by Elle Kennedy
Though getting naked, or at least partially naked, is definitely on the agenda for tonight.
I texted him an hour ago asking him to come over, and Ramona has already agreed to let me have the room for the night. Despite the fact that she’s still hung-over from yesterday, she’s promised to stay out until midnight. It’s only seven now, which gives Logan and me plenty of time to hang out. And maybe have sex. Or maybe not have sex. I’ve decided to play it by ear.
“Grace?”
I snap out of my thoughts. “Yeah, I guess I want to sleep with him. If the moment is right.”
“Then you’ve got to separate yourself from the crowd.”
I wrinkle my forehead. “Meaning what?”
“Oh, come on, do you realize how many girls he’s slept with? A frickin’ harem. And he’s John Logan, babe—I bet he’s got crazy moves. You don’t want to be just another chick he bats those baby-blues at and screws silly. You want to be confident and sexy and take control. Show him he’s met his match.”
I bite my lip. Confident and sexy isn’t my style. And taking control? I’ve always been more comfortable sitting in the passenger side while someone else takes the wheel.
“Oh, and you need to show him how kinky you are. That you’re up for anything.”
Nervous laughter tickles my throat. “Uh-huh. How am I supposed to do that?”
“I don’t know. Stick your finger in his ass when you’re blowing him.”
I almost choke on my tongue. “What?”
Ramona flashes a cheeky smile. “Oh God, you really are a virgin, huh? Ass play can be a lot of fun.”
“I don’t want anyone near my ass, thank you very much. And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want me near his.”
“Ha. You have no idea how hard a guy gets off from a good prostate massage. Seriously, he’ll be coming like nobody’s business.”
“I’m not giving him a prostate massage,” I say primly.
We stare at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing, and it feels good to laugh with her again. I don’t even care anymore that she planted the seed that Maya and Piper then used to grow a tree of bullshit. Ramona is my best friend, and I’ve known her since we were six years old. Is she selfish sometimes? Yes. Does she gossip too much? Absolutely. But she’s also sweet and loyal, and she’s always there for me when I need her.
“All right, don’t finger his ass,” she relents. “But I’m serious about the confidence thing. It’ll drive him wild.”
“I’ll do my best.”
She narrows her eyes, giving my outfit a thorough once-over. “You’re changing before he gets here, right?”
I glance at my tight jeans and skimpy white tank top. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? Actually, don’t answer that. I’m comfy, and I’m not going to change the way I dress because of a guy.”
“Fine, but ditch the bra.” She waggles her eyebrows. “Then he’ll be able to see your nips through your shirt and he’ll be hot and bothered from the word go.”
“I’ll take that into consideration.”
Ramona smacks a kiss on my cheek, then lets out a little squeal. “Oh my God. I can’t believe you’re going to have sex for the first time tonight.”
“If the moment is right,” I remind her.
“Babe, it’s John Logan,” she says with a grin. “There’s nothing wrong about it.”
*
Logan
Come over tonight?
I’ve been staring at Grace’s text message ever since I got out of the shower. Which was, oh, thirty-eight minutes ago. Wait—I look at the alarm clock. Make that thirty-nine minutes.
I really ought to message back. I haven’t spoken to her since Thursday. Granted, that isn’t an obscene amount of time considering it’s Saturday and she had dinner plans with her father yesterday. So technically, I’ve only been avoiding her for a day and a half.
She doesn’t know I’m avoiding her, though. If she did, she wouldn’t have invited me over.
The way I see it, I have three options.
Option 1: Ignore the invitation.
And if she texts again, ignore that too. And then keep ignoring her until she gets the message that I’m not interested. Which is a whopping lie, because I am interested. I have fun with her, and if I weren’t so fucked in the head about this Hannah thing, I’d absolutely keep seeing Grace.
Christ, I shouldn’t have allowed Thursday’s impromptu date to happen. It’s not fair to lead her on like this.
