Hate You, Henley: An Enemies To Lovers Sports Romance (Brooks University Book 3)

by Hannah Gray

  I wish Henley would tell them her news. She’s on Brooks’s swim team. That’s a huge deal because they made an exception for her. She’s that talented. As much as I want to blurt it out, it isn’t my news to share.

  “I think it’s going to be a good season for us.” I glance between them both. “We’re showing a lot of promise. Plus, we’ve got some strong players. Best quarterback in college ball right now.”

  My parents stiffen. They can’t exactly agree since their other son, Dane, is also a freshman quarterback in college. He’s good. Really good. But I’ll cut my nuts off with a butter knife before I say those words out loud in front of Henley.

  “Your brother is pretty good too, Weston.” Allison gives me a warning look. “Don’t count him out.”

  “Dane’s good. And he’s a great quarterback. But we have Cole Storms. And trust me, he plays like his last name. He’s a storm. A force to be reckoned with.” I’m telling the truth. Nobody—and I mean, nobody—wants to be the best more than Storm does. “Dane hasn’t gone against someone like him yet. Storm will lead our team all the way this year.”

  I glance over at Henley, who pokes at the food on her plate before looking up at me. When she sees me watching her, she scratches her cheek with her middle finger. Lucky for her, nobody notices. Her mom would scold her for it.

  “Well, I still think Dane is the best quarterback. But that’s great that you have so much confidence in your team.” Allison nods and looks at her husband. “We plan to come to a few games. We want to see Henley anyway, so it’ll kill two birds with one stone.” Then, she looks down the table at her daughter. “We can go to the game and then all go out to dinner! Wouldn’t that be fun? I also saw there was a bowling alley nearby. We could do that too!”

  “Sounds great,” Henley answers her mother as pleasantly as she can muster.

  “We will all be traveling down for the game when Dane’s team comes up and plays Weston’s.” My mom beams. “It’ll be so neat to see both my boys play on that field.”

  “Neat until I break his legs,” I mutter under my breath, but it must come out much louder than I anticipated because every single person’s head looks in my direction. Including Henley’s grandparents, who glare at me.

  I flash them a smile and shrug. “Kidding. Just some … friendly brotherly competition. No big deal.”

  My parents know the current status of my relationship with my brother. But they choose to put on blinders and act like everything is fucking peachy. My brother was weird to me when I got back from football camp. And then once senior year started, he was crawled so far up Henley’s ass that he probably knew what she had eaten for dinner the night before. I’d like to say our hate toward each other stems from somewhere else that doesn’t involve this blue-eyed devil. But … that would be a lie. It’s petty, I know. But it is what it is.

  Our parents all make small talk, trying to drag Henley and me into the conversation any chance they get.

  Henley takes a yeast roll from the center of the table, and I know what’s coming next. I can’t stop the smile from spreading across my face as I wait in anticipation.

  Without anybody else noticing, all too deep in their own conversations, she pushes her chair out and stands. Walking over to the refrigerator, she grabs a bottle of ranch dressing. Coming back to the table, she takes her seat and dumps some of it onto her plate before dunking her roll in it. She closes those baby blue eyes and savors every bite. I’m surprised I don’t hear her moan. Henley’s love for ranch dressing is strong.

  And suddenly, I’m jealous of a fucking piece of bread.

  I always told her how gross it was that she ate bread with ranch dressing. But she did it anyway. Same with pizza, chips, cheeseburgers—basically anything. I’m glad to see some things haven’t changed about her. Like her nasty taste in food.

  “Oh shucks. Sorry, sweetie,” Allison says as Henley takes another roll from the bowl. “I think I forgot to take the ranch out for you.”

  She holds up the bottle next to her. “It’s okay. I know where you keep it.”

  “Gross,” I mutter and grimace.

  When I look up, yet again, everyone’s looking at me like I’m a jerk.

  I shake my head, my lips turning up at the sides. “You’re all thinking it. I’m just the ass to say it out loud.”

