The Mistake (Off-Campus, #2)

by Elle Kennedy

Every woman in the room admires the way his black cargo pants hug his spectacular ass. Myself included.

The second I slide into the passenger seat of his pickup truck, the dam I’ve struggled to keep intact all evening shatters to pieces. As the tears spill over, I make a frantic attempt to wipe them away with my sleeves before he notices. But it’s too late.

“Aw, hey, don’t cry.” He quickly reaches inside the center console and pulls out a travel pack of tissues. Damn it, I can’t believe I’m bawling in front of him. I sniffle as he hands me the pack. “Thank you.” “No prob.”

“Don’t worry, you didn’t strike me as the type to B&B.” I offer a blank stare. “Bed and breakfast?” He snickers. “No. Bag and brag.” “Bag and brag?” I’m laughing through my tears, because the phrase is so absurd.

“Seriously, Grace, don’t stress. You know what they say—haters be hating, and bitches be bitching.” I laugh again. “That’s going to be my new motto.” “Good. It should be.”

“I grew up around the corner,” I tell him. He sounds surprised. “You’re from Hastings?” “Yep. My dad’s been a professor at Briar for twenty years. I’ve spent my whole life here.”

An uneasy feeling washes over me. It’s so strange how a quaint, middle-class town like Hastings is equal in distance to both the campus of an Ivy League university and a town that my father, a man who doesn’t curse if he can help it, refers to as a “shit box.”

“This is where I grew up,” Logan says gruffly. My head swivels toward him. “Really? I didn’t know you were local, too.” “Yup.”

He gives me a self-deprecating look before focusing on the pothole-ridden road ahead of us. “It’s not much to look at, is it? Trust me, it’s even uglier in the daylight.”

“That’s cool. Did he teach you a lot about cars?” “Yup.” He taps the dashboard in pride. “You hear that sexy purr coming out of this baby? I rebuilt the engine myself last summer.” I’m genuinely impressed.

And kinda turned on, because I appreciate a man who works with his hands. No, who actually knows how to use his hands.

“Are we going up there?” I blurt out. “If so…no thank you. I’m terrified of heights.” “Ah, shit. I forgot.” He bites his lip for a second, before giving me an earnest look. “Face your fear for me? I promise, it’ll be worth it.”

“Look at these guns, gorgeous. You really think I can’t catch all ninety pounds of you?” “One hundred and twenty pounds, thank you very much.” “Ha. I lift that in my sleep.”

“Fine,” I mutter. “But God help me, if I fall and you don’t catch me, and by some miracle I survive and still have the use of my arms? I will beat you to death.” His lips twitch. “Deal.”

Logan waits patiently below. A shard of moonlight emphasizes the encouragement gleaming in his blue eyes. “You’ve got this, Grace. You’re doing great.”

I gape at him. “This is supposed to be romantic? Wait, do you have a fetish for girls throwing up on you?” He bursts out laughing. “You’re not going to throw up.” But much to my relief, he tightens his grip around my shoulder.

So is his aftershave. Or is it cologne? His natural scent? Holy Moses, if it’s his natural scent, then he needs to bottle that spicy fragrance up, call it Orgasm, and sell it to the masses.

Instead, I fill the awkward void by shifting the subject back to me. “I guess talking to those seniors was depressing sometimes, but I didn’t mind listening. I think that’s all they really wanted, anyway. For someone to listen.”

I purse my lips. “It was around that time when I decided I wanted to be a therapist. I realized I had a talent for reading people. And listening to them without passing judgment.”

“I will be. I didn’t declare a major this year because I couldn’t decide if I wanted to go the psychology route or the psychiatry one. But I decided I don’t want to go to med school. Plus, psychology opens up a lot of doors that psychiatry doesn’t. I could be a therapist, social worker, guidance counselor. That sounds so much more rewarding than prescribing pills.”

His tone becomes thoughtful. “So you have a talent for reading people, huh? Can you read me?” I smile. “I haven’t quite figured you out yet.”

His husky laughter warms my cheek. “I haven’t quite figured me out yet either.”

“Oh, and you need to show him how kinky you are. That you’re up for anything.” Nervous laughter tickles my throat.

