The Score (Off-Campus Book 3)

Someone is pounding my head with a mallet. Like one of those comically huge mallets you see cartoon characters whacking each other with. It’s horrible. It’s loud.

Oh God. I’m so hung-over.

Even the barely audible groan that escapes my lips is enough to bring a shock of agony to my temples. And the act of shifting in bed evokes a wave of nausea that tightens my throat and makes my eyes water. I breathe through it. Inhale. Exhale. I just need to control the queasiness long enough to make it to the bathroom so I don’t hurl all over Garrett Graham’s clean sheets—

I’m not in Garrett’s bed.

The realization hits me at the same time I register the sound of breathing. Not the shallow, I-drank-too-much-tequila breaths that are leaving my throat, but the soft, even breathing of the guy beside me.

This time when I groan, it comes from deep in my soul.

The memories come crashing back in vivid Technicolor. The terrible movie. The tequila shots. The…rest.

I slept with Dean last night.

Twice.

My heart beats faster as I stare up at the ceiling. I’m in Dean’s room. There’s an empty condom wrapper on the end table. And…yep, I’m naked.

Maybe it was a bad dream, a voice in my head tries to assure me.

I draw another deep breath and find the courage to turn my head. What I encounter seizes my lungs again.

A very naked Dean is stretched out on his stomach. His bare ass taunts me, not just with its sheer perfection, but because of the red scratches on his tight butt cheeks.

My nails had left those scratches. I lift a weak hand and notice the fingernail on my index finger is broken. I broke a nail while clawing at Dean’s ass. That must have happened downstairs—I remember him being on top the first time on the couch. The purplish hickey on his left shoulder had happened up here, during our second round when I was on top.

“I want to see this mysterious bedroom of yours. I want to be the first one to christen it.”

My own words buzz around in my already-muddled brain. As it turned out, I’m not the first girl he’s brought up to his room. He’d told me so himself. And that wasn’t all he’d revealed. Yep, I am now in possession of the nugget of knowledge Hannah has been trying to get her hands on for more than a year—why Dean prefers to screw everywhere but his bedroom.

Unfortunately, the knowledge doesn’t end there. I know what Dean looks like naked. I know how it feels to have him thrusting inside me. I know the sounds he makes when he’s coming.

I know too much.

My head pounds harder.

Fuck.

Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

What the hell have I done? I’ve never had casual sex before. My sex roster features a total of three guys—two in high school, one in college, and all of them were my serious boyfriends.

My gaze strays back to Dean’s long, muscular body. Why did I let this happen? I can handle my liquor just fine. I wasn’t blackout drunk last night. I wasn’t slurring or stumbling or acting like an idiot. I knew exactly what I was doing when I made the first move and kissed Dean.

I made the first move.

What is the matter with me?

Okay. Okay. Not the end of the world. I massage my screaming temples with the pads of my fingers and force myself to ignore the sleeping man beside me. It’s fine. It was just a one-night stand. Nobody died. I might regret it—desperately—but regrets are for sissies, as my dad likes to say. Learn from your mistakes and move on.

That’s what I need to do. Move on. No, just move. As in, sneak out of this bed, take a long shower, and pretend that last night never happened.

Armed with a plan, I gingerly slide out from under the sheet that’s haphazardly thrown over my lower body. The mattress squeaks and I freeze, my panicky gaze darting toward Dean.

He’s still dead to the world.

Okay. I take another breath and ease my legs over the side of the bed. When my feet hit the floor, Dean stirs. He releases a half-moan, half-breath. Then he rolls over and oh my God, I can see his dick.

Heat floods my cheeks as I stare at his package. Even flaccid, it’s impressive. He was right—he does have a great cock.

And unless my memory is failing me, I believe I vocally praised the glory of that cock many, many times last night.

My face grows hotter as I remember everything I’d said to him. Everything I’d done to him.

A silent groan rises in my throat. All right, enough reminiscing. I need to get the hell out of this bedroom. No, first I need to find my phone.

I scan the room until I spot Dean’s sweatpants. He’d slipped them on after our romp on the couch, and I’m pretty sure my phone is in his pocket.

