The Mistake

by Elle Kennedy

  My balls tighten, my throat so dry I can barely get a word out. But I manage two. “I’m close.” Then two more. “Really close.”

  The last time she did this, she didn’t stay with me until the end. This time, she clamps her lips around me, her long hair tickling my thighs as her head moves over me. Release is imminent. Pulsing in my blood. But still out of reach, a taunting throb of tension that makes me groan with impatience. I want it. I need it. I—she slips her finger inside, and holy shit, I ain’t gonna lie. It feels so fucking good. She gives my dick a long, hard suck, pushes her finger deeper, and I go off like a grenade.

  I gasp for air, my hips shooting off the bed as I come to the sounds of her moans and my ragged pants. Her throat works as she swallows, each tiny contraction milking more pleasure from my body until I’m nothing but a heaving, mindless mess on the bed.

  Grace crawls up and nestles beside me, placing her hand on my stomach, a small, warm anchor that keeps me from floating away.

  “That was…” I suck in a breath. “Phenomenal.”

  Her laughter warms the crook of my neck. “I’ll make a note of that. Ass shenanigans, phenomenal. Regular shenanigans…what did you call it last time? Just amazing, I think.”

  “Everything you do to me is both amazing and phenomenal,” I correct, threading my fingers through her hair. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so content in my life. “Hey. Question.”

  “Hit me.”

  I grin at the role reversal, then say, “My first pre-season game is tomorrow night. I know you don’t like hockey, but…will you come?”

  “Aw, I would if I could,” she answers, sounding genuinely regretful. “But I’m meeting up with this guy from my psych class.”

  I shift to my side and narrow my eyes at her. Something strange and unfamiliar slinks through me.

  I’m startled to realize it’s jealousy.

  “What guy?”

  She snickers. “Down, boy. He’s just a classmate. We’re paired up on an assignment together, this case study thing. I’m going to be seeing him a whole bunch the next couple of weeks.”

  “A whole bunch, huh?” I pause. “Is he good-looking?”

  “He’s all right, I guess. Really skinny, but some girls are into that.”

  Some girls? Or one in particular?

  When she notices my expression, she laughs even harder. “Ha. Who’s jealous now?”

  “Not me,” I lie.

  “You totally are.” She inches closer and plants a loud kiss on my lips. “Don’t be. I have a boyfriend, remember?”

  “Damn right you do.”

  Fuck, now I know how she felt at the party the other night. The possessive clench in my chest is…new. I don’t like it, but I can’t stop it, either. I’ve been playing the field since I started at Briar, but there were a few hook-ups that lasted more than one night. Girls I saw on and off, not seriously, but often enough to develop some feelings for them. None of those arrangements were exclusive, though. I was well aware that they were seeing other guys, too. And I didn’t care.

  This time I do care. The idea of Grace with another guy is unacceptable. I won’t go as far as to say she’s mine, but…well, she’s mine. Mine to hold and mine to kiss and mine to laugh with.

  Yup, mine.

  “What time is it?” she asks. “I’m too lazy to lift my head.”

  I crane my neck to get a better look at the alarm clock. “Ten thirty-two.”

  “Should we finish watching the movie?”

  “Sure.” I lean over to grab the laptop, which chimes loudly the moment I pick it up. “Uh…someone’s Skyping you, I think.”

  She peeks at the screen, then shoots up in a panic. “Oh no. Put your pants on!”

  I wrinkle my forehead. “Why?”

  “Because that’s my mother!”

  If I’d still had an erection, it would be deflating like a balloon right now. I hurriedly yank my pants to my hips and zip them up as Grace sets the computer in her lap. Her fingers hover over the track pad, and then she looks over at me. “Move ten inches to the left if you don’t want her to see you.”

  “Do you not want her to see me?”

  Grace rolls her eyes. “I’m cool if she does. Actually, she knows all about you, so you should totally say hi. But I understand if you don’t want to do the whole meet-the-parents thing right now.”

  I shrug. “I’m cool with it.”

  “Okay then. Brace yourself. She’s about to deafen us both with—”

  A shriek of delight. The loudest frickin’ shriek on the planet.

