The Deal (Off-Campus Book 1)
The Deal: Chapter 12

I’m addicted to that moment right before I wake up, when the wispy cobwebs in my brain thread together to form a coherent ball of consciousness. It’s the ultimate WTF moment. Disorienting and foggy, with half my brain still lost in whatever dream I’m having.

But something is different about this morning. My body feels warmer than usual, and I become aware of the sweetest smell. Strawberries maybe? No, cherries. Definitely cherries. And something tickles the bottom of my chin, something soft and hard at the same time. A head? Yup, there’s a head nestled in the crook of my neck. And a slender arm draped across my stomach. A warm leg hooked on my thigh and a soft breast resting on my left pec.

My eyes open gradually and I replace Hannah snuggled up against me. I’m on my back with both my arms wrapped around her, holding her tight to my body. No wonder my muscles are so stiff. Did we sleep like this all night? I remember being on opposite sides of the bed when I fell asleep, so far apart that I half expected to wake up and replace Hannah on the floor.

But now we’re tangled in each other’s arms. It’s nice.

I’m growing more alert. Alert enough to register that last thought. It’s nice? What the fuck am I thinking? Cuddling is an act reserved solely for girlfriends.

And I don’t do girlfriends.

But I don’t release her either. I’m fully awake now, breathing in her scent and basking in the heat of her body.

I glance at the alarm clock, which is due to go off in five minutes. I always wake up ahead of the alarm, as if my body knows it’s time to get up, but I still set it as a precaution. It’s seven. I’ve only gotten four hours of sleep, but I feel oddly rested. At peace. I’m not ready to let go of that feeling yet, so I just lie there with Hannah in my arms and listen to her steady breathing.

“Is that a boner?”

Hannah’s horrified voice slices through the serene silence. She shoots into a sitting position, then stumbles back down. Yup, Ms. Graceful trips while lying down, because her leg is still slung over my thighs. And yup, there’s definite morning wood happening in my southern region.

“Relax,” I say in a sleep-gravelly voice. “It’s just a morning chub.”

“A morning chub?” she echoes. “Oh my God. You’re so…”

“Male?” I supply dryly. “Yes, I am, and that’s what happens to men in the morning. It’s biology, Wellsy. We wake up with wood. If it makes you feel better, I am in no way turned on right now.”

“Fine, I’ll accept your biology excuse. Now can you please explain why you decided to cuddle with me in the middle of the night?”

“I didn’t decide a damn thing. I was asleep. For all I know, you’re the one who crawled on top of me.”

“I would never. Not even in my sleep. My subconscious knows better than that.” She jabs her finger in the center of my chest, then dives off the bed in a blur of motion.

The moment she’s gone, I experience a sense of loss. I’m no longer warm and cozy, but cold and alone.

As I sit up and stretch my arms over my head, her green eyes fix on my bare chest and her nose wrinkles in distaste.

“I cannot believe my head was on that thing all night.”

“My chest is not a thing.” I give her a pointed look. “Other women seem to like it just fine.”

“I’m not other women.”

No, she isn’t. Because other women don’t entertain me as much as she does. I suddenly wonder how I ever made it through life without Hannah Wells’s sarcastic barbs and annoyed grumbles.

“Stop grinning,” she snaps.

I’m grinning? Didn’t even realize it.

She narrows her eyes as she fumbles for her clothes. My T-shirt hangs to her knees, emphasizing just how small she is.

“Don’t you dare tell anyone about this,” she orders.

“Why not? It’ll only boost your street cred.”

“I don’t want to be another one of your puck bunnies, and I don’t want people thinking I am, understood?”

Her use of the term makes me grin harder. I like that she’s picking up the hockey lingo. Maybe one of these days, I’ll even convince her to come to a game. I have a feeling Hannah would be a great heckler, which is always an advantage at home games.

Though knowing her, she’d probably heckle us and give the other team the advantage.

“Well, if you really don’t want anyone to think that, then I suggest you get dressed fast.” I cock a brow. “Unless you want my teammates to witness your walk of shame. Which they will, because we have practice in thirty minutes.”

Panic lights her eyes. “Crap.”

I have to say, this is the first time a girl’s been worried about getting caught in my bedroom. Normally they strut out like they’ve just bagged Chris Hemsworth.

Hannah takes a breath. “We studied. We watched TV. I went home late. That’s what happened. Got it?”

I fight back laughter. “As you wish.”

“Did you really just Princess Bride me?”

“Did you really just use Princess Bride as a verb?”