Which brings me to option 2: Message back, decline the invitation, and tell her I can’t see her again because of (insert bullshit excuse here).
Except…well, I’ve been brushed off via text before and it fucking sucks.
So that leaves option 3: Go over there and talk to her in person. That’s the mature course of action, the one I should definitely take. But the thought of glimpsing even a shred of hurt or disappointment in her eyes makes me sick to my stomach.
Man up already.
Fuck. I guess it’s time to pull up my big boy pants. Be a man, rub some dirt in it and all that shit. After our night at the water tower, Grace deserves a helluva lot more than a text brush-off.
Stifling a sigh, I drop the towel I’ve been wearing for the last…forty-two minutes now. I grab a pair of clean boxers and jeans, zip up, and throw on a black sweater my mom got me for Christmas. It’s tighter than the shirts I normally wear, but it’s the first thing I find in my dresser and I’m in too much of a hurry to change.
I swipe my phone off the bed and text Grace.
Me: When?
Her: Now, if you want.
She punctuates that with a smiley face. Shit.
Me: omw.
Ten minutes later, I kill the engine in the parking lot behind the dorms and head for Fairview House. When I reach her door, I’m overcome with hesitation. And a major case of nerves. I take a deep breath. Fuck, it’s not like I’m breaking up with her. We’re not even a couple. I’m simply letting her know that I’m not in a good place to continue things at the moment. Doesn’t mean it’s forever over. It’s just…right now over.
Right now over?
Brilliant, man. You’re going to awe her with your lyrical prose.
I knock, armed with my very unimpressive parting speech, but when the door swings open, I don’t get a chance to open my mouth. Actually, scratch that—I don’t get a chance to voice any words. My mouth is open, because Grace yanks me into her dark bedroom and kisses me, and if my mouth was closed, then how is her tongue supposed to get inside it?
The kiss is completely unexpected and hotter than anything I’ve ever experienced in my life. She wraps her arms around my neck and backs me into the still-open door. It closes when my shoulders bump into it, and suddenly I’m pinned between the door and Grace’s soft, warm body.
Her lips tease mine until I can’t see straight, and then she eases back breathlessly. “I’ve wanted to do that all day.”
She leans in again.
Oh fuck. Don’t let her kiss you again. Don’t—
My tongue tangles with hers in another hot duel. Damn it. I plant my hands on her hips, intending to gently push her away, but I no longer have control over my own fingers. They slide lower and dig into her firm ass, pulling her closer instead of away.
With her mouth still locked with mine, she grabs the bottom of my sweater and tugs it up. Somehow I find the willpower to break the kiss.
“What are you doing?” I croak.
“Taking your clothes off.”
Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit.
The only reason I allow her to remove my sweater is because the material is now caught around my chin and neck, and I need my mouth in order to speak to her. In order to stop this. But then she tosses the fabric aside and touches my bare chest, and my brain short-circuits. She delicately strokes her fingertips over my abdomen, and makes a breathy sound. Half-moan, half-whimper, and so sexy it sends a sizzle of lust right to my cock. My balls tighten, drawing up
painfully when her fingers find my belt buckle.
“Grace, I…” Instead of finishing that sentence, I groan loudly, because holy fucking shit, she doesn’t just slide my pants off.
She slides to her knees as she does it.
I’m pretty sure I’ve just secured myself a place in hell for this. I came over tonight to end it, and instead I’m thrusting my dick into her warm, wet mouth.
Goddamn whoever invented blowjobs. They feel too damn good, and they do terrible things to your mind—AKA drain it of all lucid thought. I can’t focus on anything other than the tight suction around the head of my cock. The exploratory path of Grace’s tongue as she licks her way up and down my shaft before sucking on the tip again.
One hand instinctively tangles in her hair, trembling as I cup the back of her head to bring her closer. She moans, and the sound vibrates through me, a seductive promise that sends me teetering closer to the edge.
