The Deal (Off-Campus Book 1)

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Dexter announces—for about the millionth time—from the backseat of Garrett’s Jeep.

Next to Dex, Stella sighs and voices her agreement—also for the millionth time. “I know, right? We’re in Garrett Graham’s car. Part of me is tempted to go Carrie Underwood on it and carve my name into his leather seats.”

“Don’t you dare!” I order from the driver’s seat.

“Relax, I won’t. But I feel like if I don’t leave my mark on this car, nobody will ever believe I was in it.”

Hell, I can’t believe she’s in it. I wasn’t surprised when Allie jumped on the chance to come to Cambridge with me, since she’s still on the quest for details about Garrett, but I was startled when Stella and Dex insisted on coming along.

So far during this car ride, both of them have asked me at least twice if Garrett and I are dating. I’ve replied with my standard response—we just hang out sometimes. But it’s getting harder to convince even myself of that.

We blast music for the rest of the drive. Dex and I sing along, and our harmonies are ridiculously awesome—why didn’t I ask him to duet with me, damn it? Allie and Stella can’t stay on key to save their lives, but they join in for the choruses, and we’re all in high spirits when I pull into the parking lot of the hockey center.

I’ve never been to Harvard before, and I wish I had more time to explore the campus, but we’re running late as it is, so I usher my friends inside because I don’t want us to lose out on finding seats. I’m floored by how big and modern the arena is and how many people are here tonight. Luckily, we find four empty seats near the Briar team’s side of the rink. We don’t bother hitting up concessions since we ate a shit ton of corn chips in the car.

“Okay, so how does this game work again?” Dexter asks me.

I grin. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. I’m a black kid from Biloxi, Han-Han. What the fuck do I know about hockey?”

“Fair enough.”

As Allie and Stella chat about one of their acting classes, I give Dex a quick rundown of what he can expect. And yet when the players hit the ice, I realize my explanation hasn’t done it justice. This is the first hockey game I’ve seen in person, and I don’t expect the roar of the crowd, the deafening blare of the PA system, the lightning fast speed of the players.

Garrett’s jersey is #44, but I don’t need to look at the number to know which black-and-silver-clad player he is. He’s the center of the starting line, and the second the ref drops the puck, Garrett wins the opening faceoff and snaps the puck back to Dean, who I thought was a wing but is apparently a defenseman.

I’m too busy watching Garrett to focus on any of the other players. He’s…mesmerizing. He’s already tall without skates on, so the added height makes him appear massive. And he’s so fucking fast I have a tough time keeping my gaze on him. He flies down the ice, chasing the puck that Harvard has stolen from us and checking the opposing player like a pro. Briar takes an early lead, thanks to a goal by a player the announcer refers to as “Jacob Berderon,” and it takes me a second to realize he means Birdie, the dark-haired senior I met at Malone’s.

The clock on the scoreboard ticks down, but just when I think Briar will shut out Harvard in the first period, one of the opposing forwards gets a fast snapshot past Simms to tie the game.

As the period ends and the players disappear into their respective tunnels, Dex pokes me in the ribs and says, “You know what? This ain’t half bad. Maybe I should start playing hockey.”

“Can you skate?” I ask him.

“Naah. But it can’t be that hard, right?”

I snort. “Stick to music,” I advise. “Or if you’re really determined to get into sports, play football. Briar could use you.”

From what I’ve heard, our football team is putting up the worst record the school has seen in years, winning only three of the eight games they’ve played so far. But Sean said they still have a chance to make it to the post-season if they, and I quote, “get their motherfucking shit together and start winning some motherfucking games.” It makes me feel sorry for Beau, who I genuinely enjoyed talking to at the party.

The moment I think about Beau, Justin’s face swooshes into my head like a gust of wind.

Shit.

We have a dinner date Sunday night.

How the hell did I forget about that?

Because you were too busy having sex with Garrett?

Yep, that’s it.

I bite my lip as I debate what to do. I haven’t thought about Justin all week, but that doesn’t trump the fact that I’ve been thinking about him all semester. Something drew me to him in the first place, and I can’t just ignore that. Besides, I don’t even know what’s happening between me and Garrett. He hasn’t brought up the whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing. I don’t know if I want to be his girlfriend.

I have a type when it comes to guys. Quiet, serious, moody. Creative, if I’m lucky. Plays music is always a plus. Smart. Sarcastic but not in a snide way. Unafraid to show his emotions. Someone who makes me feel…at peace.

Garrett has some of those qualities, but not all of them. And I’m not sure peaceful is the accurate word to describe how I feel when I’m with him. When we’re arguing or shooting wisecracks back and forth, it’s like my whole body is wired with electricity. And when we’re naked…it’s like an entire Fourth of July fireworks display going off inside me.

