The Mistake(68)

He breaks the kiss and stares into my eyes, while his hand eases closer to the crotch of my panties. His fingers tremble. His breathing grows labored.

And then he yanks his hand away, his expression so tortured you’d think he’d been water-boarded for three days straight.

“No, goddamn it,” he croaks. “This wasn’t what I wanted.”

“W-what?” I’m stuttering, still dazed from those mind-melting kisses.

“I just wanted a kiss. Not a hook-up.” He draws a deep breath. “I meant what I said the other day. I want to take you on a date.”

“Logan…” I trail off warily.

Footsteps echo from the stairs, and Logan quickly steps back, his gaze shifting to the landing.

When Morris rounds the corner, my heart jumps to my throat.

Oh shit.

Morris. I totally forgot about Morris.

“There you are,” he says, his smile uneasy. “I was worried you might’ve gotten lost on your way to the bathroom.”

I inhale deeply, willing my heart rate to stabilize. Praying that my expression doesn’t look too guilty. Or worse, aroused.

“No, I found it,” I answer. “I ran into…a friend on my way out.”

Logan’s nostrils flare.

“This is Logan,” I add, then gesture to him as if Morris couldn’t figure it out for himself.

My date nods at the guy I was just making out with. “Nice to meet you.” He glances at me. “Ready to rejoin the party?”

No.

Yes.

I don’t even know anymore.

What I do know is that I came to this party with Morris, who happens to be a terrific person, and I’m not about to ditch him for another guy, no matter how tempted I may be.

“Sure.” I make only the briefest amount of eye contact with Logan as I murmur, “I’ll see you around.” Then I follow Morris downstairs and force myself not to look over my shoulder.

But I can feel Logan’s eyes on me the entire time.





22




Logan


It’s a damn shame that duels don’t play a role in the modern world anymore. Because right now, I’d totally be down for slapping a leather glove on Morris Ruffolo’s cheek and challenging him to one.

What the hell kind of name is that, anyway? Morris Ruffolo. I’m highly suspicious of people who have last names for first names. And Ruffolo? Is he Italian? He didn’t look it.

And yes, I know the name of the guy Grace came to the party with last night. After she’d deserted me upstairs, I asked around and found out everything I needed to know. His name, his rep, and of course, his dorm. Which happens to be my current location.

I’ve just knocked on the guy’s door, but he’s taking his sweet ass time answering. I know there’s someone in there, though, because I can hear the muffled sound of a television from inside the room.

I knock a second time, and an aggravated voice calls out, “One sec!”

Good. He’s home. I’d like to get this out of the way fast so I can enjoy the rest of my Saturday.

When he opens the door and finds me standing there, a deep scowl twists his mouth. “What do you want?”

Okay then. I was wondering if Grace would tell him about the kiss, and his visible hostility answers that question.

“I came here to declare my intentions toward Grace,” I announce.

“Gee, how honorable of you.” Morris snorts. “But the truly honorable thing would have been to not make out with my date last night.”

I let out a remorseful sigh. “That’s the other reason I’m here. To apologize.”

Despite the perma-scowl on his face, he opens the door wider and takes a reluctant step back, an invitation to come in. I follow him inside, sparing a quick look at the clutter-ridden room before getting down to business.

“I’m sorry I moved in on your date. It was a total violation of bro code, and for that, I’m offering you one free swing at me. Just make sure to stay away from my nose, because I’ve broken that motherf*cker way too many times and I’m scared one day it won’t heal right.”

Disbelief-laced laughter flies out of his mouth. “Dude, you can’t be serious.”

“Sure I am.” I widen my stance. “Go ahead. I promise I won’t hit back.”

Morris shakes his head, looking both amused and irritated. “No, thanks, I’ll pass. Now say whatever else you wanna say, and then get lost.”