She glowers at me, then points a finger in my direction. “I expect you to be dressed and ready to go when I get out of that bathroom. You’re driving me home before your roommates wake up.”

A chuckle of amusement slips out as she marches into the washroom and slams the door.

HANNAH

I’m functioning on four hours of sleep. Kill me now. On the bright side, nobody saw Garrett drop me off at the dorms earlier, so at least my honor is still intact.

My morning classes drag on forever. I have a theory class followed by a music history seminar—both require me to actually pay attention, which is hard to do when I can barely keep my eyes open. I’ve already chugged three coffees today, but instead of giving me an energy boost, the caffeine just drained the meager energy I had to begin with.

I grab a late lunch in one of the campus dining halls, choosing a corner table in the back and sending out leave me alone vibes because I’m too damn tired to make conversation with anyone. The food succeeds in waking me up a little, and I’m early when I walk through the huge oak doors of the philosophy building.

I near the Ethics lecture hall and stop in my tracks. None other than Justin is loitering in the wide corridor, his dark eyebrows knitted as he texts on his phone.

Even though I showered and changed at the dorm, I still feel like a total slob. My outfit consists of yoga pants, a green hoodie, and red rain boots. The weather forecast called for rain that didn’t come, so now I feel like an idiot for my choice of footwear.

Justin, on the other hand, is sheer perfection. Dark jeans hug his long, muscular legs and his black sweater stretches across his broad shoulders in a delicious way that makes me shiver.

My heart beats faster the closer I get. I’m trying to decide if I should say hello or just nod in greeting, but he solves that dilemma by speaking first.

“Hey.” His mouth curves in a half smile. “Nice boots.”

I sigh. “It was supposed to rain.”

“That wasn’t sarcasm. I’m totally digging the boots. They remind me of home.” He notices my quizzical look and quickly elaborates. “I’m from Seattle.”

“Oh. Is that where you transferred from?”

“Yep. And trust me, if it’s not raining there, then something’s wrong. Rain boots are a necessity for survival when you live in Seattle.” He tucks his phone in his pocket, his voice taking on a casual note. “So what happened to you on Wednesday?”

I furrow my brow. “What do you mean?”

“The Sigma party. I looked for you when I was done playing pool, but you were already gone.”

Oh my God. He was looking for me?

“Yeah, I left early,” I answer, hoping I sound equally casual. “I had a nine o’clock class the next morning.”

Justin slants his head. “I heard you left with Garrett Graham.”

That catches me off guard. I hadn’t thought anyone saw Garrett and me leave together, but clearly I was wrong. And apparently word travels faster than the speed of light at Briar.

“He gave me a ride home,” I reply with a shrug.

“Oh. I didn’t know you guys were friends.”

I smile impishly. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

Holy shit. I’m flirting with him.

He smiles too, and the sexiest dimple I’ve ever seen appears in his chin. “I guess you’re right.” He pauses meaningfully. “Maybe we ought to change that.”

Holy shit. He’s flirting back.

And as much as I hate to admit it, I’m starting to think Garrett’s hard-to-get theory actually holds water. Justin seems curiously fixated on the fact that I left the party with Garrett.

“So…” His eyes twinkle playfully. “What are you doing after cla—”

“Wellsy!”

I swallow a groan at the cheerful interruption from—who else—Garrett. A slight frown touches Justin’s lips as Garrett strides up to us, but then he smiles and nods at the unwelcome intruder.

Garrett holds two foam cups in his hands, and he thrusts one at me with a grin. “Got you a coffee. I figured you might need it.”

I don’t miss the strange look Justin shoots in our direction, or the flicker of displeasure in his eyes, but I gratefully accept the cup and pop the lid, blowing on the hot liquid before taking a tiny sip. “You’re a lifesaver,” I breathe.

Garrett nods at Justin. “Kohl,” he says in greeting.

The two of them exchange a manly hand slap type of thing, not a shake, but not quite a fist bump either.

“Graham,” Justin says. “I heard you handed St. Anthony’s asses to them this weekend. Nice win.”

“Thanks.” Garrett chuckles. “I heard you got your ass handed to you against Brown. Bummer.”

“There goes our perfect season, huh?” Justin says ruefully.

Garrett shrugs. “You guys’ll bounce back. Maxwell’s arm is ridiculous.”

“Tell me about it.”

Since I rate sports talk on the same level of boring as politics and gardening, I take a step toward the door. “I’m heading in. Thanks for the coffee, Garrett.”