  After eyeing me over, they all start laughing. Even Henley, who looks at me and stuffs as much of the bread into her mouth as she can. And for a second, it feels like the old days.

  Since I was a kid, we’d have Sunday dinners together. In the winter, inside one of our houses. In the summer, on one of our decks, where our dads would drink beer and grill. She started avoiding our family get-togethers as much as she could when she changed. It’s nice to have this with her tonight.

  It’s even better that Dane isn’t here.

  Henley

  I let my guard down during dinner. I let myself live in this bubble for a short time, imagining things are back to the way they used to be. The way they should be still.

  If only Weston loved me back and I had kept my damn pants on that dreadful night.

  It felt nice to sit around a dinner table, like old times, with family and close friends. For a long time, I’d avoided our usual Sunday dinners with the Wades. And then, once we had gone to college, it had given me an out anyway since my parents didn’t expect me to drive home each and every Sunday.

  I tell myself I stopped acting like I hated Weston strictly for my dad on his birthday. But I know that isn’t true. I stopped acting like I hated him because I needed a break from it. But in doing so, I likely gave him the wrong impression. And I don’t want that either. I don’t deserve his friendship.

  I finish loading the dishwasher with the sounds of my mom and Angela gossiping in the background. And Harold, my English bulldog, is lying by my feet.

  “I’m so happy to see you. Who’s the best dog? Who’s the best dog? Not you. You aren’t, are you, boy?” I rub his face and talk in the most obnoxious voice. “You’re not even a good dog. You’re a stinky, bad dog who eats garbage.”

  Once I’m satisfied with the amount of love I’ve given my poor dog so that he knows I didn’t abandon him, I stand. Looking at the clock on the stove, I frown. “Oh shoot. We need to head out soon. We still have a three-hour-plus drive back.”

  “I sure do hate the thought of y’all on the road late at night.” Angela frowns. “If it wasn’t for damn football, I could probably convince him to leave in the morning. But as always, he’s got early practice,” she drawls, sounding annoyed.

  My mom comes over, putting her head against the side of mine. “I wish you could stay. But … I’m not going to encourage my baby girl to skip.” She gently pinches my cheek. “Thanks for coming. You sure made your daddy happy.”

  “Wouldn’t have missed it.” I pat her shoulder. “I’m going to go to my room before we go. There’s a few things I want to grab.”

  “All righty, sweetie pie.” My mom backs away and grabs the broom.

  One thing about her: she won’t go to sleep until her house is back in order. Me? I’ll deal with it when I wake up. I don’t sweat the small stuff.

  Walking into the wing of the house my room is in, I go down the hall until I’ve reached the familiar light-purple door. My favorite color.

  I push it open, and it looks exactly how I left it a few weeks ago.

  I hustle around my room, grabbing odds and ends of things I forgot. And through the French doors, I can see the moon reflecting off of the lake.

  Pulling the knob, I walk out onto the balcony and lean over the railing. I used to love coming out here at night. The water was always so calm. And I could hear the peepers peeping and the loons calling.

  “Don’t jump,” Weston says from behind me in a smart-ass tone. “It’ll look like I pushed you. Can’t be having that.”

  “Why not?” I turn around, leaning my back against the railing. “Don’t want to be called a murderer?”

&n
bsp; Wrinkling his nose, he walks toward me. “Yeah … the thing is, the NFL typically stays away from murderers.”

  “Always about the NFL,” I mumble and let out a small laugh.

  “Can’t help it. Football is life.” He shrugs his shoulders and walks toward me. “Why didn’t you tell your parents about the swim team? They’d be so happy.”

  I look away, feeling embarrassed. “Because even though Coach told me I didn’t make the team because of your little visit to him, I don’t know if I’m on the team because of my talent. Or because you threatened him.”

  He looks mad. “Henley, I did not threaten him to put you on the team.” He grabs my hand. “I told him you were good and that he should want you on the team. That was it.” His eyes soften. “You’re on the team because you’re good. Share the news with your parents. Make their night.”

  My eyes watch him curiously. He seems so open and honest. The way he holds my hand makes me feel like he isn’t fighting me right now.

