Hate to Love You

by Isabelle Richards

  He pulls out a can of macadamia nuts and starts munching. I know for a fact he doesn’t even like them. He’s just going for the most expensive thing to piss me off.

  I slide into my coat. “I forgot you were going to be here.”

  “Brock’s dad insisted on it. You know, we’ve gone to camp together every summer since pee wee football. I’m one of the few people he knows isn’t trying to use Brock. Between that and me taking his slot next year at Stanford, he wanted me to come along.”

  I roll my eyes as I check my makeup one last time. “Please, tell me you’re not that naive. This has nothing to do with boyhood bonds. The boosters are already starting your campaign for the Heisman, and you haven’t even graduated high school yet.”

  He smirks as he pops another nut into his mouth. “With Aiden coming out of retirement to coach me, there’s some buzz that this may be me in a few years.”

  “Correction, he is coming out of retirement to coach at his alma mater after poor Coach Beck died. The fact that you happen to be going there is just a coincidence. Not everything is all about you, Chase.”

  He puts the can on the table. “You keep telling yourself that, Blondie. Anyway, I am really just here to support Brock. That’s all.”

  I give myself one last look in the mirror. “Part of that role is picking up his date?”

  He shrugs. “As it seems. Trust me, I didn’t ask for this job. They had to send someone who can handle you, and who better than me? No one can put you in your place quite like I can.”

  Throwing him a dirty look, I open the door. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  He walks a step behind me to the elevator. “You look pretty good for a girl who’s whoring herself out.”

  My fist clenches, ready to punch him in the gut, but I refrain. If I react, he’ll just keep dishing it out. “Wow, you waited a whole five minutes before you made that jab. I was wondering how long it would take. You know I don’t want to do this.”

  He gestures toward me as if I’m a game-show prize. “And yet here you are.”

  The doors to the elevator open. Sadly, it’s empty. I’m still alone with him.

  “Let’s see how you are in three years when you’re ready to go pro,” I say. “You’ll do all sorts of things you never imagined.”

  “Like Abercrombie? Charlie showed me that ad. You should skip A&F and just go right to Playboy. Well, Playboy may be more tasteful than those pictures.”

  If I thought it would wipe that smirk off his face, I’d slap him. But I know from experience that it will just encourage him. I push the button for the lobby and pray for a swift ride. “I hate that you two are twins. She can’t keep anything from you, can she? My agent is trying to get it pulled. I’ll be mortified if those pictures get out.”

  He touches my shoulder, and his smirk disappears. For a moment, he looks as though he could be human. “They really aren’t that bad.” He actually sounds sincere for a change. “I’m just trying to ruffle your feathers. You know that.”

  “It’s not your ass hanging out there.”

  “It really isn’t that different than your tennis skirts.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I need to get my game face on. It’s going to take a hell of a show to pretend I actually like Brock.” The elevator opens, and I walk toward the door. Before I exit the hotel, I turn and point at Chase’s chest. “If you ever, ever call me a whore again, I’ll cut your balls off.”

  He puts his hands on my shoulders and looks me square in the eye. “Chill, Ari. I didn’t mean it like that, and you know it. I know that your V card is safe and sound where it should be.”

  I’d bury my head in my hands if I didn’t think it would ruin my makeup. “I’m going to kill your sister.”

  Chase

  It’s fucking freezing. Why the hell they have this stupid thing in New York instead of L.A. is beyond me. I try to talk Ari into taking a cab, but she insists we walk the two blocks. I think she needs some time to pull her thoughts together. As we step into Times Square, we see the Abercrombie picture hanging down the length of a building.

  “I guess they can’t pull the picture,” I say. I tear my gaze from the ad and look at her.

  She looks mortified. I would never let her know it, but I’m so furious I’d pull the damn thing down myself if I could. Sure, she drives me crazy and is the bane of my existence some days. I’d never hesitate to do what I could to drive her equally crazy. I have no qualms about embarrassing her, pranking her, or generally showing her up in any way possible. But that’s coming from me. I never tolerate anyone else hurting her or even saying an ill word about her. Our entire lives, I’ve always protected her. If she ever found out, I’d deny it with my dying breath, but everyone at school has always known if they mess with her, they’ll have to face me.

  Seeing her exposed for the whole fucking world to gawk at makes my blood boil. The picture is stunning—she looks amazingly sexy—but she’s better than that. Millions of men are going to feel the blood rush to their dicks the second they see her, and Abercrombie will have one hell of a year. But she’s far too precious to share with the world just to sell some jeans.