  Fortunately, her voice lowers to a manageable decibel when she speaks. “Sweetie! Yay! You answered!”

  The video chat box fills the screen, revealing a very attractive blonde who seems way too young to be the mother of a nineteen-year-old. Seriously, Grace’s mother looks like she’s thirty. If that.

  “Hey, Mom,” Grace says. “Do I even want to know why you’re awake at five-thirty in the morning?”

  Her mother’s answering grin is downright devilish. “Who says I even went to bed?”

  Grace told me that her mother is bubbly and impulsive and pretty much acts like a teenager, and I can see now that she hadn’t exaggerated.

  My girlfriend groans. “Please tell me you stayed up painting and not…doing other things.”

  “I take the Fifth.”

  “Mom.”

  “I’m forty-four years old, sweetie. Do you expect me to live like a monk?”

  Forty-four? Wow. Totally doesn’t look it. Also, I can’t stop the snicker that pops out at her breezy response, which causes her brown eyes to narrow.

  “Grace Elizabeth Ivers, is there a man sitting beside you? I thought that big lump was your blanket, but that’s someone’s shoulder!” Her mom gasps. “Identify yourself, sir.”

  Grinning, I scoot closer so the camera can see my face. “Evening, Mrs. Ivers. Or morning, I guess.”

  “Mrs. Ivers lives in Florida. Call me Josie.”

  I swallow a laugh. “Josie. I’m Logan.”

  Another gasp. “The Logan?”

  “Yes, Mom. The Logan,” Grace confirms with a sigh.

  Josie looks from me to Grace, then puts on a stern face. “Sweetie, I’d like a moment alone with Mr. Logan. Go take a walk or something.”

  My alarmed gaze flies to Grace, who looks like she’s trying not to laugh. “Hey, you said it was cool,” she murmurs. Then she plants a kiss on my cheek. “I’ve gotta pee, anyway. You two go nuts.”

  Panic fills my gut as my girlfriend hops off the bed and literally abandons me. Leaving me at her mother’s mercy. Fucking hell. I should have hid when I had the chance.

  The moment Grace leaves the room, Josie says, “Is she gone?”

  “Yup.” I gulp.

  “Good. Don’t worry, kid, I’ll be quick. And I’m only going to say this once, so you’d better listen carefully. Gracie told me she was giving you another chance, and I fully supported that decision.” Josie peers into the camera, her expression glittering with menace. “With that said, if you break my daughter’s heart, I will hop on the first plane out of here, show up at your door, and beat you to death with a pillowcase full of soap bars.”

  Despite the terrified shiver evoked by the threat, I can’t stop the laugh that flies out of my throat. Jesus. That’s a very specific form of violence.

  But when I answer, the humor is gone and my voice is gruff. “I won’t break her heart,” I promise.

  “Good. Glad that’s settled.”

  And I swear, this woman has multiple personalities, because in the blink of an eye she’s Suzie Sunshine again. “Now tell me all about yourself, Logan. What’s your major? When’s your birthday? What’s your favorite color?”

  Swallowing another wave of laughter, I indulge her random questions, which she spits out in rapid fire. I don’t mind, though. Grace’s mother is hilarious, and it only takes a few seconds to figure out where Grace got her sense of humor and tendency to babble incoherently.
>
  Three minutes into the chat, Josie’s phone rings. She says she needs to take it and promises she’ll ping us right back, and then the screen goes black. I’m about to put down the laptop, but when I hear footsteps nearing the door, I suddenly have an idea.

  AKA the perfect payback for Grace’s desertion.

  Just as the door opens, I look intently at the screen and act like I’m still chatting with her mother. “—And she stuck her finger in my ass when she was blowing me, which was fucking incredible. I never thought I’d enjoy having anything up there, but—”

  Grace screams in horror.

  “Oh my God!” She dives onto the bed and grabs the laptop. “Mom, don’t listen to him! He’s just joking—” She stops abruptly, blinking at the screen before turning to glare at me. “You are such an asshole.”

  I curl over with laughter, which only makes her angrier, and soon she’s batting at me with her teeny fists, as if they’ll actually do any damage.