  “Why did you come to Brooks, Weston?” I tilt my head to the side. “Why did you follow me?”

  His arms move to either side of my body, caging me in against the balcony railing. Only I don’t feel trapped. I feel the opposite.

  “The answer depends …”

  “On what?” I ask, my eyebrows pulling together in confusion.

  “Do you want my real answer, or do you want the answer I should give you since we are supposed to hate each other?”

  “The real answer.” I lick my lips. “The truth.”

  “Because you’re a mess. And I’m scared,” he answers quickly, keeping his voice low. “But I can’t chase you forever, Henley. At some point … you’ll have to stop running and let me catch up.”

  “Or what?” My voice barely whispers.

  “Or … I might stop trying.” His head dips down lower so that our foreheads almost touch. “But I wish you’d just give in instead.”

  It becomes too much, and I force myself to look away from him. “I can’t stop. And you wouldn’t understand why.”

  “Try me,” he says, moving his hand to force my chin up. “I’ve known you a long time, Henley. There’s not much you could do to surprise me.”

  A tear rolls down my cheek, and I nod sadly. “I think you’re mistaken,” I croak out. “I don’t think I’m who you think I am at all.”

  “Henley,” his voice rasps out, and his hands are suddenly on my waist, anchoring me down, “I’m begging you to stop running.”

  My entire body shudders at his touch. He presses me harder against the railing, his fingertips digging into my sides, and his length grows against my stomach.

  “I have wanted you for so fucking long. Can you not see it?”

  “You don’t … I don’t think you mean that.” I shake my head. “And even if you did, you wouldn’t if you really knew me.” I wipe my eyes. “What I’m capable of.”

  “Do you want me the way I want you, Henley?” His voice sounds gritty as the words come out. “Do you think about me the way I do you?” One hand slides to my abdomen before moving downward, lingering at the button of my shorts. “Because, fucking hell, if you knew how badly I wanted you … you’d give in.”

  “Yes … I do,” I croak out even though I know I shouldn’t.

  It’s wrong. This is all wrong. So very wrong.

  But it feels so freaking right.

  His hand pops my button open and slides beneath my panties, cupping my sex. My eyelids grow heavy simply from his touch.

  “Tell me,” he hisses. “I need you to tell me you want this.”

  Despite the voice inside my head screaming at me to run, I pant out, “I do. I want it.”

  His fingers part me, and one slides inside, followed by another. Making me cry out just from pure need. We’ve never touched each other in any romantic way before. But I’ve fantasized about it for so long that I can’t stand the wait.

  Gently, he pumps his fingers in and out. “Jesus Christ, you’re so tight.” He leans down, running his tongue up my neck. “I fucked my hand, imagining this, just this morning.”

  That causes a moan to escape my mouth. Not a quiet one either.

  “Shh, sweet cheeks. Our fucking parents could be outside. I want to make you come for me, but you need to be quiet. Deal?”

  I nod as his fingers move in and out of me, and his thumb rubs circles on my most sensitive spot. It all becomes too much. It feels too good.

  An unfamiliar feeling builds in the bottom of my stomach. It gets stronger and stronger until it completely consumes me, making me cry out. But I’m quieted by Weston’s hand over my mouth. Unable to help myself, I lightly sink my teeth into his flesh.

  Grinding myself against his hand, I get every single second out of this orgasm—my first orgasm—that I possibly can, not ready for it to end.

  Once I finish rocking against him, an immediate feeling of regret washes over me. Not because I didn’t enjoy it. Clearly, I did. But I just erased all the hard work of hating him I’d put in for so long. I hated him to keep him from getting hurt from me. Now, hurting is inevitable. On both ends.

  “Weston …” I say slowly, buttoning my jeans. “We … I … we shouldn’t have—”

  “It’s fine.” He shrugs and walks toward the door. “Watching you come one time doesn’t take away from the fact you’ve been a miserable bitch to me for a long damn time. No worries. We can pretend it didn’t happen.” He stops and turns toward me. “But I’ll tell you, watching you come undone?” He winks. “Hot as hell.”

