{18+ COLLEGE ROMANCE COMPLETED}
What sucks more than being rejected by the girl of your dreams? Finding out afterward that she's moving in with you.
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The night that Beau Martin spends with Collins Bryant is the best one of his life. He wants to...
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"BEAU..."
From her sympathetic tone alone, I knew I would hate the next words out of Collins' mouth. That gorgeous, talented mouth.
Less than twelve hours ago, I'd told her that mouth was pretty, and then I'd asked her if I could fuck it. Enjoyed the hell out of it, too. And now? Now she was looking at me like she wanted nothing more than to erase last night.
And I wanted nothing more than to repeat it.
"I ordered room service," I said, trying foolishly to save the morning. "Don't worry. I covered the cost already, so it won't go onto your hotel bill."
She shook her head. "You didn't need to do that."
"I wanted to."
An awkward pause filled the hotel room.
"Beau, I think it's best...."
No. Best and whatever Collins was about to say did not match up. I already knew it. Absolutely fucking not.
Her hesitation lasted longer than I'd expected, giving me hope. Even though she was wrapped up in blankets on the far side of the bed, as far as physically possible for me, I became hopeful that maybe she would change her mind.
"What?" I croaked when I couldn't take it anymore.
She sighed, turning until half her back faced me. When she spoke again, it was with a tiny peek over her shoulder.
"I think it's best to call this what it is."
I shifted in the bed, still naked beneath the sheets. "I think I would call it a very successful first date. What would you call it?"
I shouldn't have asked.
"A very successful one-night stand."
—
I had a problem.
It was a problem of epic, monumental proportions, and I had to figure out how to rectify it. Because goddamn, I'd only been on official Collins Bryant Dating Duties for a few days and the idea of doing an unsatisfactory job? Intolerable. Very badly—that was how much I wanted to earn an A on my week one report card, and considering how I never gave a damn about grades before, that oughta say something.
Several days later, I still had not, in fact, made it up to Collins for how we were interrupted on Sunday morning. Not that it was even my fault—thanks a lot, Nessa and Grayson—but I made a promise. And I kept promises, especially when they were made to gorgeous, curly-haired roommates.
It was possible that I was too picky about the details involved in the paying back. Specifically, I needed the kitchen counter to be available when Nessa and football boy were not around, and for whatever goddamn reason, they needed to be around a lot this week.
