She’s probably right about the asshole thing.

She’s definitely right about the lucky part.

37

Hannah

“I don’t like this,” I declare. “I mean it, babe, my legs are starting to hurt. I told you, I’m not flexible.”

Garrett’s laughter vibrates through my body. My naked body, I should add, because we’re in the middle of having sex. Which I just confessed to not liking.

Maybe I am a mood killer.

But you know what, I don’t care. I’m still vetoing this position. Garrett kneels in front of me, and my ankles are up on his shoulders. And maybe if he wasn’t a big strapping hockey player, my legs wouldn’t feel like they’re resting on top of the frickin’ Empire State building and be cramping the living hell out of me.

Still laughing, Garrett leans forward and my muscles breathe a sigh of relief as I slide my legs down and hook them around his ass. Immediately, the angle changes, and a moan slips out of my mouth.

“Better?” he says huskily.

“Oh my God. Yes. Do that again.”

“I have no idea what I did.”

“You twisted your hips, like…ooohhh…yeah, like that.”

Every time he fills me, my core clamps around his erection. Every time he retreats, I feel empty, achy, desperate. I’m addicted to this guy. To his kisses and his taste, to the feel of his short hair beneath my fingers, and the smooth sinew of his back when I dig my nails into it.

His hips flex and his breathing quickens, and he thrusts harder, deeper, turning my vision into a white haze. Then he reaches to the place where we’re joined and rubs my clit, and off we go. He comes first, but keeps pumping inside me even as he trembles in release. His climax sets me off and I tremble even harder, biting my lip to stop from crying out so I don’t alert his roommates to the delicious sensations coursing through my body right now.

Afterward, he rolls on his back and I lie on top of him, scaling his body like a monkey as I plant little kisses on his face and neck.

“Why do you always have so much more energy after sex?” he grumbles.

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” I smack kisses all over him, until he’s laughing in delight. I know he likes the attention, and it’s a good thing he does because I can’t stop giving it to him. For some reason, I turn into an affection monster when I’m around him.

Life is good again. A week has passed since Thanksgiving, and Garrett and I are still going strong. We’ve been busy, though. All our final papers are due soon, including the one for Tolbert’s class, which I’ve been helping Garrett with. His practice schedule is just as jam-packed as ever, and so is mine as I prepare for the showcase. But hey, at least I’m finally excited about it again.

Jae and I came up with an arrangement that I love, and I’m confident I’m going to put on a hell of a performance. But I still haven’t forgiven Cass and Mary Jane for what they did. MJ has texted several times asking if we can meet up and talk, but I’ve been ignoring her, and since Fiona got me my own rehearsal space in one of the senior choir rooms, I haven’t run into MJ or Cass since they dumped me.

And the icing on the I-love-my-fucking-life cake? My dad called last week with some good news—my parents are meeting me at Aunt Nicole’s for Christmas. I’ve already booked my ticket, and I can’t wait to see them, but I’m disappointed that Garrett can’t come with me. I invited him, but the dates didn’t work out because the team’s got a game scheduled the day after I leave, and another one two days before I get back. So Garrett will be spending the holidays with Logan, who is apparently from a town twenty minutes from Hastings.

Loud pounding on Garrett’s door jolts me out of my happy thoughts. The door is locked so I’m not worried about anyone barging in, but I still reach for the blanket out of habit.

“Sorry to interrupt, boys and girls,” Logan calls out, “but it’s time to put your p’s and v’s away. Gotta go, G.”

I shoot Garrett a blank look. “P’s and v’s?” Half the time I can barely make sense of Logan’s made-up acronyms and abbreviations.

Garrett grins at me. “Oh come on, really? Even I got one. It’s grade school shit.”

I think it over, then blush. “How exactly does one put away their vagina?”

He snickers. “Ask Logan. Actually, please don’t.” He slides out of bed and wanders around searching for his clothes. “Are you coming to the game after rehearsal?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think I’ll make it before the second period. Argh. By the time I get to the arena, it’ll probably be standing room only.”

“I’ll get someone to save a seat for you.”

“Thanks.”

I pop into the bathroom, freshen up, and come out to find Garrett on the edge of the bed, leaning over to put on a pair of socks. My heart skips a beat at the sight of him. Messy hair, biceps flexing, red splotches on his neck from where I nibbled on it. He’s frickin’ gorgeous.

Five minutes later, we leave his house and go our separate ways. I have Tracy’s car, so I drive back to campus for rehearsal. Now that Cass is out of the picture, I can finally enjoy singing again.

And I do. My own personal cellist and I hammer out the ending of the song, and a couple hours later, I’m driving toward Briar’s hockey center. I texted Allie to see if she wanted to come to the game with me, but she’s busy with Sean, and my other friends are buried under mountains of schoolwork, which makes me grateful that I got a head start on mine. Most of my courses are performance or music theory, so I’ve really only had to focus on the British Lit and Ethics papers, both of which are almost done.