The Mistake (Off-Campus, #2)

by Elle Kennedy

Lusting over your best friend’s girlfriend sucks. First off, there’s the awkward factor. As in, it’s really fucking awkward. I can’t speak for all men, but I’m pretty sure that no guy wants to leave his bedroom and bump into the girl of his dreams after she’s just spent the whole night in his best friend’s arms.

Then there’s the self-loathing element. This one’s a given, because it’s kind of hard not to hate yourself when you’re fantasizing about the love of your best friend’s life.

See, 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. Every thump of the headboard smacking the wall as someone else s...

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. They’ve been a couple for six months now, and not even I, the worst friend on the planet, can deny they’re perfect for each other.

I’m comfortable enough with my hetero status to say that if I did play for the other team? I wouldn’t just fuck Garrett Graham, I’d marry him.

That’s what makes this a trillion times harder. I can’t even hate the dude who’s tapping the chick I want. No revenge fantasies to be had, because I don’t hate Garrett, not in the slightest.

Dean climbs into the pickup bed, saying he wants some fresh air. I think he just wants the wind to mess up his hair in that tousled, sexed-up way girls drop their panties for. FYI—Dean is nauseatingly vain. But he also looks like a male model, so maybe he’s allowed to be vain.

Yup, I’ve chosen to lie. Which is nothing new for me, actually. It seems like all I’ve done since I came to Briar is lie.

I’m totally destined for the NHL. Going pro all the way! I love spending my summer as a grease monkey in my dad’s shop. It’s great pocket money! I’m not lusting over Hannah. She’s dating my best friend!

Lies, lies, and more lies, because in every one of those instances, the truth is a total bummer, and the last thing I want is for my frie...

“You leave the room whenever the two of them enter it. You hide in your bedroom when she stays over. If you guys are in the same room, you stare at her when you think nobody is looking. You⁠—” “Okay,” I interrupt. “I get it.”

“And don’t get me started on your manwhoring,” Tucker grumbles. “You’ve always been a player, but dude, you’ve hooked up with five chicks this week.” “So?” “So it’s Thursday. Five girls in four days. Do the fucking math, John.”

Oh shit. He first-named me. Tucker only calls me John when I’ve really pissed him off. Except now he’s pissed me off, so I first-name him rig...

Tucker shakes his head, then lets out a breath and softens his tone. “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.”

To be honest, it’s probably better if I don’t talk. Cute guys make me nervous. Like tongued-tied total-brain-malfunction nervous. All my filters shut off

Matt stares at me, and in my head there’s a voice shouting Abort! But it’s too late. My internal filter has failed me once again and words keep popping out of my mouth.

Damn it. I don’t know why I bother trying to talk to guys. 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.

My gaze collides with the most vivid blue eyes I have ever seen. It only takes a second for recognition to dawn on me, and when it does, my face burns hotter. It’s John Logan.

I’m not saying I want to have a random hook-up in a bathroom, but⁠— Fine, I’m lying. I totally want that. At least with John Logan, I do. The thought of his hands and lips all over me unleashes a flurry of hot shivers that shimmy up my spine.

Well, I’m tired of being cautious. And I’m tired of being the good girl.

I might have been drunk and my memory might be a bit hazy, but I definitely remember fingering her until she came all over my hand.

“Seriously,” Dean insists. “Balls aren’t photogenic. Women don’t want to see them.”

Yep

Oh, and what the hell, Logan?” Those green eyes narrow at me. “I thought you said you only smoke at parties. Am I going to have to beat you up now?”

Being around her is like a punch to the gut. And the thought of sitting in the living room with her and Garrett, eating pizza and watching a movie and seeing them all cuddly and in love…a hundred times worse than a gut punch. It’s an entire hockey team slamming you into the boards.

“You don’t have to stand all the way over there,” I say dryly. “Unless you’re debating making a run for it?” Her cheeks turn pink.

Grinning, I swipe the phone screen and pull up the keypad. “Don’t worry, gorgeous. I’m just using your phone. I’m not going to murder you.”

“Jesus,” I cut in. “Did anyone ever tell you that you talk a lot?” Her cheeks are even redder now. “Sorry. Sometimes I babble when I’m nervous.” I shoot her another grin. “I make you nervous?”

“Here’s a tip—you use your fingers to dial, and then you press send.” I lift my head, and her barely restrained grin summons a laugh from my throat. “Great tip,” I agree.

My gaze drifts to the open laptop on the other side of the bed, and when I notice what’s on the screen, I look at Grace in surprise. “Are you watching Die Hard?”

“Die Hard Two, actually.” She looks embarrassed. “I’m having a Die Hard night. I just finished the first one.”

“Can we finish watching this scene first?” Her expression fills with surprise. “Um…yeah, okay.” She visibly swallows, adding, “If you want, you can stay and watch the whole movie.” Her cheeks flush the moment she voices the invitation. “Unless you have somewhere you need to be.”

“Oh. Okay,” Grace says warily. “Uh…cool.” I chuckle. “Were you expecting me to say no?” “Kind of,” she admits.

“Why would I? Seriously, what guy turns down Die Hard? The only thing that could sweeten this deal is if you offered me some booze.”

“I don’t have any.” She stops to think. “But I’ve got a whole bag of gummy bears hidden in my desk drawer...

John Logan is in my dorm room. No, John Logan is on my bed. I am so not prepared for this.

On the plus side, we’re watching a movie, which means I don’t have to do or say anything except stare at the laptop, laugh at the appropriate one-liners, and pretend that the hottest guy at Briar isn’t sitting on my bed.

And he’s not just physically hot. He’s also temperature hot. Seriously, his body heat is like a blast from a furnace, and since I’m already hot and tingly from his mere presence, the warmth he’s radiating is starting to make me sweat.

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. When he realizes I’ve caught him staring, he just winks and turns back to the screen.

It’s official: I’ve actually met a guy who can ...

He’s a lot bigger than I thought. Impossibly broad shoulders, muscular chest, long legs stretching out in front of him.

I’ve seen him play hockey so I know he’s aggressively physical on the ice, and having that powerful body inches from mine shoots a thrill up my spine.

Well, duh. He’s a junior. Right. But…he seems older than that too. He’s got this whole manly thing going on that makes me want to rip his clothes off and lick him like an ice cream cone.

He chuckles, and the husky sound sets off another round of tingles.

I give myself a mental pat on the back. I just had an entire conversation with a cute guy without babbling incoherently. I deserve a frickin’ gold star for that.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m still nervous as all get out. But something about Logan puts me at ease. He’s so laidback, and besides, it’s hard to feel intimidated by a guy when he’s chomping away on gummy bears.

As we watch the movie, my gaze darts toward him every few seconds to admire 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 is…pure tempt...

I force myself to concentrate on the film, but I’m already dreading the moment it ends, because then Logan will have to leave.

“You’re not babbling right now,” he points out. “Yeah, now. Do you not remember the serial killer rant I gave you two hours ago?” “Trust me, I remember.” His answering grin speeds up my pulse.

God, he’s got a sexy smile. Slightly crooked, and every time he flashes it, his eyes twinkle playfully.