The Mistake(95)

“Oh.” She gasps when I rotate my hips, and her eyes glaze over. “Feels…so… good.”

Good doesn’t even begin to describe it. It’s…f*cking divine. Pure heaven, right here in this bed. I worship her *. I worship her.

The base of my spine tingles, pleasure tightening my muscles. I snake my hands beneath her ass and dig my fingers into her firm flesh, locking us tighter, f*cking her harder. I come first, my mind scattering, foggy and incoherent. She’s right behind me, squeezing the hell out of my dick as she makes a breathy, blissful noise that drives me wild.

Every time after we’ve had sex this weekend, I’ve almost blurted out that I love her. And every time, I’ve clamped my lips together to stop the words from escaping because I’m scared of saying it too soon. I’ve known her since April, but we weren’t dating then. Now we are and it’s nearing the one-month mark, but I’m not sure what the etiquette for I-love-you’s is. I told my first girlfriend I loved her after two weeks of dating. My second, after five months. So maybe I should split the difference and tell Grace…at the three-month point. Yeah. That seems like an appropriate amount of time.

Once we recover from our respective orgasms, we decide to finally drag ourselves out of bed. It’s almost noon and we haven’t eaten since we woke up, and my stomach rumbles like the engine of a muscle car. We throw on some clothes, because no matter how many times I try to convince her, Grace refuses to walk around naked in case my roommates come home. I’ve been teasing her mercilessly about her unwarranted modesty, but I’m quickly discovering that Grace has one incredibly annoying trait—she’s always right.

We’ve just entered the kitchen when footsteps echo from the front hall.

“See!” she gloats at me. “They would have caught us!”

“Trust me, the guys have seen me naked on multiple occasions,” I answer dryly.

“Well, they’re never going to see me naked, not if I can help it.”

I suddenly picture Dean ogling her bare tits, and the hot streak of jealousy it triggers makes me realize just how grateful I am that she decided to wear clothes.

But it’s not Dean who strides into the kitchen a minute later. It’s Garrett, with Hannah on his tail. Although they look startled to find Grace at the counter, they greet her with warm smiles before turning to smirk at me. Smug bastards. I know exactly what’s going through their heads—a singsong taunt. Lo-gan has a girrrrl-friend.

“Hey.” I narrow my eyes. “I thought you guys were crashing at the dorm this weekend.”

“I bet you did,” Garrett mocks, his gray eyes gleaming.

“Yes, because that’s what you told me,” I say pointedly.

Hannah walks up to Grace and sticks out her hand. “Hi. We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Hannah.”

“I’m Grace.”

“I know.” Hannah can’t seem to wipe the big, stupid smile off her face. “Logan talks about you all the time.”

Grace glances at me. “You do?”

“All the livelong day,” Garrett confirms, flashing his big, stupid smile. “He also writes long, sweeping poems about you and recites them to us in the living room every night.”

Hannah snorts.

I give him the finger.

“Oh, I know about the poems,” Grace tells my best friend. “I’ve already submitted the one he sent me to an anthology press in Boston.”

I whirl around to glare at her. “You better be kidding about that.”

Garrett gives a hoot of laughter. “Doesn’t matter if she is. Because now I’ll be submitting it.”

“I feel left out,” Hannah announces. “Why am I the only one who hasn’t read this poem?”

“I’ll email it to you,” Grace offers, which brings a hell-no growl from my lips.

“So what are we eating?” Garrett marches over to the fridge. “I’m starving, and someone didn’t want to stop at the diner for brunch.”

“I’m there four days a week,” his girlfriend protests. “It’s the last place I want to go on my days off.”

He pulls out two cartons of eggs. “You guys feel like omelets?”

We’re all in agreement, so Garrett gets busy cracking eggs while Hannah and Grace chop vegetables at the counter. My job is to set the table, which takes all of thirty seconds. Smirking, I plop down on a stool and watch them work.