“Uh-huh. How am I supposed to do that?” “I don’t know. Stick your finger in his ass when you’re blowing him.”

“I don’t want anyone near my ass, thank you very much. And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want me near his.”

“Ha. You have no idea how hard a guy gets off from a good prostate massage. Seriously, he’ll be coming like nobody’s business.” “I’m not giving him a prostate massage,” I say primly.

And if she texts again, ignore that too. And then keep ignoring her until she gets the message that I’m not interested. Which is a whopping lie, because I am interested. I have fun with her, and if I weren’t so fucked in the head about this Hannah thing, I’d absolutely keep seeing Grace.

Christ, I shouldn’t have allowed Thursday’s impromptu date to happen. It’s not fair to lead her on like this.

Yeppppp

When I reach her door, I’m overcome with hesitation. And a major case of nerves. I take a deep breath. Fuck, it’s not like I’m breaking up with her. We’re not even a couple. I’m simply letting her know that I’m not in a good place to continue things at the moment. Doesn’t mean it’s forever over. It’s just…right now over.

Right now over? Brilliant, man. You’re going to awe her with your lyrical prose.

Son of a bitch. No way. There is absolutely no way I can do this to her. Fooling around with her when I know I’m going to end it? Reprehensible. But taking her virginity? Unforgivable.

I can’t stop myself from sneaking a peek, and her hurt expression rips my chest apart. “I’m sorry,” I say roughly. “I can’t do this. This is your first time, and you deserve something—someone—so much better than me for your first time.”

She doesn’t utter a word, but even in the darkness, I can see the deep flush on her cheeks. And she’s biting her lower lip as if she’s trying not to cry. Her silence deepens the guilt coursing through my veins.

“I’m in such a fucked up place right now. I have a lot of fun with you, but…” I swallow. “I can’t...

Fuck. I screwed up so badly. My heart physically hurts as I stagger to the door. I pause in the threshold, finding the courage to meet her eyes again. “I’m sorry.”

“Everything okay?” Big tough hockey player that I am, I jump three feet in the air at the sound of Hannah’s voice.

“Logan.” She approaches me with wary strides. “What’s going on?” “Nothing.” “Bullshit. You look upset. Are you okay?”

I flinch when she touches my arm. “I don’t want to talk about it, Wellsy. I really don’t.”

Cue: the longest silence ever. Like, go hide in a corner and die of embarrassment silence, because the longer she remains quiet, the more pathetic I feel.

The accusation raises my hackles. “Why? Because I’m a player?” Indignation makes my tone harsher than I intend for it to be. “Have you ever thought that maybe it’s because I haven’t met the right girl yet? But no, I couldn’t possibly want someone to cuddle with and watch movies with, someone who wears my jersey and cheers for me at games, and cooks dinner with me the way you and Garrett⁠—”

Her snort of laughter makes me stop short. I narrow my eyes. “What are you laughing about?”

In a heartbeat, the laughter dies and her tone grows serious. “Logan…during that whole speech? You didn’t once say you wanted to do that stuff with me. You...

Well, good for her, because I have no fucking idea what sh...

“This entire time, I thought you were looking at me all longing-like. But you were looking at us.” She laughs again. “And all those things you listed right now, they’re things Garrett and I do togeth...

Alarm flits through me. “If you’re implying I want to have a threesome with you and my best friend, th...

“No, you just want what we have. You want the connection and the closeness and all the gooey relationship stuff.” M...

As her words sink in, my muddled brain quickly runs through the fantasies I’ve had about Hannah these past few months, and…well, if I’m being honest, most of them haven’t been sexual. I...

“Look, I like you, Logan. I really do. You’re funny and sweet, and you’re a sarcastic jackass, which is a quality I happen to love in a guy. But you don’t…” She looks uncomfortable.

“…make my heart pound—I guess that’s the best way to put it. No, not even that.” Her voice takes on a faraway note. “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.”

She might be right. All this time I’ve been feeling guilty about wanting my best friend’s girl, but I think what I really wanted was my best friend’s relationship. Someone to spend time with. Someone who turns me on and makes me laugh. Someone who makes me…happy.