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I go into every conversation nervous I’m going to embarrass myself, and then I end up embarrassing myself because I’m nervous. Doomed from the start.
Don’t get me wrong, I adore my mother. She’s fun and spontaneous, and so bubbly and encouraging it’s like having your own personal cheerleader following you around waving her pom-poms. But she’s also…exhausting. She’s a little girl in a grown woman’s body, acting on her every whim without stopping to consider the consequences.
Leaving a girl wanting isn’t just embarrassing. It’s unacceptable.
“You know, considering the complete lack of details, one might think it didn’t even happen at all.”
BITCH
Maybe I’m naive, but I thought college would be different. I thought all the gossiping and backstabbing and bullshit ceased to exist once you left high school, but I guess mean girls can be found at any level of the education system. It’s like visiting a farm—if you go there not expecting to see piles of cow shit everywhere, then you’re in for a rude awakening. And there’s a good SAT question for you. SCHOOL is to MEAN GIRLS as FARMS are to _______. Shit. The answer to that is shit.
Aw, hell. I’ve seen that look before. Many, many times, on the faces of many, many women. As if she’s picturing me naked and inside her. Too bad I’m not interested in fulfilling that fantasy. I’m wholly focused on Grace, and the parade of wicked images flashing through my mind.
“Mmm-hmmm. As long as I keep staring at my hands then I don’t have to think about plummeting two hundred feet to my death.” “This tower definitely isn’t two hundred feet tall.” “Well, it’s tall enough that my head will crack like a watermelon when it hits the ground.” “Jeez. You really need to work on your romance technique.” I gape at him. “This is supposed to be romantic? Wait, do you have a fetish for girls throwing up on you?”
I’ve always refused to use alcohol as a crutch. If I’m sad or upset or hurting, I avoid it at all costs because I’m terrified I might rely too heavily on it one day. That I might become addicted.
good boy
“When I’m with Garrett, my whole world comes alive. I’m so full of emotion I feel like my heart will overflow, and I know this is going to sound like an exaggeration or maybe kind of obsessive, but sometimes I think I need him more than I need food or oxygen.”
“Am I the last person you think about when you go to bed and the first one you think about when you wake up?”
The message isn’t from Grace. It comes from an unfamiliar number, and it takes me a solid ten seconds before I’m able to register what I’m reading. No, what I’m seething over. Hey, this is Ramona. Just heard what happened with you and Grace. Need me to come over and comfort you? ;) Winky face. She actually fucking winky-faced me. I drop the phone as if it’s a hot coal.
Why the hell is Grace’s best friend hitting on me? Who does that? I’m so pissed off that I grab the phone and forward the message to Grace without stopping to question my actions. I add a caption—thought you should see this.
good boy x2
“It’s not about Logan. It’s about the fact that she knew I was hurting. She knew I was humiliated over what happened with him, and instead of supporting me, she waited until I was asleep and then propositioned him. It’s pretty clear she doesn’t give a crap about me or my feelings.”
damn right, not a girl's girl
“I don’t know. I went back to her place, fully intending to fuck her brains out, but when she tried to kiss me, I just bailed. It felt…empty, I guess.”
“No, it’s life. Jeff did his time, and now it’s my turn. Someone has to, or else my dad will lose his business, and the house, and—” “And that’s his problem,” Garrett interjects, his gray eyes blazing. “I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but it’s true. It’s not your responsibility to take care of him.”
“You want my advice?” Sincerity shines in his eyes. “If I knew I had one year left before I—I was about to say had to, but I maintain that you don’t have to do anything. You choose to, but whatever, you’ve made your choice. But if I knew I had to put my life on hold starting next year, I’d make the most of the time I had left. Stop doing things that make you feel empty. Have fun. Make things right with that girl, if that’s what’ll make you happy. Quit sulking and make the most of your senior year.”
Freedom, hockey, and friends. Yup, all those things make the list. But the number one slot? That’s a no-brainer. I need to make things right with Grace.
“What about everything before that?” I call out after her. She turns to face me. “What?” “Before that night.” I lower my voice when I catch up to her. “When we went to the movies. And the water tower. I know you liked me then.” Grace releases a tired-sounding breath. “Yeah. I did.” “So let’s focus on that,” I say roughly. “On the good parts. I fucked up, but I promise I’ll make it up to you. I don’t want anyone else. All I want is another chance.”
Fuck. I really thought she’d say yes. Defeat crushes down on my chest, followed by a surge of hope, because technically, she didn’t say no. She said “not right now.” I can absolutely work with that.
Does it still count as gallivanting when you do it with your mother? Sure it does, I assure myself. Gallivanting is gallivanting no matter who you’re with.
First and foremost—be confident. Second—be spontaneous. Third—the only opinion that matters is your own.
