Page 24

The moment I decide I'm finally ready to take things to the next level with Cade Connolly is the same moment my matcha latte launches in a perfect, devastating arc across the café table. Time slows as I watch the pale green liquid suspend in the air for a heartbeat before it splashes across Cade's white shirt toward—oh God—his pants.

"Oh my God, Cade. I'm so sorry!" I gasp, horrified.

Not my matcha. Not today. Not when I've spent the last three days psyching myself up for what was supposed to happen tonight.

I snatch the soggy napkin from under my empty cup and lunge forward, dabbing frantically at his chest. My fingertips register the firm contours beneath the wet fabric, and a flush crawls up my neck. In the seven weeks we've been dating, I've barely touched him like this.

He laughs, a rich sound that vibrates through his chest under my fingers.

"It's okay, Hannah," he says, his voice warm. His easy smile makes my heart perform a complicated gymnastics routine. "Besides, I think green is my color."

My eyes drift downward to where matcha continues its southward travels. The natural bulge there sends an electric current racing down my spine. Two months of heated kisses and frustrated goodnight hugs, and I haven't touched him there. Not yet. But tonight was supposed to change that…and then this happened.

I force my gaze back up, offering what I hope is a casual smile and not the expression of a woman contemplating both intense embarrassment and equally intense desire.

"Do you need to leave so you can change?" I ask, searching desperately for another napkin, anything to help clean this mess.

He inhales slowly, pinching the damp fabric away from his skin.

"Yeah," he exhales, resignation in his voice. "The matcha is definitely dripping down my pants now."

My eyes widen as I glance down to verify his claim. It's undeniably true—green rivulets trailing down into the top of his jeans. His laugh tightens his abs beneath the clinging fabric, and I catch the briefest glimpse of the matcha on his V-line as he shifts. My insides dissolve into a liquid at the sight. Holy hell, my boyfriend is absolutely devastating.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to meet his eyes—those dangerous hazel eyes that seem to read every thought flickering behind mine.

"I'm so sorry, Cade."

Our carefully orchestrated date, the one where I was finally going to let go of my fears, is completely ruined. "Text me once your pants are…changed."

"Will do." He nods, his gaze lingering on me with an intensity that makes me wonder if he knows exactly what I've been planning. He grabs his phone from the table, and I spin on my heel, practically sprinting toward the exit, my heart thundering against my ribs.

Back in my dorm room, I collapse against the closed door, releasing a breath I feel like I've been holding for far too long. I stare up at the ceiling, frustration radiating through every cell in my body. I slide down until I'm sitting on the floor, legs splayed out in front of me.

"Fuck," I whisper to the empty room.

The plan had been elegant in its simplicity: coffee, a walk through the autumn-painted campus, an eventual casual drift toward his place, and then finally—finally—doing what I've been craving and dreading.

You know that three letter word.

Cade hasn't pressured me once. Not when we've been tangled on his couch, my body practically humming with want. Not when I've pulled away, my past rising up like a specter between us. If anything, I sometimes wish he'd push just a little more, give me that final nudge over the edge of my hesitation. But he's patient. Respectful. Everything the first guy wasn't.

I close my eyes, unwilling memories flooding back. My first hookup didn't want a girlfriend. He wanted a conquest, a story to tell his friends. He took my virginity with all the care of someone unwrapping fast food, his critiques still etched into my memory like acid. You're just like touching it, it's not doing anything. Why is your bottom lip so big, but your top isn't? That's probably not going to feel good when you give me head.

I shake my head violently, banishing his voice. Cade isn't him. I know this bone-deep, with a certainty that scares me almost as much as taking this next step. Cade wouldn't say those things. Wouldn't think them. Would probably punch anyone who did.

With renewed determination, I push myself off the floor and stride to my closet, pulling out a soft cream sweater. It's time to put those fears where they belong—in the past. I flop onto my bed and pull out my phone.

Hannah: So I spilled matcha down Cade's shirt by accident and it ruined my entire plan. It started dripping down his pants, so he had to leave our date to change.

Lennox: You are painting too good of a picture for me, and I'm wondering why the hell you didn't just go with him to help him change!?

Hannah: Should I have? Omg. Well I ran as fast as I could out of there!

Lennox: Do you have a plan B now?

Hannah: Tonight

Lennox: Tonight?

Hannah: Tonight

Lennox: Omg, I bet he has a monster dick. From what I've heard his older brother has one.

My stomach plummets, a stone dropping through water. A monster dick seems…daunting. If anything, it sounds like a medieval torture device. What if it’s too big? What if I can’t take all of him? What if he tells his friends that I have the sexual prowess of a confused penguin?

Just then, my phone buzzes with a new message.

Cade: Hey girl

Cade: My pants are changed

My fingers are flying across the screen, I type without thinking.

Hannah: Keep me in your prayers

Horror dawns slowly, like a sunrise I want desperately to stop.

Wrong. Fucking. Person.

I scramble upright, my heart pounding as I watch those three little dots appear on my screen.

Cade: Why?

I squeeze my eyes shut so tightly I see stars. Fuck. Me. (But not literally, at this rate.)

Hannah: Got an F on my paper

Hannah: Not that I'm stupid or anything

Hannah: Just pray for me that the professor let's me submit extra credit

Cade: Amen

I stare at my screen, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. What now?

Hannah: (Draft) Now that your pants have changed, do you want to

Shit.

Want to what?

Come over so I can awkwardly seduce you? Let me demonstrate my complete lack of sexual experience? I delete the draft, groaning. Lennox was right, I should have just gone with him instead of turning into a human roadrunner.

My phone buzzes again, rescuing me from my spiral.

Cade: I'm going to my brother's hockey game tonight if you still want to come?

Cade: No pressure if you need to do homework to catch up

The hockey game! It completely slipped my mind. I press my palm against my forehead, a new plan taking shape. Plan C—because apparently I need the entire alphabet of plans today.

I'll pretend to do homework while he's at the hockey game. Meanwhile, I'll actually prep for tonight's main event. I'll take an ‘everything’ shower (the kind where you exfoliate, deep condition, and shave everything that can possibly be shaved), blow out my hair, lotion my body until I'm practically slip-and-slide ready, and ask him to text me when he gets home. Then I'll sneak into his apartment (I have a key for "emergencies"), get into his bed, and finally have sex with my hot boyfriend.

I'm practically vibrating with renewed determination as I type.

Hannah: I am going to do these assignments tonight. Text me when you get home.

Cade: Will do

I fall back onto my bed, a smile spreading across my face that I couldn't suppress if I tried. I hug my pillow to my chest, butterflies swarming in my stomach.

Tonight, I'm getting laid.