The Mistake(65)

Even if I’d wanted to correct him, Pace is no longer paying attention to us, because his tongue is in Evelyn’s mouth again.

“Why does he call you Morrison, and who on earth is Fat Ted?” I inquire in a dry voice.

Morris chuckles. “He calls me Morrison because he thinks that’s my name, no matter how many times I tell him it’s not. And Fat Ted is one of his frat brothers. He’s a hardcore gamer, and we sorta have this competition going on. Whenever one of us gets a new game and beats it, we pass it off to the other one and see if they could do it better. Ted’s awesome—you’ll meet him at the party tonight.”

I have to laugh. “Who says ‘Gretchen’ is even going to that party?”

“Morrison says so. He’s wanted to ask Gretchen out since he met her.”

I blush at the impish smile he shoots me. “So this will be a date?” I ask slowly.

“If you want it to be. If not, then it’ll be two friends going to a party together. Morrison and Gretchen, taking on the world.” He cocks a brow. “Take your pick. Date or friend-hang. The choice is yours.”

Logan’s face flashes in my head, making me hesitate. Except then it makes me mad, because Logan shouldn’t be part of the equation. We’re not together. We weren’t together before. And Morris is a really cool guy.

“What do you say, Gretch?”

His mischievous voice summons a laugh from me. I meet his twinkling dark eyes and say, “Let’s make it a date.”





21




Logan


I’m not in the mood to go to a kegger tonight, but Garrett informs me that if he has to go, then I have to go, because, and I quote, “best friends suffer together or not at all.”

I politely pointed out that we could always pick the “not at all” option, which earned me a dark scowl and a menacing you’re going finger-point.

At least he’s the designated driver tonight, so I can slug back a shot or two. But no hooking up. Nope. I have a strict new rule about party hook-ups, and I plan on sticking to it. No more meaningless BJs in bathrooms or hurried f*cks in bedrooms that don’t belong to me.

John Logan is officially in relationship mode.

“I don’t understand why you’re in a fraternity when you clearly hate being a member,” Hannah remarks. She’s in the backseat of Garrett’s Jeep, because I don’t believe in the automatic-shotgun-for-girlfriends rule and therefore called shotgun before she could. Dean and Tucker caught a ride with Hollis earlier, so the three of us are meeting them at the Sigma house.

I’m with her about the frat thing. Garrett is a member of Sigma Tau, yet he doesn’t live in the house, attend the meetings, or chill with a single one of his “brothers.” His only contribution to the frat is making appearances at the parties, and even then, he barely stays more than an hour.

“I’m a legacy,” he answers, his gray eyes focused on the dark road. “They were obligated to let me rush, and my father forced me to pledge.”

“Wait, so you went through the whole hazing process?” she asks.

“Nope. They wanted me so bad—you know, because I come from hockey royalty—that they pretty much gave me a free pass during pledge week. They’d yell real loud when the other pledges were around, order me to clean the bathroom with a toothbrush or some shit, and then one of them would pull me aside and whisper, Get outta here, kid. Go get some sleep.”

Hannah bursts out laughing. “Wow. Corruption in the Greek system. I’m shocked, I tell you.”

Garrett turns onto Greek Row, which is jam-packed with cars. We end up parking several houses down from Sigma and walking to the massive frat house, where Dean, Tucker and Hollis wait for us on the lawn, passing around a joint.

Dean hands it to me, and I take a deep hit, filling my lungs then exhaling a cloud into the warm night air.

“Guess who just showed up,” Dean murmurs. “Your freshman. Well, I guess she’d be your sophomore now.”

My pulse quickens. “Grace is here?”

He nods. “Yeah, but…she’s, uh, with someone.”

What the f*ck? With who? And it damn well not be some drunken Sigma oaf whose only goal is to get into her pants.

I had no intention of throwing down tonight, but if some slimy mofo so much as looks at Grace wrong, he’ll be leaving this party on a stretcher.

But Dean is quick to ease my worries. “Hipster type,” he says. “Definitely not Sigma.”