Oh, HenryBy: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
The Ohellno Series Book Two
“Well,” Georgie continues, “then it makes perfect sense. She’s disrupted your game mojo, Henry.”
“Why? It’s not like I got attached to her.”
“Maybe not, but you liked her and she dumped you. That’s never happened.”
“I feel fine. I promise, no broken hearts here.” Though maybe I do miss hearing Elle’s snorty laugh.
“If you say so, but she’s planted a seed of doubt in that thick skull of yours. So you’re going to have to find a way to fix it.”
But how? Elle hates me. And we fight every time we see each other. “Easier said than done.”
“Not really. Whatever you did to piss her off, just apologize.”
“I didn’t do anything. She says we’re just not right for each other and accuses me—me of all people—of not being a man.”
My sister frowns and rubs her pointed little chin. “Hmmm…then man up. Show her you’re not afraid to grovel a little. If that doesn’t work, then hit her with the old Henry charm. I’ve yet to see a girl resist you when you act like an actual human being.”
Austin, Texas. Alpha Phi Frat House.
“Sorry, Henry, but I don’t owe you an explanation. It’s over, and that’s all there is to it.” Elle’s big brown eyes show zero emotion, so I put on my game face. I’ve never been chucked like this. Never. Because I’m fucking Henry Walton, one of four heirs to the Walton oil fortune, famously handsome, and the most anticipated NFL college draft pick since that asshole who got signed with the Steelers.
Elle’s giant brain must be broken.
Standing in the doorway of our two-story, Southern-charmer of a frat house, I step outside in my Pirates PJs bottoms onto the porch. I carefully close the door so the guys inside, who are fellow Pirates, don’t overhear. They’d never let this go. Football players live to fuck with each other.
“You—you’re rejecting me?” I point to my bare chest, snarling down at her little round face. Sure, she’s got a genius IQ and is the likeliest person to build a tele-transporter or some geeky Star Trek shit like that, but I’m what the ladies call a bona fide catch. Six-five, two hundred and eighty pounds of pure muscle pleasure, orgasm philanthropist, future football Hall of Famer, and—fucking bonus point—I’m an all-around fun guy. Elle can’t deny it. My ability to turn her frowns into smiles is irrefutable. It’s the reason she bought that raffle ticket, the prize being a date with me, during our fraternity fundraiser. It’s the reason she said she wanted me to show her a good time after she won. Which I did. Several “good times” in one night and about fifty more “Oh, Henrys!” since then.
So why is she dumping me? Not that we were official. But, dammit all to hell, I like her. I really fucking like her. Normally, I don’t go nerd, but Elle suckered me with her cute little gap-toothed smile and spunky personality. Okay, and she’s a blonde, which I like, and she has nice jugs.
I swallow down a tangled mess in my throat. “Fine. Plenty of fish in the sea. I’m cool with that.”
“Errr…you don’t look cool. Do you need to sit?”
“Just a hangover,” I lie. “Big party last night.” Actually, I can’t remember what I did. I can’t think straight.
Elle touches my arm, pity written all over her face. “Henry, we were never really going to work out. Even you had to know that.”
I slowly remove her hand. “Never gave it much thought.” Too busy living the dream and all that.
She shoves her petite hands into her pink overalls. “Well, I need more than a hot guy with big muscles. I need…” She blows out a long breath. “I need a man. One who will be there when things get difficult. One who’s had to deal with the real world. You only know screwing and football, and I respect that. I might even be jealous. But there is no universe in which your interests and mine could coalesce into a symbiotic relationship outside the bedroom.”
“Who says you even symbiotified me there?” No. That’s not a real word. And we both know I could fuck Elle all day long and never get tired of her. There’s this little squeaking thing that she does right before she’s about to come. Adorable.