  “You’re the worst!” she yells, but she’s giggling even as she pounds those futile fists at me. “I actually thought you told her that!”

  “That was the point.” I howl in laughter, then roll us both over so she’s on her back and I’m looming over her. “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.”

  Grace reaches up and flicks my forehead. “Jerk.”

  My jaw drops. “Did you just flick me?”

  She flicks me again.

  “Did you just flick me again?”

  Now she’s the one howling, because I’m tickling the shit out of her. And as she squirms on the bed and tries to escape my relentless fingers, I reach several conclusions.

  One, I’ve never had more fun with a girl in my entire life.

  Two, I never want this to end.

  And three…

  I think I might be falling in love with her.

  28

  Grace

  “He just showed up in the middle of your study session?” Ramona looks highly amused as she reaches for her coffee. This is the first time I’ve seen her since our awkward meet-up at the beginning of the month, and I’m surprised by how comfortable it feels. There haven’t been any lags in the conversation, no bitterness on my part, and she seems genuinely interested in what’s been going on in my life.

  “Yep,” I answer. “Pretending he was dropping off coffee for me, but we both knew that was bullshit.”

  Ramona grins. “So John Logan is the jealous type. Honestly? Not a shocker. Hockey players are wired with aggression. They’re these big alpha dudes, going all caveman when someone tries to steal the puck from them.”

  “Am I the puck in this scenario?”

  “Pretty much, yeah.”

  I roll my eyes. “Well, screw that. If anything, I’m the one who should be jealous. Do you realize how many girls throw themselves at him? It happens all the time, even when I’m with him. We did have one incredibly satisfying run-in, though.” I pause for effect. “We bumped into Piper at the theater in Hastings.”

  Ramona gasps. “Oooh. Shit. What did she say?”

  Satisfaction surges through me. “At first she was super sweet, but that’s probably because she didn’t notice I was there. She flirted with him, but it was obvious he wasn’t reciprocating, so she started talking about hockey instead, and then suddenly she realized I was with him, and not just standing near him, and it was like she’d walked into a serial killer’s dungeon. Pure horror.”

  Ramona snickers.

  “Logan introduced me as his girlfriend, and I swear she looked ready to murder me.” I’m gleefully vindictive as I recount the tale. “Then she huffed off and went to join her friends.”

  “Who was she with?”

  “Some chicks I didn’t recognize.” I pause. “And Maya. Who, by the way, didn’t even say hello to me.”

  That doesn’t seem to surprise Ramona. “Maya thinks you hate her,” she admits. “You know, for her role in the whole Twitter thing.”

  “I don’t hate her.” Shrugging, I take a bite of my chocolate-banana muffin. “But I have no desire to hang out with her, either. We have nothing in common.”

  I don’t miss the way Ramona winces as if the accusation had been directed at her. But that wasn’t my intention. The two of us had a lot of fun together. One time in high school, we’d stayed up talking for an entire night. I don’t even remember what we talked about, just that it went on forever.

  Sorrow twines around my insides. I miss that. Other than Daisy, I haven’t made any female friends this semester, and although Daisy and I are close, we’re nowhere near as close as Ramona and I used to be.

  As if reading my mind, her voice softens. “I miss you, Gracie. I really miss you.”

  My heart clenches. “I miss you too, but…”

  But what? I don’t trust you? I haven’t forgiven you? I’m not sure how I feel about our friendship, and I’m not ready to dissect it yet.

  “But I think it’s better if we keep doing the slow thing,” I finish. Then I paste on an encouraging smile. “So what have you been up to? How are your classes?”

  She spends a few minutes telling me about her drama courses and some parties she went to, but there’s a shadow in her eyes that concerns me. Her voice lacks the carefree pitch I’m used to hearing, and even her appearance feels a bit…off. Her eye makeup is thicker. Her top is tighter than usual, breasts practically hanging out of it. Awful as it sounds, she looks washed up and trashy. In the past, she could pull off trashy no problem and make it sexy, because she had the confidence to back it up. But right now, her swagger is noticeably absent.

