The Mistake (Off-Campus, #2)

by Elle Kennedy

I’m suddenly eager to get inside, so I herd my friends toward the front door, which gets me a bemused look from Garrett. “I take it we’re wooing again tonight?” he says wryly. Damn right we are.

In the upstairs powder room, I wash my hands, then dry them with a New England Patriots towel that makes me grin. Sports merchandising has always seemed like such a lucrative industry to me. Slap a team logo on any old item and millions of people will buy it no matter what it is.

“I came here to declare my intentions toward Grace,” I announce. “Gee, how honorable of you.” Morris snorts. “But the truly honorable thing would have been to not make out with my date last night.” I let out a remorseful sigh. “That’s the other reason I’m here. To apologize.”

“I’m sorry I moved in on your date. It was a total violation of bro code, and for that, I’m offering you one free swing at me. Just make sure to stay away from my nose, because I’ve broken that motherfucker way too many times and I’m scared one day it won’t heal right.”

The first thing I do after marching out of the media building on Monday evening is send a very curt text message to one John Logan. Me: Are you home? Him: Yup.

Me: Text me your address. I’m coming over. It’s almost a full minute before he responds. Him: What if I don’t want any visitors? Me: Seriously? After all your “wooing” you’re really gonna say no? His next message pops up in no time at all. It’s his address. Ha. That’s what I thought.

but I’m afraid my anger might multiply to a scary level if I allow it thirty whole minutes to fester. Yep, I’m angry. And annoyed.

“What is wrong with you?” I say in lieu of greeting. “You went to Morris’s dorm and declared your intentions?” He offers a faint smile. “Of course. It was the noble thing to do. I can’t be chasing after another guy’s girl without his knowledge.”

“We went on one date! And now I’m never going to be his girl, because he doesn’t want to go out with me again.” “What the hell?” Logan looks startled. “I’m disappointed in him. I thought he had more of a competitive spirit than that.”

I’m dumbfounded. Oh my God. Lorris? As in Logan and Morris? They fucking Brangelina’d themselves? “What is happening?” I burst out. “You guys are best friends now?” “He’s a cool guy. Actually, he’s even cooler in my book now for stepping down like that. I didn’t ask him to, but clearly he grasps what you refuse to see.” “Yeah, and what’s that?” I mutter. “That you and I are perfect for each other.” No words. There are no words to accurately convey what I’m feeling right now. Horror maybe? Absolute insanity?

“I like you, Grace.” “Why?” I challenge. “Why do you like me?” “Because…” He drags a hand through his dark hair. “You’re fun to be around. You’re smart. Sweet. You make me laugh.

“I just have one question,” Garrett starts. “Really?” Tuck says. “Because I have many.” Sighing, I put my pen down. “Go ahead. Get it out of your systems.”

I reach for my cell and text Grace. Me: What’s your email address? She answers almost instantly. Her: Grace_Ivers@gmail.com Me: Incoming. This time around, she takes her sweet time messaging back. Forty-five minutes to be exact. I’m thirty pages into my reading assignment when my phone buzzes. Her: Don’t quit your day job, Emily Dickinson.

Garrett, on the other hand, knows better than to ask questions. Hell, he and Hannah spent two hours constructing origami hearts with me the other day. His lips twitch uncontrollably as he gets the phone in position.

It was nothing like the splendor of TD Garden. Just a large, nondescript building, similar to any old arena you might find in New England.

Grace is staring at me as if she’s never seen me before in her life. “So.” I blink innocently. “What time should I pick you up tomorrow night?”

Logan stares at me. “You couldn’t have told me this before I asked you out? What are we even doing here, Grace? I can never marry you now—it would be blasphemous.” His twitching lips make it clear that he’s joking, and the laughter I’ve been fighting spills over. “Hey, don’t go canceling the wedding just yet. The success rate for inter-sport marriages is a lot higher than you think. We could be a Pats-Bruins family.” I pause. “But no Celtics. I hate basketball.”

God, I want to throw my arms around him and squeeze all the cuteness out of him. Instead, I pretend to mull it over. “Okay, well, your choice of restaurant? Perfect ten. Chivalry…you opened my car door, so that’s a ten too. Conversational prowess…nine.” “Nine?” he blusters. I flash an impish smile. “I’m taking a point off for the hockey talk. That was rather dreary.” Logan narrows his eyes. “You’ve gone too far, woman.”

“You called me Johnny,” he says, his breath tickling my lips. “Is that not allowed?” I tease. His thumb softly grazes my bottom lip. “My friends call me John sometimes, but only my family calls me Johnny.” His gaze burns with intensity. “I liked it.”

A part of me is tempted to make him sweat, but there’s no stopping the swift, unequivocal answer that escapes my mouth. “Absolutely.”

Logan dips down and plants a kiss on my temple. “Don’t worry. Whenever you want to go, say the word and we’re gone.” “Thank you.”

“Gotta say, this is the first time I’ve seen Logan show up to a party with a date.” “Get used to it,” Logan tosses back. “I don’t plan on leaving the house without her anymore.”

His mouth falls open. Then understanding dawns, and a slow smile stretches his mouth. “Wait, this is about you being jealous?” I bristle. “No.” “Nuh-uh. You’re jealous.” My jaw sets in a tense line. “I just don’t appreciate all these girls hitting on you when I’m standing right fucking beside you. It’s rude and disrespectful and⁠—” “Makes you jealous,” he finishes, and I feel like smacking that stupid grin off his face. “This isn’t funny.” I attempt to shrug his hand off my arm.