My pulse continues to race as I enter the lecture hall. It’s funny, but my life suddenly seems to be moving at lightning speed. Before the Sigma party, the most contact I had with Justin was one measly nod from ten feet away—and that was over a two-month span. Now, in less than a week, we’ve had two conversations, and either I was imagining it, or he was about to ask me out before Garrett interrupted.

I slide into my usual seat next to Nell, who greets me with a smile. “Hey,” she says.

“Hey.” I unzip my bag and grab a notebook and pen. “How was your weekend?”

“Brutal. I had a huge chem test this morning, and I pulled an all-nighter to study for it.”

“How’d you do?”

“Oh, I definitely aced it.” She smiles happily, but the joy fades fast. “Now I just need to do better on this makeup on Friday, and all will be right in the world again.”

“You got my email, right?” I had sent Nell a copy of my midterm earlier in the week, but she hadn’t emailed back.

“I did. Sorry I didn’t respond, but I was focused on chem. I’m planning on reading through your answers tonight.”

A shadow falls over us, and the next thing I know, Garrett slides into the seat beside me. “Wellsy, you got an extra pen?”

Nell’s eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling, and then she stares at me like I’ve sprouted a goatee in the past three seconds. I don’t blame her. We’ve been seat buddies since school started, and not once have I even looked in Garrett Graham’s direction, let alone talked to him.

Nell isn’t the only one who’s fascinated by this new seating arrangement. When I look across the aisle, I replace Justin watching us with an indecipherable expression on his face.

“Wellsy? Pen?”

I shift my gaze back to Garrett. “You came to class unprepared? Shocker.” I reach into my bag again and rummage around for a pen, then slap it into his hand.

“Thanks.” He offers that cocky grin of his before opening his notebook to a fresh page. Then he leans forward and peeks over at Nell. “I’m Garrett.”

She gapes at the hand he’s sticking out at her before reaching over to shake it. “Nell,” she says. “Nice to meet you.”

Tolbert arrives just then, and as Garrett turns his attention to the podium, Nell shoots me another WTF look. I bring my lips close to her ear and murmur, “We’re kinda friends now.”

“I heard that,” Garrett pipes up. “And there’s no ‘kinda’ about it. We’re best friends, Nelly. Don’t let Wellsy tell you otherwise.”

Nell giggles softly.

I just sigh.

Our lecture today focuses on some seriously heavy issues. Mainly, the conflict between an individual’s conscience versus responsibility to society. Tolbert uses the Nazis as our example.

Needless to say, it’s a depressing hour and a half.

After class, I’m dying to finish my conversation with Justin, but Garrett has other ideas. Rather than let me linger—or rather, let me make a beeline for Justin—he firmly takes my arm and helps me to my feet. I steal a look at Justin, who walks briskly down the aisle as if he’s trying to catch up to us.

“Ignore him.” Garrett’s voice is barely audible as he guides me out the door.

“But I want to talk to him,” I protest. “I’m pretty sure he was going to ask me out before.”

Garrett just plows forward, his hand like an iron vise around my forearm. I have to sprint to keep up with his long strides, and I’m annoyed as hell when we emerge into the cool October air.

I’m tempted to look over my shoulder to see if Justin is behind us, but I know Garrett will chastise me if I do, so I resist the urge.

“What the hell?” I demand, shaking his hand off me.

“You’re supposed to be unattainable, remember? You’re making it too easy for him.”

Aggravation rumbles inside me. “The whole point is to get him to notice me. Well, he’s noticed me. Why can’t I stop playing games now?”

“You’ve piqued his interest,” Garrett says as we walk down the cobblestone path toward the courtyard. “But if you want to keep his interest, you need to make him work for it. Men like a challenge.”

I want to argue with him, except I think he might be right.

“Just play it cool until Maxwell’s party,” he advises.

“Yes, sir,” I grumble. “Oh, and by the way, I’m canceling on you tonight. I’m exhausted from our marathon last night, and if I don’t get some sleep, I’ll be a zombie for the rest of the week.”

Garrett doesn’t look happy. “But we were going to start the hard stuff today.”

“Tell you what, I’ll email you a sample essay question, something Tolbert would come up with. Give yourself two hours to write it, and tomorrow we’ll go over it together. That way I can get a sense of what we need to work on.”

“Fine,” he concedes. “I’ve got practice in the morning and then class. Come over at noon?”

“Sure, but I’ve gotta be out of there by three for rehearsal.”