I think that might be a good thing?

Fuck, I don’t know. My track record with guys isn’t exactly a series of successes. What do I know about relationships? And how can I be certain that Justin isn’t the guy I should be with if I don’t go out with him at least once?

“So why do they call it the crease?” Dex asks in fascination after the second period commences. “And why does it sound so dirty?”

On my other side, Allie leans in to grin at Dexter. “Babe, everything about hockey sounds dirty. Five-hole? Poke check? Backdoor?” She sighs. “Come home with me one time and listen to my dad yell Jam it in! over and over again when he watches hockey, and then you can talk to me about dirty. Not to mention uncomfortable.”

Dex and I laugh so hard we almost fall out of our chairs.

GARRETT

As the guys and I shuffle out of the guest locker room after the game, we’re still riding the high of crushing the home team. Even though it’s one of our sophomores who landed that last beauty of a goal that secured our win, I’ve decided that Hannah is my good luck charm and must now attend all of our games, because the last three times we played Harvard, we got our asses handed to us.

We agreed to meet outside the arena after the game, and sure enough, she’s waiting there for me when I walk outside. She’s with Allie, along with a dark-haired chick I don’t recognize and an enormous black guy.

The moment Hannah spots me, she wanders away from her friends and walks over to me. “Hey.” She looks surprisingly shy, and she hesitates, as if she’s not sure if she should hug or kiss me.

I solve her dilemma by doing both, and as I brush my lips over hers, I hear a victorious “I knew it!” echo from her friends’ direction. The exclamation comes from the girl who isn’t Allie.

I pull back to grin at Hannah. “Keeping us a secret from your friends, huh?”

“Us?” She raises her eyebrows. “I didn’t realize we were an us.”

Now is definitely not the time to discuss the status of our relationship—if it even is one—so I just shrug and say, “How’d you like the game?”

“It was intense.” She smirks at me. “I notice you didn’t score a goal, though. Slacking much?”

My grin widens. “I sincerely apologize for that, Wellsy. I promise to do better next time.”

“You’d better.”

“I’ll score a hat trick just for you, how about that?”

My teammates shuffle past us and head for the bus waiting twenty feet away, but I’m not ready to leave Hannah yet. “I’m glad you came.”

“Me too.” She sounds like she really means it.

“Are you busy tomorrow night?” The team has another game tomorrow, but it’s an afternooner, and I’m dying to get Hannah alone again so we can…yeah. “I thought we could hang out after I get back from—” I stop talking when a shadow appears in my periphery vision, and my shoulders set in a tight line when I spot my father descending the front steps of the building.

This is the point of the evening I dread. Time for the big nod, followed by the silent walk-away.

As if on cue, I get the nod.

But not the walk-away.

My father startles the shit out of me by saying, “Garrett. A word.”

His deep voice sends a chill up my spine. I fucking hate the sound of his voice. I hate the sight of his face.

I hate every goddamn thing about him.

Hannah’s expression creases with concern when she sees my face. “Is that…?”

Instead of answering, I take a reluctant step away. “I’ll be back in a minute,” I mumble.

My father is already halfway down the parking lot. He doesn’t even turn around to check if I’m following him. Because he’s Phil fucking Graham, and he can’t imagine someone not wanting to be around him.

Somehow my stiff legs carry me in his direction. I notice several of my teammates lingering at the door of the bus, watching us curiously. A few of them are visibly envious. Jesus. If they only knew what they were jealous of.

When I reach him, I don’t bother with pleasantries. I just scowl and speak in a terse voice. “What do you want?”

Like me, he gets right to the point. “I expect you to come home for Thanksgiving this year.”

My shock manifests itself in the form of a sharp laugh. “No, thanks. I’ll pass.”

“No, what you will do is come home.” A dark look hardens his features. “Or I will drag you home.”

I genuinely don’t know what’s happening right now. Since when does he give a shit whether I come home or not? I haven’t been back once since I left for Briar. I’m in Hastings during the school year, and I spend my summers working sixty-hour weeks for a construction company in Boston and saving every last penny, which I then use to pay for rent and groceries because I don’t want to take any more of my father’s money than I absolutely have to.

“Why the hell do you care what I do for the holidays?” I mutter.

“You’re needed at home this year.” He’s speaking through clenched teeth, as if he’s enjoying this even less than I am. “My girlfriend is cooking dinner, and she requested your presence.”

His girlfriend? I didn’t even realize he had a girlfriend. And how fucking sad is it that I know nothing about my own father’s life?

The way he phrased it doesn’t escape me either. She requested my presence. Not him.

I meet his eyes, the same shade of gray as my own. “Tell her I’m sick. Or hell, tell her I died.”