“Jeez, John, I’m trying to be helpful. You could learn a lot from me. No woman has ever been able to resist my natural charm.” “You know who else had natural charm?” I retort. “Ted Bundy.”
“I came here to declare my intentions toward Grace,” I announce.
“Okay, next. You should know that as long as you and Grace aren’t exclusive, I won’t stop trying to win her back.” Regret rushes through me, and my voice shakes a little. “We hooked up back in April, and I screwed up pretty badly—”
“But I’m going to fix it. I know that’s probably not what you want to hear, but I figured I should warn you, because you might be seeing a lot more of me. You know, if you go out with Grace again.”
“I’m not even convinced you actually like me, Logan. This whole thing feels like it’s centered on your ego. The only reason you even saw me again after that first night was because you couldn’t handle that I didn’t have an orgasm. And at the party, when you found out I was on a date with someone else, it was like you went out of your way to stake a claim or some shit. Your actions scream ego, not genuine feelings for me.” “That’s not true. What about the night I came to the dining hall? How did that benefit my ego?” His voice is gruff. “I like you, Grace.” “Why?” I challenge. “Why do you like
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“Jesus Christ, will you quit dictating this conversation to Hannah?” I grumble. “Bros before hos, dude.” “Call my girlfriend a ho one more time and you won’t have a bro.”
“Is she worth all this, bro?” I don’t ask who “she” is. I simply nod. “It’s not just for the sex?” My smile is rueful. “We haven’t had sex yet.”
“You don’t like hockey?” I regretfully shake my head. “Not even a little bit?” Now I shrug. “I don’t mind it as background noise—” “Background noise?” “—but I won’t pay attention to it if it’s on.”
“It’s all right. We’ll work through this, gorgeous. Might need couples counseling at some point, but once I teach you to love hockey, it’ll be smooth sailing for us.” “You won’t succeed,” I warn him. “Ramona spent years trying to force me to like it. Didn’t work.” “She gave up too easily then. I, on the other hand, never give up.”
Both my parents drilled the importance of forgiveness into me, of expelling the bitterness and anger instead of letting those negative emotions consume me.
“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.”
“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.”
Sometimes it still amazes me that I’m the one turning him on. My entire freshman year, all I heard was rumor after rumor about John Logan. He sleeps around, he’s a great lay, he doesn’t do relationships. So what the heck is he doing dating me? And by dating, I mean dating. We haven’t even had sex yet, for God’s sake.
I’m not having a bad time. Not having a great time, either, but that’s not because of anything Logan says or does. It’s because as the party unfolds, I start to notice something that makes me feel…prickly. The girls. Lots and lots of girls. Lots and lots of girls who have no problem flirting shamelessly with my date.
“You have nothing to be jealous of,” he says in a husky voice. “All those girls who came over to us? I don’t even remember what they look like. I don’t remember half their names. You’re the only one I see tonight, the only one I see ever.”
“This is hot, by the way.” A seductive note thickens his voice. “What’s hot?” “You. Jealous.” Those blue eyes go molten hot. “I’ve never been with anyone who’s gotten all possessive over me. It turns me on.”
“That turns me on even more,” he mumbles. I hide a smile. “Yeah?” “Oh yeah. Trust me, baby, you’re the only woman I want. The only one who gets me going.”
“He expects us to help him run his business because he can’t do it himself. That’s what family does. You pitch in when you’re needed. You take care of each other.” She frowns. “At the expense of your dreams?”
I love holding her. And playing with her hair. And leaning in to kiss her neck whenever the urge strikes.
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.
“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.”
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
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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.
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.”
“I was afraid I might’ve lost my moves during my CS, but I’ve still got it.” “CS?” His abbreviations drive me nuts sometimes. I’m praying one of these days I’ll be able to figure them out on my own. “Celibacy stretch,” he explains. “It’s only been three weeks, horndog.” “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.”
“I don’t know. I don’t think he even knows. It’s the kind of thing where…like if you were stressed out, you might have a glass of wine, right? Or a beer, a whiskey, something to calm you down. But he can’t have just one. He has two, or three, or ten, and he just can’t stop. It’s an addiction.”
“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.”
“No. I’m not listening to this bullshit anymore. I’m going to leave you to your sulking, and maybe when you’re finished with your one-man pity party, we can actually have a rational conversation.” I’m spitting mad as I march toward the door. “And just in case my reaction to your idiocy didn’t make it clear where I stand with us, then let me spell it out for you.” I whirl around to scowl at him. “I love you, you stupid jackass.”
Christ, I shouldn’t have spewed all that bullshit. I hadn’t even meant it, at least not the part about her breaking up with me. That was my fear talking. And she’s right—I was having a pity party.