  Arianna doesn’t say a word. I can almost see the ice go through her veins as she “puts her game face on.” She has the amazing ability to keep it together at all times, regardless of what she may be feeling. That’s why she makes one hell of a tennis player; she can handle any pressure like a seasoned pro. If she didn’t have such a warm smile, people would think she’s the ice queen I know she is.

  “Let’s go.” She struts down 7th Avenue as though she owns the place.

  When we arrive at the theater, the press is all over her, but she just smiles and answers a few questions. She’s a master at using humor to deflect questions she doesn’t want to answer. They eat her up like ice cream on a hot day.

  Brock finds her as soon as she comes off the red carpet. Once he picks his jaw off the floor, he parades her around like a prize pony. She plays the role of arm candy well. The whole room is looking at them, and it has nothing to do with Brock. He tries to put his hands all over her, but she plays fantastic defense and keeps him in check. Brock’s lucky Aiden isn’t here. He’d chop Brock’s hands off and use them for oven mitts.

  Being Aiden’s daughter, she knows almost everyone of importance in the room. They all come up to her, and she introduces Brock. If tennis doesn’t pan out, she could have a career in acting. To the untrained eye, she looks like a doting girlfriend. She doesn’t fool me though. I know all her tells. The way she’s biting the inside of her cheek tells me she hates every minute of this.

  Brock doesn’t end up winning. The Heisman went to a running back out of Alabama who really did have a better year. Arianna plays her part until we exit the theater and get into the limo. Brock puts his arms around her, and she squirms away. He’s already drunk, and she clearly wants nothing to do with it.

  “Driver, can you take me back to the hotel please? It’s on the way to the after-party. Thank you,” Arianna asks.

  “Babe, you can’t ditch me now. My heart is broken,” Brock says, slightly slurring his words. “I need you to stroke my ego and make me feel all better.”

  I think she fights back a gag.

  “Brock, I have an early flight to catch for my match tomorrow. You go and have a good time. I’m very sorry tonight didn’t go the way we all hoped it would,” she says in a saccharine-sweet voice that has an edge of coolness.

  “Arianna, you can’t leave a man when he is down,” he pleads. Had he not been drunk, he would have been able to hear that she’s clearly not interested.

  “My dear, I’m no fun at these sorts of things. You know I don’t drink, and I don’t make a nice babysitter. Just ask Chase, I just don’t have the patience for drunk people.”

  I tap his arm. “You might want to listen to her, man. I’d rather walk home naked during a blizzard than have her be my DD. She can be a raging bitch when she’s annoyed.”
>
  He puts his hand on her knee and tries to slide it north. “She’ll be nothing but sweetness for me. Won’t you, angel?”

  She snaps her legs together faster than a bear trap and removes his hand. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head. The after-party will be full of girls eager to get in your pants and stroke your… ego. You won’t even know I’m gone. Between you and my buddy Chase here, I know you two will have a night to remember.” She kisses his cheek as the driver opens her door. “Good night, boys.”

  I watch her closely, making sure she gets into the hotel safely. Of course she has to stop and talk to the doorman instead of getting out of the cold! I see her give him an autograph and a quick cell phone pic before she goes inside. I’d feel better if I’d walked her to her room, but I’m not about to do that.

  I couldn’t be happier that she’s turning in for the night. The last thing I need is to deal with her crap all night, and I don’t want to spend all night looking out for her. Brock’s three sheets to the wind, and if she had stayed, it would have only resulted in disaster. I don’t want to have to knock out one of my best friends for getting handsy with my sworn enemy. Plus I’d rather focus my attention on my own sex life than protecting Ari’s virtue.

  The after-party is insane. We’re in the penthouse of the W in Times Square. I’ve been to my fair share of athlete-studded events, but I’m usually with Pop or Aiden, and we always go to the tame, “family friendly” parties. This is my first time going solo, and I feel like a kid who’s finally allowed at the grown-up table. I can’t walk two feet without bumping into a model or actress. There’s a steady supply of drugs floating around, which surprises me. Most of the athletes here are still playing. I’ve got the state playoffs next week, which means a piss test is in my future. There’s no way in hell I’m trying anything.

  After a couple hours of making the rounds, I find Brock again on the balcony overlooking Times Square. The group of ten or so guys is staring at Ari’s picture.

  “Well, boys, I’ll be hitting that tonight,” Brock boasts, pointing at the ad. “You can be jealous. It’s okay.”

  It takes all I have not to crush his wind pipe for spewing such shit. I’ve been friends with the kid for as long as I can remember, but he’s never really been around Ari. I haven’t told him how it is. Yet. “Dude, I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you. Arianna’s got an early flight for a match tomorrow. You’ve never seen an athlete more dedicated. Her door is locked, and she is sound asleep, I can promise you that.”