“Don’t test me, boy.”

Oh, he’s busting out the boy, huh? That’s what he always called me right before his fists pummeled my gut, or smashed my face, or broke my nose for the hundredth fucking time.

“I’m not coming,” I say coldly. “Deal with it.”

He moves in closer, his eyes gleaming beneath the low brim of his Bruins cap as his voice lowers to a hiss. “Listen up, you ungrateful little shit. I don’t ask much of you. In fact, I don’t ask anything of you. I let you do whatever the fuck you want, I pay for your tuition, your books, your equipment.”

The reminder makes my stomach seethe with anger. I keep a spreadsheet on my computer that documents everything he’s ever paid for so that when I gain access to my trust, I’ll know the precise amount to write on the check I plan on handing him before I tell him good riddance.

But tuition for next term needs to be paid in December, the month before my trust comes in. And I don’t have enough in my savings account to cover the full amount.

Which means I’m stuck being indebted to him for a little while longer.

“All I expect in return,” he finishes, “is that you play like the champion you are. The champion I made you.” An ugly sneer twists his mouth. “Well, it’s time to pay up, son. You will come home for Thanksgiving. Understood?”

Our eyes lock.

I could kill this man. If I knew I could get away with it? I would actually kill him.

“Understood?” he repeats.

I give a curt nod, and then I stalk away without looking back.

Hannah waits for me near the bus, worry clouding her green eyes. “Is everything okay?” she asks quietly.

I draw in a ragged breath. “Yeah. It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s fine, babe. I promise.”

“Graham, get your ass on the bus!” Coach shouts from behind me. “You’re holding everyone up.”

Somehow I manage to force a smile. “I’ve gotta go. Maybe we can hang out tomorrow after my game?”

“Call me when you’re done. I’ll see where I’m at.”

“Sounds good.” I drop a kiss on her cheek, then head for the bus, where Coach is impatiently tapping his foot.

He watches Hannah as she makes her way back to her friends, then shoots me a wry smile. “She’s cute. Girlfriend?”

“No idea,” I confess.

“Yeah, that’s how it usually is with women. They hold all the cards and we’re just clueless.” Coach slaps me on the arm. “Come on, kid. Time to hustle.”

I take my usual seat next to Logan near the front of the bus, and he gives me a funny look as I unzip my jacket and lean my head back.

“What?” I mumble.

“Nothing,” he says lightly.

I’ve known the guy long enough to figure out that a “nothing” from Logan means something entirely different, but he pops in his earbuds and proceeds to ignore me for most of the ride. It isn’t until we’re ten minutes from Briar that he abruptly yanks out his earphones and turns to look at me.

“Fuck it,” he announces. “I’m just gonna come out and say it.”

Wariness circles my insides like a turkey vulture. I sincerely hope he’s not about to confess that he has a thing for Hannah, because shit will get awkward real fast if he does. I glance around, but most of my teammates are either sleeping or listening to music. The seniors in the back are laughing at something Birdie has just said. Nobody is paying any attention to us.

I lower my voice. “What’s up?”

He lets out a weary breath. “I debated saying anything at all, but fuck, G, I don’t like seeing anyone get played for a fool, especially my best friend. I figured I should wait until after the game, though.” He shrugs. “I didn’t want you to be distracted on the ice.”

“What the hell are you talking about, man?”

“Dean and I ended up at Maxwell’s house last night for his Halloween thing,” Logan confesses. “Kohl was there, and…”

I narrow my eyes. “And what?”

Logan looks so uncomfortable that my guard soars another twenty feet. He’s never one to beat around the bush, which means shit must be serious.

“He said he’s going out with Wellsy this weekend.”

My heart stops. “Bullshit.”

“That’s what I thought, but…” Another shrug. “He insisted it was true. I figured I should tell you about it, you know, just in case he’s not talking out of his ass.”

I swallow, my mind running a million miles a second. Bullshit continues to be my thought of choice, but a part of me isn’t so sure. The whole reason Hannah is even in my life is because of fucking Kohl. Because she was interested in Kohl.

But that was before. Before she and I kissed—

She still went to the party to see him after the kiss.

Right. I gulp again. Well, it was after the kiss but before everything else. The sex. The secrets we shared with each other. All the cuddling.

Told you cuddling was a mistake, dude.

My inner cynic wreaks havoc on my brain, bringing a rush of weariness to my chest. No, Kohl had to have been bullshitting. There’s no way Hannah would agree to go out on a date with him without telling me.

Right?

“Anyway, just thought you should know,” Logan says.

It’s damn difficult to speak past my tight-as-fuck throat, but I manage one mumble of a word. “Thanks.”