Christ. I have no idea how long she kneels there working me over, but suddenly I’m consumed with the need to touch her. To run my hands all over her body and drive her as crazy as she’s driving me right now.
With a strangled noise, I pull out of her mouth and haul her to her feet. Then I’m kissing her again, frantically clawing at her clothes until she’s naked. Oh, sweet Jesus, she’s naked. How the hell, in the span of five minutes, did I let this get so out of control?
But I can’t fucking stop. I can’t stop kissing her. I can’t stop squeezing her tits. I can’t stop myself from leading her to the bed and lowering my body on top of her. My cock is pinned between our bodies, a heavy weight on her flat stomach, and the base of it grinds against her clit as we kiss so deeply it’s like we’re trying to swallow each other up.
Stop this, a sharp voice reprimands.
Hell, I can’t. I want her too much.
Stop. This.
Yup, that voice is my conscience, trying to prevent me from making a serious mistake. So why can’t I listen to it? Why can’t I—
Grace breaks the kiss and looks up at me with hazy brown eyes, and suddenly all her bravado is gone. The confident, sexy woman who mauled me at the door has transformed into a shy, blushing girl who says, “Um, so…listen…I’ve never had sex before.”
Oh fuck.
Those five words crack my heart in two.
Son of a bitch. No way. There is absolutely no way I can do this to her.
Fooling around with her when I know I’m going to end it? Reprehensible. But taking her virginity? Unforgivable.
Oh, and my place in hell? Still solidly secured.
Silence stretches between us as I struggle for the right words to say. Which is damn difficult when we’re both naked. When my dick’s so hard it could cut a diamond in half.
She lets out a shaky breath. “Is that a problem for you?”
I open my mouth.
And say, “Yes.”
Grace looks startled. “What?”
“I mean, no. There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin. But…we can’t do this.” I stumble off the bed with as much grace as a newborn foal. Seriously, my legs are wobbling all over the place as I hurriedly scan the room for my pants.
I can feel her watching me. Her eyes boring into me. I don’t want to look over because I know she’s still naked, but I can’t stop myself from sneaking a peek, and her hurt expression rips my chest apart.
“I’m sorry,” I say roughly. “I can’t do this. This is your first time, and you deserve something—someone—so much better than me for your first time.”
She doesn’t utter a word, but even in the darkness, I can see the deep flush on her cheeks. And she’s biting her lower lip as if she’s trying not to cry.
Her silence deepens the guilt coursing through my veins. “I’m in such a fucked up place right now. I have a lot of fun with you, but…” I swallow. “I can’t give you anything serious.”
She finally speaks, her voice tight and laced with embarrassment. “I’m not asking you to marry me, Logan.”
“I know. But sex…sex is serious, okay? Especially for a virgin.” I trip over the words, feeling like a total asshole. “You don’t want to do this with me, Grace. I’m screwed in the head, and I guess I’ve been trying to distract myself from all the bullshit in my life, and trying to get over someone else, and—”
“Someone else?” she interrupts, and now there’s a thread of anger in her tone. “You’re interested in someone else?”
“Yes. No,” I say quickly. Then I groan. “I thought I was, and maybe I still am. I don’t know, okay? All I know is that this girl has had me tied up in knots for months, and it’s not fair to you if we…do this…when I…” I trail off, too confused and uncomfortable to go on.
Avoiding my eyes, Grace bolts off the bed and grabs a T-shirt from the back of the desk chair. “You were using me to get over someone else?” She yanks the shirt over her head. “I was your distraction?”
“No. I promise, I like you a lot.” I cringe at the pleading note in my voice. “I wasn’t intentionally using you. You’re so fucking amazing, but I—”
“Oh my God, no,” she cuts in. “Please…just shut up, Logan. I can’t handle the it’s not you, it’s me speech right now.” She rakes both hands through her hair, her breathing becoming shallow. “Oh God. This was such a mistake.”
“Grace—”
She interrupts again. “Will you do me a favor?”
