He offers a sheepish grin. “Remember that girl I was dating last year? Sheena? Well, she texted me a picture of her tits. Said I had to return the favor.”
Dean’s jaw falls open. “Dick for tits? Dude, you got played. No way are those even remotely comparable.”
“What’s the equivalent of tits then?” Hollis asks curiously.
“Balls,” Dean declares, before taking a deep pull of the joint. He blows out a ring of smoke as everyone laughs at his remark.
“You just said women don’t want to see balls,” Hollis points out.
“They don’t. But any idiot knows that a dick pic requires a full frontal shot in return.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s common sense.”
Someone clears their throat from the sliding door behind me. Loudly.
I turn around to find Hannah standing there, and my chest squeezes so tight my ribs ache. She’s wearing leggings and one of Garrett’s practice jerseys. Her dark hair is loose and falling over one shoulder. She looks gorgeous.
And yup, I’m a total asshole friend, because suddenly I’m picturing her in my jersey. With my number scrawled across it.
So much for accepting and moving on.
“Um…okay,” she says slowly. “Just making sure I’m not misunderstanding, but…you guys are talking about sending pictures of your penises to girls?” Amusement dances in her eyes as she glances around the group.
Dean snorts. “We sure are. And don’t roll your eyes like that, Wellsy. Are you really gonna stand there and tell us that G hasn’t sent you pictures of his cock?”
“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.” She sighs and rests her forearm on the edge of the door. “Garrett and I are ordering pizza. Do you guys want to pitch? Oh, and we’re putting on a movie in the living room. It’s his turn to pick so it’ll probably be some God-awful action movie, if you guys want to watch with us.”
Tuck and Dean instantly pipe up with yeses, but Hollis shakes his head regretfully. “Maybe next time. My last final is on Monday so I’m spending the rest of the weekend cramming.”
“Eek. Well, good luck.” She smiles at him before releasing the doorframe and taking a step back. “If you guys want a say in the pizza toppings, you better come inside now, otherwise I’m going to load it with veggies. 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?”
“I’d like to see you try, Wellsy.” My tone is filled with humor, but the second she ducks back inside, the humor fades.
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 know what? I think I might go to Danny’s thing after all. Can I catch a ride with you to the dorms?” I ask Hollis. “I’d drive over myself but I don’t know if I’ll end up drinking.”
Dean stabs out the joint in the ashtray on top of the closed barbecue lid. “You won’t end up drinking, dude. Danny’s RA is a total Nazi. He patrols the halls and does random room checks. No joke.”
I don’t care. All I know is that I can’t stay here. I can’t hang out with Hannah and Garrett, not until I manage to get a handle on my stupid infatuation with her.
“Then I won’t drink. I just need a change of scenery. I’ve been home all day.”
“A change of scenery, huh?” Tucker’s cloudy expression tells me he sees right through me.
“Yes,” I say coolly. “Got a problem with that?”
Tuck doesn’t answer.
Gritting my teeth, I mutter my goodbyes and follow Hollis out to his car.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m in the second-floor corridor of Fairview House, and it’s so eerily quiet that my spirits plummet even lower. Shit. I guess the resident advisor really is a hard-ass. I don’t hear a peep from any of the rooms, and I can’t even call Danny to find out if the party was canceled, because in my haste to escape my house, I forgot to grab my phone.
I’ve never been to Danny’s dorm before, so I stand in the hallway for a moment, trying to remember the room number he’d texted me earlier. Two-twenty? Or was it two-thirty? I wander past each door checking the numbers, and my dilemma solves itself when I realize there isn’t even a room two-thirty.
Two-twenty, it is.
I rap my knuckles against the door. Almost immediately, footsteps sound from behind it. Someone’s there, at least. That’s a good sign.
Then the door swings open, and I find myself looking at a total stranger. Granted, she’s a very pretty stranger, but a stranger nonetheless.
The girl blinks in surprise when she sees me standing there. Her light brown eyes are the same shade as her hair, which hangs in a long braid over her shoulder. She’s wearing loose plaid pants and a black sweatshirt with the university logo on the front, and from the utter silence in the room behind her, it’s obvious I knocked on the wrong door.
“Hi,” I say awkwardly. “So…yeah…I guess this isn’t Danny’s room?”
“Um, no.”
“Shit.” I purse my lips. “He said it was room two-twenty.”
“One of you must’ve gotten the number wrong then.” She pauses. “For what it’s worth, there’s no one named Danny on this floor. Is he a freshman?”