The Mistake (Off-Campus Book 2)

It’s a damn shame that duels don’t play a role in the modern world anymore. Because right now, I’d totally be down for slapping a leather glove on Morris Ruffolo’s cheek and challenging him to one.

What the hell kind of name is that, anyway? Morris Ruffolo. I’m highly suspicious of people who have last names for first names. And Ruffolo? Is he Italian? He didn’t look it.

And yes, I know the name of the guy Grace came to the party with last night. After she’d deserted me upstairs, I asked around and found out everything I needed to know. His name, his rep, and of course, his dorm. Which happens to be my current location.

I’ve just knocked on the guy’s door, but he’s taking his sweet ass time answering. I know there’s someone in there, though, because I can hear the muffled sound of a television from inside the room.

I knock a second time, and an aggravated voice calls out, “One sec!”

Good. He’s home. I’d like to get this out of the way fast so I can enjoy the rest of my Saturday.

When he opens the door and finds me standing there, a deep scowl twists his mouth. “What do you want?”

Okay then. I was wondering if Grace would tell him about the kiss, and his visible hostility answers that question.

“I came here to declare my intentions toward Grace,” I announce.

“Gee, how honorable of you.” Morris snorts. “But the truly honorable thing would have been to not make out with my date last night.”

I let out a remorseful sigh. “That’s the other reason I’m here. To apologize.”

Despite the perma-scowl on his face, he opens the door wider and takes a reluctant step back, an invitation to come in. I follow him inside, sparing a quick look at the clutter-ridden room before getting down to business.

“I’m sorry I moved in on your date. It was a total violation of bro code, and for that, I’m offering you one free swing at me. Just make sure to stay away from my nose, because I’ve broken that motherfucker way too many times and I’m scared one day it won’t heal right.”

Disbelief-laced laughter flies out of his mouth. “Dude, you can’t be serious.”

“Sure I am.” I widen my stance. “Go ahead. I promise I won’t hit back.”

Morris shakes his head, looking both amused and irritated. “No, thanks, I’ll pass. Now say whatever else you wanna say, and then get lost.”

“Suit yourself. That was a one-time offer, by the way.” I shrug. “Okay, next. You should know that as long as you and Grace aren’t exclusive, I won’t stop trying to win her back.” Regret rushes through me, and my voice shakes a little. “We hooked up back in April, and I screwed up pretty badly—”

“Yeah, she told me.”

“She did?”

He nods. “On our way home from the party last night. She didn’t offer many details, but she made it pretty clear that you messed shit up.”

“Yup,” I say glumly. “But I’m going to fix it. I know that’s probably not what you want to hear, but I figured I should warn you, because you might be seeing a lot more of me. You know, if you go out with Grace again.” I cock a brow. “Are you going out with her again?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” He cocks his brow. “Either way, it’s none of your business.”

“Fair enough.” I shove my hands in my pockets. “Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say. I hope there’re no hard feelings about last night. I didn’t show up planning to kiss her, it just sorta happened and—holy shit, are you playing Mob Boss?” My gaze has landed on the frozen image on the TV that’s mounted on the wall opposite the bed.

Suspicion darkens his eyes. “You know this game? Nobody I talk to about it has heard of it.”

I wander over to the cabinet beneath the TV and pick up the video game case. Yup, I have the identical one at home.

“Dude, I’m all over this game,” I tell him. “One of my teammates got me hooked on it, this guy Fitzy. Well, his name’s Colin Fitzgerald, but we call him Fitzy. He’s a serious gamer, plays a ton of weird shit nobody even knows exists. He actually reviews games for the Briar blog—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Morris exclaims. “You actually know F. Gerald? I’m obsessed with his reviews. Wait—he’s your teammate?”

“Yeah, Fitzy uses an alias for the blog. He doesn’t want chicks knowing he’s a hardcore geek.” I grin. “As hockey players, we have a certain reputation to uphold.”

