The Deal (Off-Campus, #1)

by Elle Kennedy

The score being, no girlfriends and definitely no sleepovers.

“I want to murder him in his sleep, A. No, I want to murder him when he’s awake so he can see the joy on my face when I do it.”

Garrett purses his lips. Sort of like the way my grandma does when she’s deep in thought. It’s kind of adorable.

“Your voice is…fuck, Wellsy, it’s beautiful.” My cheeks heat up. “You think so?” His impassioned expression tells me he’s dead serious. “Play something else,” he orders. “Um. What do you want to hear?” “Anything. I don’t care.” I’m startled by the intensity in his voice, the emotion now glittering in his gray eyes. “I just need to hear you sing again.”

“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?”

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.

“Question,” I announce as Tuck wanders into the kitchen. “Answer,” he replies instantly.

But see, here’s the thing about life. When it’s this good? Something inevitably goes bad.

I hit the speaker button and reach for my guitar. “Feel free to hang up if you get bored.” “Baby, I could watch you watching paint dry, and I still wouldn’t be bored.” Garrett Graham, my own personal sweet-talker.

Is this what disgraced Amish people feel like when they’ve been shunned? Because everyone is looking right through me, and I don’t like it.

“Is Garrett in there?” I bark. He looks startled to see me. “Yeah, but⁠—” I bulldoze past him and grab the door handle. The guy protests from behind. “I don’t think you should go in th⁠—” I burst into the locker room and⁠— Penises! Sweet Jesus. Penises everywhere. Horror slams into me as I register what I’m seeing. Oh God. I’ve stumbled onto a penis convention. Big penises and small penises and fat penises and penis-shaped penises. It doesn’t matter which direction I move my head because everywhere I look I see penises. My mortified gasp draws the attention of every penis—er, guy, in the room. In a heartbeat, towels snap up and hands cover junk and bodies shuffle around, while I stand in the front of the room blushing like a tomato.