The Mistake (Off-Campus #2)(59)

He offers a faint smile. “Of course. It was the noble thing to do. I can’t be chasing after another guy’s girl without his knowledge.”

“I’m not his girl,” I snap. “We went on one date! And now I’m never going to be his girl, because he doesn’t want to go out with me again.”

“What the hell?” Logan looks startled. “I’m disappointed in him. I thought he had more of a competitive spirit than that.”

“Seriously? You’re going to pretend to be surprised? He won’t see me again because your jackass self told him he couldn’t.”

Astonishment fills his eyes. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Is that what he told you?” Logan demands.

“Not in so many words.”

“I see. Well, what words did he actually use?”

I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches. “He said he’s backing off because he doesn’t want to get in the middle of something so complicated. I pointed out that there’s nothing complicated about it, seeing as you and I are not together.” My aggravation heightens. “And then he insisted that I need to give you a chance, because you’re a—” I angrily air-quote Morris’s words “—‘stand-up guy who deserves another shot.’”

Logan breaks out in a grin.

I stab the air with my finger. “Don’t you dare smile. Obviously you put those words in his mouth. And what the hell was he jabbering about when he told me you and him were ‘family’?” All the disbelief I’d felt during my talk with Morris comes spiraling back, making me pace the bedroom in hurried strides. “What did you say to him, Logan? Did you brainwash him or something? How are you guys family? You don’t even know each other!”

Strangled laughter sounds from Logan’s direction. I spin around and level a dark glower at him.

“He’s talking about the joint family we created in Mob Boss. It’s this role-playing game where you’re the Don of a mob family and you’re fighting a bunch of other mafia bosses for territory and rackets and stuff. We played it when I went over there, and I ended up staying until four in the morning. Seriously, it was intense.” He shrugs. “We’re the Lorris crime syndicate.”

I’m dumbfounded.

Oh my God.

Lorris? As in Logan and Morris? They fucking Brangelina’d themselves?

“What is happening?” I burst out. “You guys are best friends now?”

“He’s a cool guy. Actually, he’s even cooler in my book now for stepping down like that. I didn’t ask him to, but clearly he grasps what you refuse to see.”

“Yeah, and what’s that?” I mutter.

“That you and I are perfect for each other.”

No words. There are no words to accurately convey what I’m feeling right now. Horror maybe? Absolute insanity? I mean, it’s not like I’m madly in love with Morris or anything, but if I’d known that kissing Logan at the party would lead to…this, I would have strapped on a frickin’ chastity gag.

I draw a calming breath. “You used me,” I remind him.

His features crease with regret. “Unintentionally. And I’m trying to make up for that.”

“How? By asking me out? By buying me muffins and kissing me at parties?” I’m so frazzled I can barely think straight. “I’m not even convinced you actually like me, Logan. This whole thing feels like it’s centered on your ego. The only reason you even saw me again after that first night was because you couldn’t handle that I didn’t have an orgasm. And at the party, when you found out I was on a date with someone else, it was like you went out of your way to stake a claim or some shit. Your actions scream ego, not genuine feelings for me.”

“That’s not true. What about the night I came to the dining hall? How did that benefit my ego?” His voice is gruff. “I like you, Grace.”

“Why?” I challenge. “Why do you like me?”

“Because…” He drags a hand through his dark hair. “You’re fun to be around. You’re smart. Sweet. You make me laugh. Oh, and just the sight of you gets me hard.”

I swallow a laugh. “What else?”

Embarrassment colors his cheeks. “I’m not sure. We don’t know each other very well, but everything I do know about you, I like. And everything I don’t know, I want to find out.”

He sounds so earnest, but a part of me still doesn’t trust him. It’s the hurt and humiliated Grace who almost had sex with him in April. Who told him she was a virgin and then watched him scramble off the bed as if it was covered with ants. Who sat there—naked—while he said he couldn’t sleep with her because he was hung up on somebody else.

As if sensing my doubts, he hurries on in a pleading voice. “Give me another chance. Let me prove to you that I’m not an egocentric ass.”

I hesitate.

“Please. Tell me what’ll it take for you to go out with me, and I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.”

Well. That’s interesting.

I’m not the type to play games. I’m really not. But I can’t fight this nagging distrust, the cynical voice in my head warning me his intentions might not be pure.