My own clothes are nowhere to be found—last I saw them, they were in a pile on the living room floor. Which only brings more panic, because that means Tucker must have seen them when he got home last night. Shit. And he had to have heard us, because God knows I wasn’t using my indoor voice when Dean’s tongue was between my—

Nope, not thinking about it.

I fish around in his pockets for my phone. Yes. It’s here. Thank God.

I type in my passcode. Guilt slams into me from all directions when I see the unread messages from Sean.

God. If he only knew what I’d been doing when he was sending me all these heartfelt text messages. Not that I owe him any explanations. We’re broken up. We’re going to stay broken up. But I still feel awful knowing I slept with someone else while Sean was at home, desperately trying to win me back.

Not just any guy, either. I slept with Dean. Dean, the guy who was about to have a threesome before I showed up. Dean, the guy who fucks anyone with a pulse. Dean, the guy who—

“Hand it over, baby doll.”

His voice startles a squeak out of me. My head swivels toward the bed, where Dean is sliding up into a sitting position, running one hand through his sleep-messy hair. He doesn’t look or sound groggy at all. His green eyes are alert, and his naked body is…transforming.

I feel myself blushing at the sight of his quickly hardening dick, so I drop my gaze to my bare feet. “Would you please cover yourself up?”

“That’s not what you said last night…”

His mocking tone grates. “We are not discussing last night. Ever.”

He looks even more amused. “Oh, relax. It was just sex.” He makes no move to pull the sheet over his lower body. Instead, he stretches both arms high over his head, drawing my attention to his flexing muscles. And his wrists. He has red marks around his wrists…

Because I tied him to the bed last night.

Sweet mother of Moses.

When he catches where my gaze has gone, the corners of his mouth quirk up. “Granted, it was a lot kinkier than I thought it would be,” he continues with a wink. “But I ain’t complaining.”

Kill me. Just kill me.

As another rush of humiliation crashes over me, I grab the nearest item of clothing I can find—a black V-neck T-shirt—and throw it over my head. A familiar smell clouds my senses. Something spicy and masculine. It’s the same scent I breathed in last night when my lips were traveling over Dean’s bare chest. When my face was buried in his neck as I sucked on his skin like it was candy. And yep, there’s another hickey on his throat. I really went to town on this guy.

“We are not talking about it,” I say through clenched teeth. “It happened, it was fine, and it will never be mentioned again.”

“It was fine?” Smirking, Dean drags a hand down his chest, his long fingers resting right above the head of his thick erection. “It was more than fine and you know it.”

“Would you please, please get dressed?” I beg.

“Can’t. You’re wearing my shirt.” He arches a brow. “Why don’t you take it off and toss it this way?”

Fat chance. This guy is never laying eyes on my naked body again.

Since I refuse to give up the shirt, I do the next best thing and turn my back to him to go through my phone. I ignore Sean’s texts and skip to the ones from my friends. One from Hannah checking how my night was, and one from Megan asking me to brunch.

I quickly text Meg back with a resounding YES and ask her to pick me up from Garrett’s. Just as the gray bubble that indicates she’s typing a response appears, the phone is snatched from my hand.

“Hey!” I’m startled to find Dean behind me. Jeez. The guy moves like a ninja.

“I’m in charge of this, remember?” He’s mocking me again, keeping the phone out of my reach. “As your sponsor, I must advise you to ignore—” he glances at the screen “these nine text messages from your ex. No good will come out of reading them.”

He’s right about that. But after what happened between us last night, there’s no way Dean is going to be my relationship sponsor.

“It’s fine,” I mumble. “I don’t need your help.”

He echoes his earlier taunt. “Not what you said last night. Your phone stays with me this weekend, Allie-Cat. No arguments.”

Allie-Cat? Oh help me Rhonda. He’s given me a pet name.

“I’m meeting a friend,” I say tightly. “So I need my phone, okay? Besides, your sponsor duties are officially done. I’m going back to the dorms after brunch.”

He frowns. “No, you’re staying the weekend.”

“Not anymore.”

I attempt to grab my phone from him. He moves it aside again. “Is this because we fucked last night?”

My cheeks are scorching. “What part of never mention it again didn’t you understand?”

“This is bullshit. You can’t leave just because you and I got wasted and screwed around a couple times. You’re totally overreacting.”

I take a deep breath. “Can we please not talk about it?”

