The Mistake(66)

I’m suddenly eager to get inside, so I herd my friends toward the front door, which gets me a bemused look from Garrett.

“I take it we’re wooing again tonight?” he says wryly.

Damn right we are.

The house is more crowded than our arena during a home game, and I don’t spot Grace when I scan the sea of faces. The deafening dubstep blasting from the speakers makes it impossible to carry on a conversation, so I gesture to Garrett that I’m going to look for Grace, and then I’m swallowed up by the mob as I venture deeper into the living room.

Several attractive girls smile as I walk past them, but they’re not even on my radar. Grace is nowhere to be found. I wonder if maybe Dean made the whole thing up. Grace on a date at a frat party. It does sound kinda farfetched, the more I think about it.

I pop into the kitchen and search the large group gathered around the granite work island. No Grace. But one of the chicks sipping a Corona near the sink separates herself from the pack and slinks my way.

“Logan,” she purrs, wrapping her fingers around my bare biceps as she leans in closer.

“Hey, Piper,” I mutter, and I’m tempted to shove her away before her lips can graze my cheek.

Piper Stevens is undeniably beautiful, but that Twitter smear campaign she started against Grace has not been forgotten.

The kiss lands on my cheek, and although she pulls away afterward, she’s still pressed up against me, her hand stuck to my arm like hockey tape. “So, it’s our senior year,” she says. “Know what that means?”

I can’t even pretend to be interested. I’m busy peering at the kitchen doorway in search of Grace. “What?”

“It means our time is running out.”

Warm lips brush the side of my throat, and I flinch and take a step away.

She frowns. “You’ve been playing hard to get for three years,” she accuses. “Isn’t it about time you gave us what we wanted?”

A snort slips out before I can stop it. “What you want, Piper. I’ve told you a hundred times, I’m not interested.”

Her red-lipsticked mouth forms a pout. “Think about how good it will be. All this pent-up animosity between us?” She stands on her tiptoes and whispers in my ear, her dark hair tickling my chin. “The sex would be f*cking explosive.”

I uncurl her fingers from my arm. “Tempting,” I lie. “But I’ll pass. Hey, if you’re hard up, we’ve got some new meat on the team. This kid Hunter might be right up your alley.”

Her eyes blaze. “Fuck you. Don’t try to pimp me out to your teammates.”

“I’m not pimping you out, babe. Simply giving you a heads up. See you around, Piper.”

I can feel her glaring daggers into my back as I leave the kitchen, but I don’t give a f*ck. I’m sick of her constant come-ons and total disregard for the fact that I’m not f*cking interested.

I wander through the main floor again, checking every room twice before giving up. Maybe she’s outside. It’s crazy-humid tonight, so the party is both an indoor and outdoor affair, which means it’s time to widen my perimeter.

I decide to start out front. When I step into the parlor, triumph shoots through me, because I catch a glimpse of Grace on the winding staircase.

She’s alone, and my pulse accelerates as I admire how the stretchy fabric of her black skirt hugs her ass. Her long hair flows down her back, rippling like a golden curtain with each step she takes. Shit, she’s on the move.

She reaches the second-floor landing and disappears around the corner, and the loss of visual contact spurs me to action.

Without missing a beat, I stride toward the stairs and hurry after her.

*

Grace

In the upstairs powder room, I wash my hands, then dry them with a New England Patriots towel that makes me grin. Sports merchandising has always seemed like such a lucrative industry to me. Slap a team logo on any old item and millions of people will buy it no matter what it is.

I check my reflection in the mirror, satisfied to find that thanks to my heavy-duty frizz-control cream, my hair survived the stifling humidity it endured on the walk to Greek Row. Morris had picked me up at my dorm, and although we talked non-stop all the way here, we haven’t spoken much since we came inside. The music is too loud, and Morris is too engrossed in the first-person shooting game they’re playing in the den. The moment we arrived, Fat Ted ordered Morris to plant his ass on the couch and slapped a game controller in his hand.