“Cool. See you tomorrow then.” He ruffles my hair as if I’m a five-year-old, then saunters off.

A wry smile tugs on my lips as I watch him go, his silver and black hockey jacket plastering to his chest as he walks into the wind. I’m not the only one looking—several women also swing their heads in his direction, and I can practically see their panties melt away as he flashes that rogue grin around.

Rolling my eyes, I head off in the opposite direction. I don’t want to be late for rehearsal, especially since Cass and I still haven’t reached an agreement about his ludicrous choir idea.

But when I walk into the music room, Cass is nowhere to be seen.

“Hey,” I greet MJ, who’s at the piano studying sheets of music.

Her blond head pops up, a strained smile on her face. “Oh, hey.” She pauses. “Cass isn’t coming today.”

Annoyance erupts in my belly. “What do you mean he’s not coming?”

“He texted me a few minutes ago. He has a migraine.”

Yeah right. I know for a fact that a bunch of our classmates, Cass included, went out for drinks last night, because one of them texted me an invite when Garrett and I were watching Breaking Bad. It’s easy to put two and two together—Cass is hungover and that’s why he bailed.

“We can still rehearse, though,” MJ says. This time her smile reaches her eyes. “It might be nice to run through the song without stopping to argue every five seconds.”

“Yeah, except whatever we do today, he’ll just veto tomorrow.” I plop into a chair near the piano and pin her down with a hard look. “The choir idea is bullshit, MJ. You know it is.”

She nods in defeat. “I know.”

“Then why didn’t you back me up?” I demand, unable to mask my resentment.

A blush appears on her pale cheeks. “I…” She gulps visibly. “Can you keep a secret?”

Shit. I don’t like where this is going. “Sure…”

“Cass asked me out.”

“Oh.” I try not to sound surprised, but it’s hard to hide it. MJ is a sweet girl, and she’s certainly not unattractive, but she’s also the last person I’d consider Cass Donovan’s type.

As much as I loathe him, Cass is drop dead gorgeous. He’s got the kind of album-cover friendly face that will sell a lot of records one day, no doubt about that. And look, I’m not saying the plain girl can’t get the hot guy. I’m sure it happens all the time. But Cass is a pompous, image-obsessed jerk. Someone that superficial would never be caught dead with a mousy thing like Mary Jane, no matter how sweet she is.

“It’s okay,” she says with a laugh. “I know you’re surprised. I was too. He asked me before rehearsal that day.” She sighs. “You know, the choir day.”

Annnnd all the puzzle pieces swiftly slide together. I know exactly what Cass is up to, and it takes some serious effort to swallow my anger. It’s one thing to coax MJ into backing him up during our fights, it’s another to lead the poor girl on.

But what am I supposed to say to her? He only asked you out so you’d support all his crazy ideas for the showcase?

I refuse to be an asshole, so I paste on the most polite smile I can muster and ask, “Do you want to go out with him?”

Her cheeks go even redder, and then she nods.

“Really?” I say skeptically. “But he’s such a diva. Like, giving Mariah Carey a run for her money diva. You know that, right?”

“I know.” She looks embarrassed now. “But that’s only because he’s so passionate about singing. He’s actually a nice guy when he wants to be.”

When he wants to be? She says it like it’s the endorsement of the year, but the way I see it, people should be nice because they are, not because it’s a calculated move on their part.

But I keep that opinion to myself, too.

I adopt a tactful tone. “Are you afraid that if you disagree with his ideas, he’ll renege on the date?”

She winces. “It sounds pathetic when you phrase it like that.”

Um, how else does she want me to phrase it?

“I just don’t want to make any waves, you know?” she mumbles, looking uncomfortable.

No, I don’t know. At all.

“This is your song, MJ. And you shouldn’t have to censor your opinions just to make Cass happy. If you hate the choir idea as much as I do, then tell him. Trust me, men appreciate a woman who speaks her mind.”

Yet even as I say the words, I know Mary Jane Harper is not that woman. She’s shy and awkward and spends most of her time hiding behind a piano or curled up in her dorm room writing love songs about boys who don’t return the sentiment.

Oh shit. Something suddenly occurs to me. Is our song about Cass?

I’m icked out at the thought that the emotional lyrics I’ve been singing for months might actually be about a guy I loathe.

“I don’t hate the choir idea,” she hedges. “I don’t love it, either, but I don’t think it’s terrible.”

And in that moment, I know without a doubt there’s going to be a three-tiered fucking choir standing behind Cass and me at the winter showcase.