Morris shakes his head in amazement. “I can’t believe you’re friends with F. Gerald. He’s a fucking legend in the gaming community…”

He trails off and our surprisingly animated discussion reaches it conclusion, an awkward silence creeping in to take its place. Sighing, I gesture to the screen and advise, “Save the ammo.”

His eyes narrow. “What?”

“You keep failing this level, right?”

With utmost weariness, he nods.

“Same thing happened to me. I’d make it all the way to the end, but then I wouldn’t be able to kill Don Angelo because I’d be out of ammo and there are no fucking ammo crates in the warehouse.” I offer a helpful suggestion. “There’s a switchblade on the docks. Grab that and use it on Angelo’s enforcers, then bust out the AK when you reach the warehouse. You might die the first few times, but eventually you’ll get used to killing with the knife. Trust me.”

“The switchblade,” he says doubtfully.

“Trust me,” I repeat. “Do you want me to pass it for you?”

“Fuck off. I’ll pass it myself.” He reaches for the controller, then sighs and looks my way. “So where’s the knife?”

I flop down beside him. “Okay, it’s hidden in the corner of the shipyard, near the dock master’s office. Just head that way and I’ll show you when you get there.”

Morris presses restart.

*

Grace

The first thing I do after marching out of the media building on Monday evening is send a very curt text message to one John Logan.

Me: Are u home?

Him: Yup.

Me: Txt me your address. I’m coming over.

It’s almost a full minute before he responds.

Him: What if I don’t want any visitors?

Me: Srsly? After all your “wooing” you’re really gonna say no?

His next message pops up in no time at all. It’s his address.

Ha. That’s what I thought.

My next course of action is to call a taxi. Normally I don’t mind the thirty-minute walk to Hastings, but I’m afraid my anger might multiply to a scary level if I allow it thirty whole minutes to fester. Yep, I’m angry. And annoyed. And thoroughly flabbergasted. I knew Morris wasn’t thrilled about what happened at the Sigma party, but he hadn’t given me any indication that it was a deal-breaker. If anything, he seemed incredibly understanding when I explained my history with Logan on the walk home.

Which makes what just happened a hundred times more perplexing.

I fidget impatiently during the five-minute cab ride, and when we reach our destination, I slap a ten-dollar bill at the driver and open the back door before the car even stops moving. It’s my first visit to Logan’s house, but I don’t give my surroundings more than a perfunctory inspection. Neat lawn, white stoop, and a front door I immediately pound my fist against.

Dean answers the door wearing nothing but a pair of basketball shorts, his blond hair sticking up in all directions. “Hey.” He greets me in surprise.

“Hi.” I set my jaw. “I’m here to see Logan.”

He gestures for me to come in, then points to the staircase on our left. “He’s in his room. Second door on the right.”

“Thanks.”

That’s the extent of the conversation. He doesn’t inquire as to the reason for my visit, and I don’t offer an explanation. I simply march upstairs to Logan’s room.

The door is wide open, so I have a clear view of him lying on a double bed, his knees drawn up and an open textbook balanced against them. There’s a deep furrow in his strong forehead, as if he’s concentrating on what he’s reading, but his gaze shoots to the door when he hears my footsteps.

“Shit. You got here fast.” He tosses the book aside and hops to his feet.

I stalk inside and close the door behind me, requiring privacy for the tongue-lashing I’m about to give him.

“What is wrong with you?” I say in lieu of greeting. “You went to Morris’s dorm and declared your intentions?”

He offers a faint smile. “Of course. It was the noble thing to do. I can’t be chasing after another guy’s girl without his knowledge.”

“I’m not his girl,” I snap. “We went on one date! And now I’m never going to be his girl, because he doesn’t want to go out with me again.”

“What the hell?” Logan looks startled. “I’m disappointed in him. I thought he had more of a competitive spirit than that.”

“Seriously? You’re going to pretend to be surprised? He won’t see me again because your jackass self told him he couldn’t.”

Astonishment fills his eyes. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Is that what he told you?” Logan demands.

“Not in so many words.”

“I see. Well, what words did he actually use?”

