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I live in a house with very thin walls, which means I can hear every breathy moan that leaves Hannah’s mouth. Every gasp and sigh.
I popped the ear buds in with the intention of drowning out the sounds of Garrett and Hannah in the other room,
Look, I’m not an idiot. I know she’s in love with Garrett. I see the way she looks at him, and I see how they are together.
coolest girl on the planet and—
Tucker notices the confusion on my face and clarifies in a grim tone. “This thing with Hannah.”
“You can’t screw her out of your system, man. You could sleep with a hundred women tonight and it still wouldn’t make a difference. You need to accept that it’s not going to happen with Hannah, and move on.”
He’s absolutely right. I’m well aware that I’ve been wallowing in my own bullshit and bagging chicks left and right as a distraction.
Not that there’s anything wrong with being a card-carrying member of the V-Club.
It seems like every time we go to Greek Row, the frat boys just try to sweet-talk me and Ramona into making out. But tonight I’ve actually met a guy I kinda sorta like.
Cute guys make me nervous. Like tongued-tied total-brain-malfunction nervous.
My free-spirit mother is the polar opposite of my stuffy, strict father, but I guess that just proves that the whole opposites-attract theory has some merit.
In high school, Ramona was the fun-loving badass who smoked cigarettes behind the building,
I was the good girl who edited the school newspaper and organized all the charity events.
Ramona has been obsessed with the gorgeous junior ever since she bumped into him at one of the campus coffeehouses. Like seriously obsessed.
I’m not saying I want to have a random hook-up in a bathroom, but— Fine,
I’m supposed to be having fun and making mistakes and “finding myself,” but I haven’t done jack shit this year.
I’m tired of being cautious.
Go girl
Did you know that Ted Bundy was actually really charming?”
Man, she really is pretty. Not drop-dead gorgeous or anything, but she has a fresh-faced, girl-next-door look that’s seriously appealing. Freckles on her nose, delicate features, and smooth, creamy skin right out of a makeup commercial.
Trying to be inconspicuous, I wiggle out of my sweatshirt and tuck it beside me, but the movement causes Logan to turn his head toward me. Those deep blue eyes focus on my tight tank top, resting briefly on my chest. Oh God. He’s checking out my boobs. And even though I’m only rocking a B-cup, the way his expression smolders, you’d think I had a porn star rack.
It’s official: I’ve actually met a guy who can pull off a wink.
freshmen guys I’ve hung out with all year. Well, duh. He’s a junior.
his chiseled profile. His nose is slightly crooked, as if it’s been broken once or twice before. And the sexy curve of his lips
He stuck around to watch Die Hard, not to fool around with a freshman who compared him to Ted frickin’ Bundy an hour ago.
No.” I’m lying. He absolutely makes me nervous.
He’s John fucking Logan,
And I’m Grace fucki...
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Should I make a move?
I should make a move, right?
Lean closer or something....
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maybe ask him to ...
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John Logan is touching my cheek
He lightly strokes my cheekbone and I have to stop myself from purring like an affection-starved cat. “What are you doing?” I whisper. “Well, you were looking at me like you wanted me to kiss you.” His blue eyes become heavy-lidded. “So I was thinking I might do that.”
My heartbeat is out of control. A fast drumbeat in my ears, a frantic hammering against my ribs.
I’m miraculously able to produce an entire sentence in response. “I want you to kiss me.”
A smile curves his lips. Lips that are getting closer and closer to my lips. Inches away. Millimeters away. And then his mouth brushes mine, and holy shit, I’m kissing John Logan.
When his tongue finally slides inside my mouth, he lets out a raspy groan that vibrates through me and settles in my core.
I’m not wearing a bra under my tank top, so when his thumb brushes the very thin fabric and presses down on my nipple, it sends a bolt of heat from the tips of my breasts right down to my clit.
I’m unbelievably turned on by the knowledge that I’m turning him on.
myself an expert penis-wrangler or anything.
Leaving Grace’s room five seconds after she’d jerked me off had been such an asshole move.
When Ramona had walked into our room, I’d lasted all of three seconds before spilling the news,
getting, um…conquered by Logan is hands-down the highlight of my freshman year.
I’ve got moves, damn it. Women know that when they hook up with John Logan, they’re going to leave with a satisfied smile on their faces,
“Hit me.” She rattles off a series of numbers. So fast I have to make her stop and repeat it.
The person who monopolized my thoughts all weekend was not Hannah, but Grace.
The girls are walking ahead of us, so I lean closer to Dean and murmur, “Mind if we split up? I want to sit with Grace. It’s her birthday.”
Logan would be dry humping me in a movie theater closet, I would’ve laughed my fool head off.
“Seriously, Grace, don’t stress. You know what they say—haters be hating, and bitches be bitching.”
Last week, the guy who lives down the hall from me knocked on my door and asked me to help him change a light bulb. I’m not saying I’m Handy McHanderson or anything, but I’m capable of changing a frickin’ light bulb.