“Am I your girlfriend?” I give her my creepiest leer. “I don’t know, baby, do you want to be?” Amusement dances in her brown eyes. “Well, now I don’t.” Grinning, I lean over the edge of the bed to set the laptop on the floor, then shift around and pounce on her. She squeals as I get her on her back, my body pressed to her side as I prop up on one elbow and peer down at her. “Liar,” I accuse. “Of course you want to be my girlfriend. And FYI? You are.”

“Question,” she says, and now I’m smiling too, because I love it when she does that. Announces she’s about to ask a question instead of just asking it. I answer with my standard, “Hit me.”

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.”

“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.”

“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.”

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.

“We’re doing important work here, guys! We’re proving the existence of paranormal entities! Science needs this. Science needs us.” I burst out laughing, shuddering against Logan’s rock-hard chest. “Did you hear that, Johnny? Science needs them.” “I fucking hate you,” he grumbles. “Five bucks…” I say in a singsong voice.

I groan, too. From the sheer cheesiness of that statement. “You should have put that line in your poem.” “I’ll write you another one,” he promises. “Oh God. Please don’t.”

“Actually, it’s been…six months?” My eyebrows soar. “You haven’t had sex in six months?” “Nope.” A sheepish look fills his face. “Not since I met you.” “Bullshit.” Now he looks hurt. “You think I’m lying?”

“But this…” He leans closer and gently presses his mouth against mine in the sweetest kiss imaginable. “This…” Another kiss. “Feels…” And another one. “Right.”

Best. Weekend. Ever. I honestly can’t remember the last time I smiled this much. Or laughed this much.

Hannah walks up to Grace and sticks out her hand. “Hi. We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Hannah.” “I’m Grace.” “I know.” Hannah can’t seem to wipe the big, stupid smile off her face. “Logan talks about you all the time.” Grace glances at me. “You do?” “All the livelong day,” Garrett confirms, flashing his big, stupid smile.

“Oh, I know about the poems,” Grace tells my best friend. “I’ve already submitted the one he sent me to an anthology press in Boston.” I whirl around to glare at her. “You better be kidding about that.” Garrett gives a hoot of laughter. “Doesn’t matter if she is. Because now I’ll be submitting it.”

“John?” she murmurs. My heart squeezes. I don’t know why it does that every time she uses my first name. She calls me Logan too, and Johnny when she’s making fun of me, but it’s only John that floods my chest with emotion like this.

But meeting Grace’s father—in person—feels like a big deal. Says the guy who’s in love with her. Good point. Hell, I ventured into BIG DEAL territory the moment I realized how I feel about her.

Logan’s handling the salad. But watching the sheer concentration with which he slices those tomatoes, you’d think he was vying for a slot on Top Chef. “Relax, Johnny,” I tease. “Your salad preparation expertise has no bearing on whether he’ll like you or not.”

Within five minutes of meeting him, Logan gave my dad a good-natured reprimand for raising me to “hate” hockey, and Dad brings that up again once we’re seated at the glass table on the deck. “Here’s the thing, John,” he says as he cuts into his T-bone. “Gracie is smart enough to recognize the shockingly inferior level of skill that hockey demonstrates.” His eyes twinkle playfully. Logan mock gasps. “How dare you, sir.” “Face it, kid. Football requires a whole other level of athleticism.”

“All right, little scenario for you. You take every guy on the Bruins roster, throw football gear on them, and stick them on the field. I guarantee you they play a solid four quarters of football and kick some serious ass.” He smirks. “Now take the Pats, slap on some skates and pads, and put them on the ice—can you honestly tell me they’d be able to play a full three periods, and do it well?”

Dad narrows his eyes. “Well, no. But that’s because a lot of them probably don’t know how to skate.” Logan’s smile is triumphant. “But they’re operating on a superior level of athleticism,” he reminds my father. “Why can’t they skate?” Dad sighs. “Touché, Mr. Logan. Touché.” I snicker.

“I treat him the way I’d want to be treated if I was ever in his position. With patience and support, even when he doesn’t deserve it.”

This guy continues to surprise me. To awe me. He’s a better person than I am, better than he gives himself credit for, and if I wasn’t sure about it before, then I’m damn well sure of it now. I love him.

“You’re welcome,” Logan answers. “And don’t you fucking worry about our evening, Ramona. The only thing that matters right now is that we got you out of there before shit got out of hand.” His gruff words circle my heart and fill it with warmth. God, I love this guy. I know his opinion of Ramona isn’t exactly positive, but he still came to her aid tonight in spite of that, and I love him even more for it.

The ache in my chest gets worse. “Nothing. It’s nothing, sir. I, uh…had a family emergency.” He looks concerned. “Is everything all right?” I nod. Then I shake my head. Then I nod again. Christ, make up your fucking mind. “Everything’s fine,” I lie. “No, it’s not. You’re white as a sheet. And you look exhausted.” He softens his tone. “Tell me what’s wrong, son. Maybe I can help.” My face collapses. Oh shit. Oh fuck, why’d he have to call me son? The sting in my eyes is unbearable. My throat squeezes shut.

I need to get out of here. “Why don’t you come in?” he urges. “We’ll sit down. I’ll make some coffee.” A wry smile lifts his lips. “I’d offer you something stronger, but you’re still a minor, and I have a strict rule about giving alcohol to⁠—” I lose it. I just. Fucking. Lose it. Yup, I bawl like an honest-to-God baby, right there in front of Grace’s father. He freezes.

Only for a moment, and then he springs forward and puts his arms around me. He traps me in a hug I can’t escape from, a solid wall of comfort I find myself sagging into. I’m so goddamn embarrassed, but I can’t fight the tears...

I’m a total fucking mess.