What if there really is something wrong with me and I can never, ever have a normal sex life like a normal frickin’ woman?

I blink rapidly to try to stop the flow of tears. I refuse to cry in public. I refuse to.

“Wellsy?”

Garrett emerges from the men’s bathroom and frowns the moment he sees me. “Hey,” he says urgently, cupping my chin. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” I mumble.

“You’re lying.” His grip stays firm on my chin as he sweeps his thumbs underneath my eyes. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying.”

“I’m wiping away your tears right now, Wellsy. Ergo, you’re crying. Now tell me what’s wrong.” His face suddenly pales. “Oh shit, did someone harass you or something? I was only gone a few minutes. I’m so sorry—”

“No, it’s not that,” I cut in. “I promise.”

Garrett’s features relax. But only slightly. “Then why are you upset?”

I choke back the lump in my throat. “I bumped into my ex out there.”

“Oh.” He looks startled. “The guy you were dating last year?”

I nod weakly. “He was with his new girlfriend.”

“Shit. That must have been awkward.”

“I guess.” Hostility crawls through me like an army of tiny ants. “She’s gorgeous, by the way. Like, really gorgeous.” The bitter feeling intensifies, twisting my insides and hardening my jaw. “I bet she has orgasms that last for hours and probably screams out I’m coming! when she’s in the throes of passion.”

Alarm flickers through Garrett’s eyes. “Uh. Yeah. Okay. I don’t really understand that, but okay.”

But it’s not okay. It’s not.

Why did I ever think I could be a normal college student? I’m not normal. I’m broken. I keep telling myself that the rape didn’t destroy me, but it did. A piece of shit didn’t just steal my virginity—he stole my ability to have sex and feel pleasure like a healthy, red-blooded woman.

So how the hell can I ever have a real relationship? With Devon, with Justin, with anyone, when I can’t…

I abruptly shrug Garrett’s hands off my face. “Forget it. I’m being stupid.” Lifting my chin, I take a step toward the doorway. “Come on, I want another drink.”

“Hannah—”

“I want another drink,” I snap, and then I bulldoze past him and march all the way to the bar.

21

Garrett

Hannah is wasted.

Not only that, but she refuses to go home. It’s one in the morning and the party has moved from the bar to my house, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t convince Hannah to call it a night.

It’s becoming crucial that I get her back to her dorm. My living room is full of hockey players and puck bunnies, all of whom score at least an eight on my drunk scale: rapidly on their way to throwing inhibition to the wind and making some huge-ass mistakes.

Dean has just dragged a laughing Hannah to the center of the living room and the two of them start dancing to ODB’s “Baby, I like it Raw,” which blasts out of the speakers at top-volume.

Hannah hadn’t been moving suggestively when she’d belted out Lady Gaga earlier, but she sure as shit is moving suggestively now. She’s gone from Disney Channel Miley Cyrus to Full-on Twerk Mode Miley, and it’s officially time for me to put a stop to it before she moves straight to Let’s Make a Sex Tape Miley. Wait—has Miley ever made a sex tape? Fuck, who am I kidding? Of course she has.

I march up to Hannah and Dean and forcibly break them apart, laying a firm hand on Hannah’s shoulder. “I need to talk to you,” I shout over the music.

She pouts. “I’m dancing!”

“We’re dancing,” Dean slurs.

I level a hard glare at my teammate. “Dance with someone else,” I snap.

As if on cue, a willing female partner appears like an apparition and yanks Dean into her arms. Dean all but forgets about Hannah, which allows me to drag her out of the living room without any further objections.

I curl my hand around her arm and lead her upstairs, and I don’t release her until we’re in the quiet safety of my bedroom. “Party’s over,” I announce.

“But I’m having fun,” she whines.

“I know you are.” I cross my arms. “You’re having too much fun.”

“You’re mean.” With an exaggerated sigh, Hannah flops down on the bed and falls onto her back. “I’m sleepy.”

I grin. “Come on, I’ll drive you back to the dorm.”

“I don’t wanna go.” She sticks out her arms and legs and proceeds to do snow angels on my bed. “Your bed is so big and comfy.”

Then her eyelids flutter closed and she goes still, another deep sigh escaping her lips.

I smother a groan as I realize she’s seconds away from falling asleep, but then I decide it might be better if I let her crash here and drive her home in the morning. Because if I take her home now and she gets a second wind, I won’t be there to keep her out of trouble.

“Fine,” I say with a nod. “Stay here and sleep it off, Cinderella.”

She snorts. “Does that make you my prince?”

“Damn straight.” I duck into the bathroom and rummage around in the medicine cabinet until I find some ibuprofen. Then I pour a glass of water and head back to the bed, sitting at the edge as I force Hannah to sit up. “Take two of these and chug the water,” I order, slapping the two pills into her palm. “Trust me, you’ll thank me in the morning.”