—and the faculty head signed off on it—that you can sing one of your own compositions. I know you have a lot of original songs in your repertoire, Hannah. And in fact, I think this is a great opportunity for you to showcase not just your voice, but your songwriting abilities.” She pauses. “However, you’ll only be eligible to win the performance scholarship, since composition isn’t your major.”