The Score (Off-Campus #3)(10)

The memories come crashing back in vivid Technicolor. The terrible movie. The tequila shots. The…rest.

I slept with Dean last night.

Twice.

My heart beats faster as I stare up at the ceiling. I’m in Dean’s room. There’s an empty condom wrapper on the end table. And…yep, I’m naked.

Maybe it was a bad dream, a voice in my head tries to assure me.

I draw another deep breath and find the courage to turn my head. What I encounter seizes my lungs again.

A very naked Dean is stretched out on his stomach. His bare ass taunts me, not just with its sheer perfection, but because of the red scratches on his tight butt cheeks.

My nails had left those scratches. I lift a weak hand and notice the fingernail on my index finger is broken. I broke a nail while clawing at Dean’s ass. That must have happened downstairs—I remember him being on top the first time on the couch. The purplish hickey on his left shoulder had happened up here, during our second round when I was on top.

“I want to see this mysterious bedroom of yours. I want to be the first one to christen it.”

My own words buzz around in my already-muddled brain. As it turned out, I’m not the first girl he’s brought up to his room. He’d told me so himself. And that wasn’t all he’d revealed. Yep, I am now in possession of the nugget of knowledge Hannah has been trying to get her hands on for more than a year—why Dean prefers to screw everywhere but his bedroom.

Unfortunately, the knowledge doesn’t end there. I know what Dean looks like naked. I know how it feels to have him thrusting inside me. I know the sounds he makes when he’s coming.

I know too much.

My head pounds harder.

Fuck.

Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

What the hell have I done? I’ve never had casual sex before. My sex roster features a total of three guys—two in high school, one in college, and all of them were my serious boyfriends.

My gaze strays back to Dean’s long, muscular body. Why did I let this happen? I can handle my liquor just fine. I wasn’t blackout drunk last night. I wasn’t slurring or stumbling or acting like an idiot. I knew exactly what I was doing when I made the first move and kissed Dean.

I made the first move.

What is the matter with me?

Okay. Okay. Not the end of the world. I massage my screaming temples with the pads of my fingers and force myself to ignore the sleeping man beside me. It’s fine. It was just a one-night stand. Nobody died. I might regret it—desperately—but regrets are for sissies, as my dad likes to say. Learn from your mistakes and move on.

That’s what I need to do. Move on. No, just move. As in, sneak out of this bed, take a long shower, and pretend that last night never happened.

Armed with a plan, I gingerly slide out from under the sheet that’s haphazardly thrown over my lower body. The mattress squeaks and I freeze, my panicky gaze darting toward Dean.

He’s still dead to the world.

Okay. I take another breath and ease my legs over the side of the bed. When my feet hit the floor, Dean stirs. He releases a half-moan, half-breath. Then he rolls over and oh my God, I can see his dick.

Heat floods my cheeks as I stare at his package. Even flaccid, it’s impressive. He was right—he does have a great cock.

And unless my memory is failing me, I believe I vocally praised the glory of that cock many, many times last night.

My face grows hotter as I remember everything I’d said to him. Everything I’d done to him.

A silent groan rises in my throat. All right, enough reminiscing. I need to get the hell out of this bedroom. No, first I need to find my phone.

I scan the room until I spot Dean’s sweatpants. He’d slipped them on after our romp on the couch, and I’m pretty sure my phone is in his pocket.

My own clothes are nowhere to be found—last I saw them, they were in a pile on the living room floor. Which only brings more panic, because that means Tucker must have seen them when he got home last night. Shit. And he had to have heard us, because God knows I wasn’t using my indoor voice when Dean’s tongue was between my—

Nope, not thinking about it.

I fish around in his pockets for my phone. Yes. It’s here. Thank God.

I type in my passcode. Guilt slams into me from all directions when I see the unread messages from Sean.

God. If he only knew what I’d been doing when he was sending me all these heartfelt text messages. Not that I owe him any explanations. We’re broken up. We’re going to stay broken up. But I still feel awful knowing I slept with someone else while Sean was at home, desperately trying to win me back.

Not just any guy, either. I slept with Dean. Dean, the guy who was about to have a threesome before I showed up. Dean, the guy who fucks anyone with a pulse. Dean, the guy who—

“Hand it over, baby doll.”

His voice startles a squeak out of me. My head swivels toward the bed, where Dean is sliding up into a sitting position, running one hand through his sleep-messy hair. He doesn’t look or sound groggy at all. His green eyes are alert, and his naked body is…transforming.

I feel myself blushing at the sight of his quickly hardening dick, so I drop my gaze to my bare feet. “Would you please cover yourself up?”

“That’s not what you said last night…”

His mocking tone grates. “We are not discussing last night. Ever.”