  I blush, smoothing my hair down.

  “We leave in ten minutes. Get your shit ready,” he calls over his shoulder and walks inside.

  Leaving me alone to wonder … What the hell did I just do?

  Weston

  Well … that ended really well.

  I finger-fucked her. Made her moan the sexiest sounds I’d ever heard, and then … she instantly regretted it. She didn’t have to say the words. It was written all over her face.

  So, yeah … that sucked donkey balls.

  No having her plump lips wrapped around me or at least a hand job. Something I could basically cream my pants just from thinking about her doing to me.

  Christ, I’m hard again.

  I have no idea why she’s so hell-bent on keeping me away. But she should know that’s only going to work for so long. She got a small taste of how good I could make her feel tonight. Something tells me she’ll be coming back for more.

  I was going to be a good boy. I was going to keep my hands to myself and take my babysitting duties seriously. But now … I need more.

  She can hate me all she wants. That doesn’t mean I can’t blow her mind and get mine blown in the process. Hell, sometimes, hate sex is the best kind.

  One good thing about tonight is the fact that she shared the news with our parents that she’d made the swim team. Just as we were about to walk out, everyone was hugging us good-bye. Well, mostly our mothers. And she just sort of … blurted it out. Her face was crimson red, and her voice went slightly high-pitched. But when they cheered and all congratulated her, I could see how happy she was. And proud. She should be proud. It’s pretty kick-ass to be on the team after the school year has begun.

  “Weston …” she mumbles from the passenger side of the truck.

  We’re only about ten minutes down the road from leaving her parents’, and the tension … it’s fucking thick. I think I could take out my Swiss Army knife in my glove box and cut it right down the middle.

  “Yeah?” I answer, keeping my eyes trained on the road.

  “I don’t … I’m not sure why I let that happen. But it can’t be a reoccurring thing.” She pauses. “Things will get too messy if we ever let it go any further.”

  “Messy is good, sweet cheeks. I can work with messy.” I glance at her for a second, seeing the moonlight reflect the worry on her face. “Hate the hell out of me. Do what you need to make you sleep better at night. But you gotta admit, I made you come har
der than you ever have before.”

  “You’re annoying …” She covers her face with her hands and groans. “I’m humiliated.”

  “Don’t be.” I smirk. “It was hot. Besides, I’m hoping it loosened that stick that’s been twisted in your ass all this time.” I turn my facial expression to serious. “I’d be glad to take a look at that stick, maybe fuck you back there too, if it helps?”

  “Shut up.” She sighs. “I’m not the same girl you knew before you went to football camp, Weston. Just leave it alone, would you?”

  “Then, entertain me, Henley. What happened to make you suddenly change?” I look at her and jerk my chin up. “Because something ain’t adding up.”

  “Why do you care?” she practically screeches. “Why does it matter if I changed?! It isn’t like you gave a rat’s ass about me. Other than as a … friend.”

  I look over at her. Even in the dark truck, I can see her tears glistening in her eyes.

  Pulling the truck over, I stop in a parking lot that’s next to a park my mom would sometimes bring all of us to when we were kids.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” I flick the dome light on, showing me her face. “What’s this friend talk you speak of?”

  “Nothing,” she says quickly. Her cheeks turning red. “Just drive to Brooks. We have three hours to drive. I don’t want to be out the entire freaking night.”

  My eyes narrow at her. God, this woman pisses me off. “I’m not leaving until you tell me what the fuck you meant by that.”

  “You were hooking up with other girls anyway!” she says, bobbing her head. “I had to hear all about that the night you left for football camp.” Her face cringes, as if she’s recalling the memory. “Had to see text messages too.”

  “I don’t have a fucking clue what you mean. You’re going to have to explain it further than that.”

  She faces me but throws her head back against the window. “Kenna and Marley! They told me that you had been hooking up with both of them.” More tears well up in her broken eyes. “I don’t know why I cared. It’s not like you and I ever had the talk.”