“Babe, do you think I enjoy talking about this stuff? I’d rather roll around in broken glass than deal with this whole morning after shit. If you were any other girl, I’d say forget it, but you’re Wellsy’s best friend, so that means we’ve gotta talk about it.” He curses suddenly. “Oh shit. Wellsy is going to kill me.”

Oh shit is right. I’ll definitely be on the receiving end of a stern lecture from Hannah if she finds out I slept with Dean. Maybe in a few days, or a week—or a decade—I’ll be able to tell her what happened last night, but right now, I want to forget all about it. Which means keeping my best friend in the dark for as long as I can.

“She’s not going to kill you, because we’re not going to tell her,” I say firmly. “Seriously, this has to stay between us.”

“Agreed.”

“And you’re not allowed to bring it up ever again. As far as I’m concerned, it didn’t happen.”

He gives me a cocky grin. “Don’t kid yourself, baby doll. You won’t be able to stop thinking about me now that you’ve had a taste of this.” To punctuate that, he grips his semi-hard dick and gives it a slow stroke.

A jolt of heat spirals down to my core.

Argh. Stupid Dean and his stupid awesome dick.

“I’ve already forgotten all about it,” I lie. But in my head, more memories crop up, making me want to scream in frustration.

“I like you like this…”

“Ha. So you admit it—you do like me,” he drawls.

I smile at his immobilized wrists. “I said I like you like this.” My mouth slowly descends on his erect cock. “Completely at my mercy…”

Sweet lord. My cheeks are on fire again. Sean wasn’t always on board with my adventurous nature when it came to sex. I was the one who had to coax and plead with him to try whatever kinky new idea sparked my interest.

Dean hadn’t even batted an eye at our sexual exploits.

“Do you need me to remind you how good it was?” He tilts his head mockingly, his hand still on his dick.

“No, I need you to be a fucking grown-up,” I burst out. I’m losing patience with him, and I’m too angry with myself to control my temper. “I’m hung-over and I’m really embarrassed and you’re making it worse by throwing last night in my face, okay?”

His expression falters. “Shit.” He clears his throat and lets go of his dick, then hastily picks up his sweatpants. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He yanks the pants on. “And you have no reason to feel embarrassed. We’re both adults. We had fun and made each other come a bunch of times. No biggie, okay? But if you really don’t want me to bring it up again, I won’t.”

I draw a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

Dean studies my face. “Are we cool?”

I manage a nod. My head is still throbbing, but it’s not the hangover that’s making me feel weak and wobbly right now. It’s the fact that I did something so out of character for me. It’s the horrible knowledge that I slept with someone else a measly twenty-four hours after I broke up with Sean. That’s not me, damn it.

“Are you sure?” he presses.

I force myself to speak. “We’re cool, Dean.” My phone buzzes and I see a text from Meg saying she’s five minutes away. “I need to get dressed. Megan will be here soon.” I bite my lip when something occurs to me. “Crap. My clothes are downstairs. Tucker…”

As I trail off, Dean wanders over to the window and peeks behind the curtains. “He’s not here—Logan’s truck is gone. Guess he didn’t come home last night.”

Relief hits me, but also a burst of annoyance. Because where was Tucker yesterday when I needed him? If he’d been home, I probably wouldn’t have ended up in bed with Dean. Or maybe instead, I would’ve ended up in bed with Tucker, who happens to be the hottest ginger I’ve ever met. He’s also far quieter than his roommates and doesn’t talk about himself much, but from what I can glean, he’s smart, well-spoken, and definitely easy on the eyes.

In hindsight, Tuck would have been a fantastic rebound candidate.

“I’m going to run down and get my clothes,” I mutter awkwardly.

He calls out after me. “What are you going to tell Wellsy about bailing mid-weekend? You know she’ll ask questions.”

Damn it. He’s right. “I’ll tell her I decided to put on my big girl pants and deal with my breakup at home.”

I’m halfway to the door when his voice stops me again. “Allie.”

“Yeah?” I turn around.

His green eyes flicker unhappily. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Nope, I’m not sure at all. “I’m fine,” I lie, then duck out of the bedroom.

As far as walks of shame go, this one isn’t so bad because at least there’s nobody around to witness it.