  The conversation switches to our families, and we end up staying at the Coffee Hut for another forty minutes, catching each other up on what our parents have been up to and laughing about their antics. When I announce I need to get to class, her smile fades, but she simply nods and stands up. We toss our empty cups in the waste bin, hug goodbye, and go our separate ways.

  Watching her walk away, with her shoulders hunched and her hands in the pockets of her jeans, tugs at my heart. Am I a shitty friend for continuing to keep her at a distance? I honestly don’t know anymore.

  I debate the issue as I walk along the cobblestone path toward the lecture hall of the film theory course I’m taking as an elective this semester. I’m climbing the steps of the ivy-covered building when my phone rings. It’s Logan.

  I stifle a sigh as I press the button to answer, hoping he’s not calling to apologize again for yesterday’s coffee stunt. I still haven’t decided if his showing up during my study session with my psych partner was annoying, cute, or both. He ended up coming back later that night and we had a long talk about trusting each other, and I think we managed to reach an understanding about boundaries.

  “Hey, gorgeous. Good, I caught you before you went into class.”

  The sound of his husky voice makes me smile. “Hey. What’s up?”

  “I wanted to run something by you. Turns out Dean and Tuck are going to a concert in Boston Saturday night and they decided to make a weekend out of it, getting a hotel room for a couple nights and all that. And Garrett is staying with Hannah until Sunday, so…”

  He pauses, and I can practically envision the blush on his cheeks. One thing I never expected? Logan blushes when he’s nervous, and it’s frickin’ adorable.

  “I thought maybe you’d want to spend the weekend with me.”

  Excitement ripples through me. Nerves, too, but not a crazy amount. We’ve been an “official” couple for almost three weeks, and not once has Logan pushed me to have sex. He hasn’t even brought it up, actually, which I find both perplexing and reassuring.

  And he’s quick to offer that reassurance again, adding, “No expectations, by the way. I’m not inviting you to, like, a three-day fuck fest or anything.”

  I snort. My boyfriend, ever the wordsmith.

  “I’ll even throw out all the condoms in the house, if you want. You know, to eliminate temptation.”

  I choke down a laugh. “That�
�s very thoughtful of you.”

  His voice thickens. “I just want to fall asleep with you. And wake up with you. And go down on you, if you’re in the mood for a John Logan orgasm.”

  The laugh flies out, and he gives an answering one that slides into my ear and makes me light-headed.

  “I would love to stay over this weekend,” I say firmly. “Oh. But I just remembered. I’m supposed to have dinner with my dad on Sunday night. Would you be able to drop me off at his house around six?”

  “No problem.” There’s a beat. “You’re not going to tell him where you spent the weekend, are you?”

  I blanch. “God. Of course not. I don’t want to give him a heart attack. He still tries to tie my shoelaces for me sometimes.”

  Logan chuckles. “I’m hitting up the grocery store tomorrow. Is there anything special you want me to pick up? Snacks? Ice cream?

  “Oooh, yes. Ice cream. Mint chocolate chip.”

  “Done. Anything else?”

  “No, but I’ll text you if I think of something.” My heart races faster than it should, considering we’re just talking about a weekend visit. It’s not like we’re eloping, for God’s sake. Yet my entire body is crackling with anticipation, because three uninterrupted days with Logan sounds like absolute heaven.

  “So I’ll swing by and grab you after your last class tomorrow? You’re done around five, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “’Kay. I’ll text when I’m on my way. Later, gorgeous.”

  “Logan?” I blurt out before he can hang up.

  “Yeah?”

  I take a deep breath. “Don’t throw out the condoms.”

  29

  Grace

  It’s Friday night. Logan and I are tangled up together on his living room couch, about to watch a horror movie he chose off the film channel on his TV. When we got back from dinner at the fish and chips place in Hastings, I figured we’d go upstairs and rip each other’s clothes off. You know, so I could give him my flower, as my mother would say. Instead, he surprised me by suggesting a movie.

  I suspect he’s trying not to seem overeager, but the heated glances he keeps casting my way tell me he wants it as much as I do. Still, I’m not against taking it slow. Letting the tension build, the anticipation simmer.