It’s difficult to speak past the massive lump lodged in my throat. “Anything.”
“Leave.”
The lump damn near chokes me. I inhale deeply, ignoring the burning sensation in my throat, the ache in my chest.
“I mean it, just leave, okay?” She meets my gaze head-on. “I really, really want you to go right now.”
I should say something else. Apologize again. Reassure her. Comfort her. But I’m terrified she might slap me—or worse, break down—if I approach her.
Besides, she’s already walking to the door and throwing it open. She doesn’t look at me as she waits.
Waits for me to leave.
Fuck. I screwed up so badly. My heart physically hurts as I stagger to the door. I pause in the threshold, finding the courage to meet her eyes again. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, you should be.”
The last thing I hear as I step out into the hall is the sound of the door slamming behind me.
13
Logan
I’ve always refused to use alcohol as a crutch. If I’m sad or upset or hurting, I avoid it at all costs because I’m terrified I might rely too heavily on it one day. That I might become addicted.
But goddamn, I could really use a drink right now.
Fighting the urge, I bypass the liquor cabinet in the living room and sprint to the sliding door in the kitchen. Cigarettes. Equally destructive habit, but it’s the lesser of two evils at the moment. I’ll just flood my veins with nicotine—maybe that’ll help with the huge ball of guilt taking up residence in the pit of my stomach.
“Everything okay?”
Big tough hockey player that I am, I jump three feet in the air at the sound of Hannah’s voice.
I spin around and notice her standing at the sink, an empty glass in her hand. I was so out of it I must have flown right past her during my sprint to the door.
Christ, she’s the last person I want to see at the moment.
And look at that¸ she’s wearing Garrett’s jersey again. Just flaunting it in my face now, isn’t she?
“Yeah, everything’s fine,” I mumble, stepping away from the door. Change of plans. Nicotine overdose—no longer needed. Hiding in my bedroom—must get on that.
“Logan.” She approaches me with wary strides. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit. You look upset. Are you okay?”
I flinch when she touches my arm. “I don’t want to talk about it, Wellsy. I really don’t.”
Her green eyes search my face. For so long that I shift in d
iscomfort and break the eye contact. I try to take another step, but she stops me again, blocking my path as she releases a groan of frustration.
“You know what?” she announces. “I can’t fucking take this anymore.”
I blink in surprise. “What are you talking about?”
Rather than answer, she grabs my arm so hard it’s a miracle it stays in its socket. Then she drags me to the kitchen table and forcibly pushes me into a chair. Jeez. She’s freakishly strong for someone so tiny.
“Hannah…” I start uneasily.
“No. I’m done tiptoeing around this.” She yanks out a chair and sits beside me. “Garrett keeps telling me you’ll get over it, but it’s only getting worse, and I hate this awkwardness between us. You used to hang out with us and come to Malone’s and watch movies, and now you don’t, and I miss hanging out with you, okay?” She’s so upset that her shoulders are visibly shaking. “So let’s clear the air, all right? Let’s deal with it head-on.”
She takes a deep breath, then looks me square in the eye and asks, “Do you have a thing for me?”
Aw, hell.
Why, why didn’t I go straight up to my room?
Clenching my teeth, I scrape back my chair. “Well, this has been fun, but I think I’ll go upstairs and kill myself now.”
“Sit down,” she says sternly.
My ass hovers over the chair, but the sharpness of her tone reminds me too much of Coach Jensen when he’s reaming us out at practice, and my fear of authority wins out. I drop back down and blow out a tired breath.
“What’s the point of talking about this, Wellsy? We both know the answer to that question.”
“Maybe, but I still want to hear you say it.”
Annoyance tightens my throat. “Fine, you want to hear it? Do I have a thing for you? Yes, I think I do.”
Shock fills her expression, as if she truly didn’t expect me to reply.
Cue: the longest silence ever. Like, find a rope and tie it around your neck and hang your fucking self silence, because the longer she remains quiet, the more pathetic I feel.
