“Ramona,” she supplies, and that hungry gaze fixates on Dean now.

She can ogle him as much as she wants, but I can pretty much guarantee that the moment he finds out she’s a freshman, Dean won’t be ogling her back.

For all his manwhoring, the guy has a strict rule about not doing freshmen. I’m not sure I blame him, considering our little stalker incident at the start of the year. Dean had hooked up with a freshman, who, after one night of exquisite passion, decided they were madly in love. She then proceeded to show up at our house at all hours of the day and night, sometimes wearing clothes, other times not wearing clothes, usually armed with flowers and love letters and—my personal favorite—a framed photo of herself wearing Dean’s hockey jersey.

Sometimes when I’m falling asleep, I can still hear her wailing Deeeeeeeeean outside my window.

Needless to say, Dean’s avoided the young ones ever since. He calls them level ten clingers.

The four of us stop at the concessions counter so Dean can get his popcorn, and a few minutes later, we enter the dark theater, where the previews have just started. The auditorium is packed. There’s a better chance of Jason Statham himself showing up to offer commentary on the movie than of us finding four seats together. But from where I stand, I spot several available two-seat blocks.

The girls are walking ahead of us, so I lean closer to Dean and murmur, “Mind if we split up? I want to sit with Grace. It’s her birthday.”

His gaze rests on Ramona’s undeniably great ass. “I can live with that.”

Both Grace and Ramona nod in agreement when I suggest sitting separately. Ramona instantly links her arm through Dean’s and whispers something in his ear that makes him chuckle, and then they shuffle forward in the dark to look for seats.

Grace and I do the same. We find two empty spots halfway up the auditorium, right on the aisle, and once we’re settled, she slides closer to whisper, “Are you sure your friend is okay sitting with Ramona? Because she’s absolutely going to hit on him the whole time.”

Her lips are practically on my ear, and she smells incredible. I can’t name flowery scents to save my life, but hers is sweet and girly, and when she runs a hand through her hair, a whiff of it floats into my nostrils.

“Don’t worry. Dean can handle himself,” I whisper back with a grin.

We turn to the screen, which is showing a preview that instantly captivates Grace. It’s some shoot-em-up explosion porn with big stars and even bigger guns, and her excited expression makes me want to kiss her so fucking bad. Her love for action movies is a major turn-on.

Before I can stop myself, I reach out and take her hand.

She jerks in surprise, then relaxes and looks over with a smile before refocusing her attention on the screen.

I still can’t figure her out. She’s sweet, but she doesn’t come off as naive. She gives off an innocent vibe, but she also seems incredibly secure with herself. She doesn’t barrage me with questions or flirt up a storm. Hell, she hasn’t even brought up the fact that I play hockey, which is usually the first thing chicks do when I’m around.

It’s crazy how I hardly know a thing about her, yet I had my face between her legs a couple days ago and—oh shit, now I’m thinking about her pussy.

Wonderful. And now I have a boner of monstrous proportions.

I clumsily shift in my seat, resisting the urge to slide my hand down my pants and do some discreet rearranging. Or maybe to slide my hand down her pants and give her a birthday present to remember.

I do neither. The sounds of crunching popcorn and crinkling candy wrappers echo all around us, a blatant reminder that we’re surrounded by people. I try to concentrate on the opening credits flashing on the screen, but ten minutes into the movie, and my boner’s still going strong.

How long does an erection have to last before it’s considered bad news? Three hours? Four? No way this movie is that long, right?

God, I fucking hope not.

10

Grace

For the first time in forever, I’m not angry with Ramona for persuading me to go out on my birthday. I wanted to avoid all the fanfare by simply staying home, but she’d dangled Jason Statham under my nose like a little British carrot. We’ve been friends long enough that Ramona knows all my weaknesses—and exploits them at all costs.

But I owe her big for using Statham as a bargaining chip tonight, otherwise I wouldn’t be sitting next to Logan right now.

With that said, I’m still not sure how I feel about him. He didn’t make the best first impression when he raced out of my dorm that first night, but I can’t deny that his second impression was a screaming-orgasm success. So I guess he’s got a checkmark in both the pros and cons columns at the moment.

Make that two checkmarks in the pros department—because halfway through the movie, he kisses me.

Not a peck. Not a lingering caress of his lips. It’s a hot, tongue-tangling kiss that makes my heart pound harder and louder than the deafening explosions blasting from the screen. I lose myself in it, in him, in the skillful stroke of his tongue and the warmth of his hand as it curls around the side of my neck.

It isn’t until I hear chuckles from the guys on the other side of me that I remember where we are. I self-consciously pull away, and Logan’s heavy-lidded gaze rests on my mouth, which is wet and swollen from his kisses.

He leans in closer. “On a scale of one to ten, how much would you care if you missed a few minutes of the movie?”