I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches. “He said he’s backing off because he doesn’t want to get in the middle of something so complicated. I pointed out that there’s nothing complicated about it, seeing as you and I are not together.” My aggravation heightens. “And then he insisted that I need to give you a chance, because you’re a—” I angrily air-quote Morris’s words “—‘stand-up guy who deserves another shot.’”

Logan breaks out in a grin.

I stab the air with my finger. “Don’t you dare smile. Obviously you put those words in his mouth. And what the hell was he jabbering about when he told me you and him were ‘family’?” All the disbelief I’d felt during my talk with Morris comes spiraling back, making me pace the bedroom in hurried strides. “What did you say to him, Logan? Did you brainwash him or something? How are you guys family? You don’t even know each other!”

Strangled laughter sounds from Logan’s direction. I spin around and level a dark glower at him.

“He’s talking about the joint family we created in Mob Boss. It’s this role-playing game where you’re the Don of a mob family and you’re fighting a bunch of other mafia bosses for territory and rackets and stuff. We played it when I went over there, and I ended up staying until four in the morning. Seriously, it was intense.” He shrugs. “We’re the Lorris crime syndicate.”

I’m dumbfounded.

Oh my God.

Lorris? As in Logan and Morris? They fucking Brangelina’d themselves?

“What is happening?” I burst out. “You guys are best friends now?”

“He’s a cool guy. Actually, he’s even cooler in my book now for stepping down like that. I didn’t ask him to, but clearly he grasps what you refuse to see.”

“Yeah, and what’s that?” I mutter.

“That you and I are perfect for each other.”

No words. There are no words to accurately convey what I’m feeling right now. Horror maybe? Absolute insanity? I mean, it’s not like I’m madly in love with Morris or anything, but if I’d known that kissing Logan at the party would lead to…this, I would have strapped on a frickin’ chastity gag.

I draw a calming breath. “You used me,” I remind him.

His features crease with regret. “Unintentionally. And I’m trying to make up for that.”

“How? By asking me out? By buying me muffins and kissing me at parties?” I’m so frazzled I can barely think straight. “I’m not even convinced you actually like me, Logan. This whole thing feels like it’s centered on your ego. The only reason you even saw me again after that first night was because you couldn’t handle that I didn’t have an orgasm. And at the party, when you found out I was on a date with someone else, it was like you went out of your way to stake a claim or some shit. Your actions scream ego, not genuine feelings for me.”

“That’s not true. What about the night I came to the dining hall? How did that benefit my ego?” His voice is gruff. “I like you, Grace.”

“Why?” I challenge. “Why do you like me?”

“Because…” He drags a hand through his dark hair. “You’re fun to be around. You’re smart. Sweet. You make me laugh. Oh, and just the sight of you gets me hard.”

I swallow a laugh. “What else?”

Embarrassment colors his cheeks. “I’m not sure. We don’t know each other very well, but everything I do know about you, I like. And everything I don’t know, I want to find out.”

He sounds so earnest, but a part of me still doesn’t trust him. It’s the hurt and humiliated Grace who almost had sex with him in April. Who told him she was a virgin and then watched him scramble off the bed as if it was covered with ants. Who sat there—naked—while he said he couldn’t sleep with her because he was hung up on somebody else.

As if sensing my doubts, he hurries on in a pleading voice. “Give me another chance. Let me prove to you that I’m not an egocentric ass.”

I hesitate.

“Please. Tell me what’ll it take for you to go out with me, and I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.”

Well. That’s interesting.

I’m not the type to play games. I’m really not. But I can’t fight this nagging distrust, the cynical voice in my head warning me his intentions might not be pure.

Yet I also can’t bring myself to say no again, because another part of me, the one that loves spending time with this guy, wants me to say yes.

God, maybe I do need him to prove it to me. Maybe I need him to show me how serious he is about dating me. An idea niggles at the back of my mind. It’s a crazy one. Outrageous, even. But hey, if Logan can’t tackle a few simple obstacles, then maybe he doesn’t deserve another shot.

“Anything?” I say slowly.

His blue eyes shine with fortitude. “Anything, gorgeous. Absolutely anything.”