Yes, and yes. That’s precisely what I don’t want him to know.
So I saunter over to Dean and say, “Give me a second opinion.”
He seems startled for a second, before breaking out in another grin. He rubs his hands together, then cracks his knuckles as if he’s preparing for a fight, and the ridiculous gesture makes me laugh.
When I reach him, his bravado falters. “I was just kidding, Wellsy. You don’t have to—”
I cut him off by leaning on my tiptoes and pressing my mouth to his.
Yep, that’s me, just another college coed kissing one guy after the other.
This time, there’s no heat. No tingles. No sense of overpowering desperation. Kissing Dean is nothing compared to the way it felt kissing Garrett, but Dean seems to enjoy it, because he lets out a groan when I part my lips. His tongue enters my mouth, and I let it. Only for a few seconds, and then I step back and put on my most nonchalant face.
“Well?” I prompt.
His eyes are completely glazed over. “Uh.” He clears his throat. “Uh…yeah…I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
He looks so stunned that I can’t help but smile, but my humor dissolves when I turn to see Garrett rising from the bed, his chiseled face darker than a thundercloud.
“Hannah,” he starts roughly.
But I can’t listen to the rest. I don’t want to think about that kiss anymore. Or ever. The mere memory of it makes my head spin and my heart pound.
“Good luck on the makeup tomorrow.” The words rush out in a fast stream of nervousness. “I’ve gotta take off now, but let me know how it goes, ’kay?”
Then I quickly gather up my things and hurry out of the room.
17
Hannah
“You lost a bet,” Allie says dubiously.
“Yep.” I sit at the edge of the bed and lean over to zip up my left boot, deliberately avoiding my roommate’s gaze.
“And now you’re going out with him.”
“Uh-huh.” I rub my thumb over the side of the boot and pretend I’m wiping away a smudge on the leather.
“You’re going out with Garrett Graham.”
“Mmm-hmmm.”
“I call shenanigans.”
Of course she does. A date with Garrett Graham? I might as well have announced I’m marrying Chris Hemsworth.
So no, I don’t blame Allie for looking so flabbergasted. The I lost a bet excuse was the best one I’d been able to come up with, and it’s feeble at best. Now I’m wondering if I should just fess up and tell her about Justin.
Or better yet, if I should cancel the date altogether.
I haven’t seen Garrett since…the big mistake…as I’m now referring to the kiss. He texted me yesterday after he wrote the makeup exam. Four measly words, two of which aren’t even real: “easy peasy lemon squeezy.”
I won’t lie, I was thrilled to hear it had gone well. But not thrilled enough to initiate an actual conversation, so I simply sent back one word—“nice”—and that was the only contact we had up until twenty minutes ago, when he messaged to say he was on his way to pick me up for the party.
As far as I’m concerned, the kiss didn’t happen. Our lips didn’t touch, and my body didn’t ache. He didn’t groan when my tongue filled his mouth, and I didn’t whimper when his lips latched onto that sensitive spot on my neck.
It didn’t happen.