Page 55 of The Mistake

Holy shit, she is. I see a girl on the steps. A long braid and…disappointment surges through me. Wait. It’s not Grace. It’s a blonde in a green sundress, and the afternoon sunlight catches in her golden braid as she bends her head to read the book in her lap.

Then her head lifts, and holy shit again, because I was right the first time—itisher.

I stumble to a stop, completely forgetting about Dean and Hannah, who keep running. From her perch on the steps, Grace looks in my direction, and although thirty or so yards separate us, I know she recognizes me.

Our gazes lock, and a frown mars her lips.

Shit, maybe Dean’s onto something. Maybe Ishouldn’tbe wearing a shirt right now. Chicks are much more amenable when they’re looking at a ripped chest, right?

Jesus, and that’s just sad, thinking the sight of my bare chest will make her forget everything that went down between us.

“Logan. Yo, what the hell? Keep up, bro.”

My friends have finally noticed I’m not with them, and they come jogging back. Hannah follows my gaze, then gasps. “Oh. Is that Grace?”

For a second, I’m surprised she knows her name, until I realize that Garrett must have told her. Shocker.

Beside me, Dean squints at the gazebo to get a better look. “Naah, that’s not her. Your freshman is a brunette. And she doesn’t have legs that go on and on and—fuck, those legs are hot. ’Scuse me, I think I’ll go over there and introduce myself.”

I grab his arm before he can take another step. “It’s Grace, dumbass. She obviously dyed her hair. And if you looked at her face and not her legs, you’d see it.”

He squints again, and then his jaw drops. “Shit. You’re right.”

Grace lowers her gaze back to her book, but I know she’s aware of my presence because her shoulders are stiffer than the posts at the gazebo’s entrance. She’s probably waiting for me to run off, but that’s not going to happen. I’m not running away, not this time.

“You guys go on ahead,” I say gruffly. “I’ll catch up. Or I might just meet you back at the house.”

Dean continues to leer at Grace, until Hannah finally shoves him to force him to follow her. As they head for the path, I move in the other direction, my heart beating faster and faster the closer I get.

It’s not only her hair color that’s different, I realize. She’s also wearing more makeup than I’ve seen her wear before, smoky green eye shadow that makes her eyes look bigger. Fuck, it’s sexy. Especially combined with the freckles that no amount of makeup can cover up.

My chest clenches as something occurs to me. She’s wearing a dress. And makeup. On a Thursday afternoon.

Is she waiting for someone?

My palms are clammy as I approach her. I can’t take my eyes off her. Jesus. Her legs really are phenomenal. Smooth and tanned and…crap, I’m imagining them wrapped around my waist. Her heels digging into my ass as I fuck the hell out of her.

I clear my throat. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she answers.

I can’t for the life of me read her tone. It’s not casual. Notrude. It’s…neutral. I guess I can work with that.

“I…” The nerves get the best of me, and I end up blurting the first thing that comes to mind. “You didn’t call me back.”

She meets my eyes. “No. I didn’t.”

“Yeah…I don’t blame you.” I wish my goddamn track pants had pockets, because I’m experiencing that age-old problem actors have—what the fuck do I do with my hands? They’re dangling at my sides, and I’m fighting hard not to fidget. “Look, I know you probably don’t want to hear a word I have to say, but can we talk? Please?”

Grace sighs. “What’s the point? I said everything I needed to say that night. It was a mistake.”

I nod in agreement. “Yes, it was. It was a huge mistake, but not for the reason you think.”

Irritation clouds her features. She closes her book and stands up. “I have to go.”

“Five minutes,” I beg. “Just give me five minutes.”

Despite her visible reluctance, she doesn’t walk away. Doesn’t sit down either, but she’s still standing in front of me, and five minutes in the life of a hockey player? More than enough time to score a few points.

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