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I curl my fingers over the strap of my oversized messenger bag, wondering if I can make it back to my car before Garrett knows I’m here, but my dastardly plan is foiled when he appears in the doorway. He’s barefoot, clad in faded jeans and a threadbare gray T-shirt, and his hair is damp as if he’s just come out of the shower.
“Hey, Wellsy,” he says breezily. “You’re late.”
“I said eight fifteen. It’s eight fifteen.” I stare coldly at Mr. GQ. “And if you were implying that I was a hooker, then call me insulted.”
“You thought she was a hooker?” Garrett turns to glare at his friend. “That’s my tutor, bro. Show some respect.”
“I didn’t think she was a hooker—I thought she was a stripper,” the blond retorts, as if that makes it better. “She’s wearing a costume, for fuck’s sake.”
He does have a point. My waitress uniform isn’t exactly subtle.
“PS, I want a stripper for my birthday,” GQ announces. “Just decided now. Get on it.”
“I’ll make a couple calls,” Garrett promises, but the second his friend wanders off, he confides, “He’s not getting a stripper. We all pitched in to get his car detailed. It still reeks after Hollis barfed in the back seat and Dean’s too lazy to get it done.”
When I snicker, Garrett pounces like a mountain lion. “Holy shit. Was that a laugh? I didn’t think you were capable of showing amusement. Can you do it again and let me film it?”
“I laugh all the time.” I pause. “Mostly at you, though.”
He grabs his chest in mock pain as if I’ve shot him. “You’re terrible for a guy’s ego, y’know that?”
I roll my eyes and shut the door behind me.
“Let’s go up to my room,” he says.
Shit. He wants to study in his bedroom? While I’m sure that’s probably a wet dream for every girl at this school, I’m apprehensive about being alone with him.
“G, is that the tutor?” a male voice shouts as we pass what I deduce is the living room. “Hey, tutor, get in here! We need to have a little chat.”
My alarmed gaze flies to Garrett, but he just grins and guides me to the doorway. The living room just screams bachelor pad with its two leather couches set up in an L-shape, a complicated-looking entertainment system, and a coffee table littered with beer bottles. A dark-haired guy with vivid blue eyes rises from the couch. He’s as handsome as Garrett and GQ, and from the way his long body saunters my way, he’s fully aware of his appeal.
“So listen,” Blue Eyes announces in a stern voice. “My boy needs to ace this test. You better make that happen.”
My lips twitch. “Or what?”
“Or I’ll be very, very upset.” His sultry gaze does a slow and deliberate sweep of my body, lingering on my chest before traveling back up. “You don’t want to upset me, do you, gorgeous?”
Garrett snorts. “Don’t waste your time, man. She’s immune to flirting. Trust me, I’ve tried.” He turns to me. “This is Logan. Logan, Wellsy.”
“Hannah,” I correct.
Logan thinks it over before shaking his head. “Naah. I like Wellsy.”
“You met Dean in the hall, and that’s Tucker,” Garrett adds, pointing to the auburn-haired guy on the couch, who—surprise, surprise—is as good-looking as the rest of them.
I wonder if “sexy as fuck” is a requirement for living in this house.
Not that I’d ever ask Garrett. His ego is big enough as it is.
“’Sup, Wellsy,” Tucker calls out.
I smother a sigh. Wonderful. I guess I’m Wellsy now.
“Wellsy is the star of the Christmas recital,” Garrett tells his friends.
“Winter showcase,” I grumble.
“Isn’t that what I said?” He waves a dismissive hand. “Okay, let’s do this shit. Later, boys.”