  The group jeers Brock, which pisses him off.

  “Don’t cock block, man!” he says.

  I grip my beer bottle and talk myself out of smashing it over his head. “I’m just saying, B. Plus, do you really want to tango with Aiden Aldrich? He’ll be here tomorrow, and if he catches wind that you were with his precious daughter… man, I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes. That is one enemy you don’t want. He’s the quarterback consultant every NFL team calls to get his opinion of guys like us. Not a man I want to piss off. I’m sure there are far less dangerous girls here who are all too eager to mend your broken heart.”

  Brock stumbles around as he speaks. Sober, he talks with his hands. When he’s drunk, it’s as if his whole body flails. His drink sloshes as he makes his point. “Man, you don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve been banging that girl for months. That hot piece of ass can’t get enough.”

  I’m a patient man, but even I have my limits. I lean in close to Brock. “Enough, dude. You and I both know that you’re full of shit. I’ve known that girl my whole life, and I’m not going to let you disrespect her.”

  “Why the fuck do you care?” Brock shouts, slightly pushing me and spilling his drink on himself. “You can’t stand the bitch.”

  “Doesn’t matter, dude. You need to back the fuck down and shut your goddamned mouth.” I may be three years younger than him, but I match Brock pound for pound, and I’m stone-cold sober.

  Brock smiles and lets out a little laugh as he leans back on the balcony railing. “So I shouldn’t tell about the time she sucked me off in the locker room before a press conference. Nothing like a BJ to calm the nerves.”

  I’ve never been one to fight. Typically I’m intimidating enough to make guys back down before anything crazy happens. I always keep my cool because I have too much going for me to throw it away over some impulsive bullshit. But in this moment, none of that matters. I release a fury on Brock that I didn’t even know I had inside me. One punch is all it takes to drop him. I hit him with such force, he’ll be lucky if his jaw isn’t broken.

  I need to get the fuck out of here and clear my head. I spit on him as I walk by. “You had best learn to shut your mouth, Brock. I fucking warned you.” But I’m wasting my breath because he’s out cold. I call over my shoulder as I leave, “Someone check that motherfucker and make sure I didn’t crack his skull. I’m out of here.”

  I storm down 7th Ave, trying to process what the fuck just happened. Brock has been my friend for ten years. He’s been like a mentor to me, and all of that is ruined over her. The one person I despise. Why the hell couldn’t I just let him talk his shit? I know he won’t get anywhere with her, so who gives a fuck what he says? Why do I give a shit if she sleeps with him anyway? Who she spreads her legs for is none of my business. If that’s the case, then why does the thought make me want to break something?

  I end up at another party, and I start pounding drinks. Thinking clearly isn’t helping me make any sense of this, so maybe I just need to get good and loaded. After my fifth drink in under an hour, I’m talking to some chick. I should say she’s talking to me, and I’m not listening to a word she’s saying. I’m just staring at her forehead so it appears like I’m listening.

  All I can think about is why I reacted to Brock like that. It’s got to be because of Aiden. I protect Ari out of respect for him, right? That makes sense. The man has been like a second father to me. I owe everything to Aiden, so of course I’ll protect her in his absence. What kind of man would I be if I let him down by leaving his daughter to the wolves?

  Aiden always makes a big deal about how my parents stepped in after Savannah died to help him with Ari, and they really did. The three of them became a parenting team, and Ari, Charlie and I had a remarkable childhood. I’m not sure Aiden could have done it without my folks. Not to take away from my parents, but everyone always overlooks how much Aiden’s done for me.

  Everyone always expected that I would play baseball, being the son of an eight-time Cy Young winner. I never wanted to be a pitcher, but I’m a hell of a shortstop. But my heart’s not in it. I was born to be a quarterback. Aiden taught me everything I know, molded me into the player I am. When I had to make the choice between baseball and football, Aiden helped me break the news to Pop. I know I’ll be able to live my dream. I know the NFL is in my future, and I owe that to Aiden.

  So of course that must be why I’m always looking out for Arianna. What the hell else could it be? I’m hit with a bunch of answers, and I don’t like any of them. I need to get to bed and end this fucking night.

  I walk away from the girl while she’s still talking, not even pausing to say good-bye. I just need to get the hell out of here.

  I manage to make it back to the hotel in one piece, although I was tempted to crash in the elevator. When I get to my room, I stumble toward the bed, trip on something, and crash into the bed rail. Burning pain shoots right above my eye. Blood trickles down the side of my face. Fucking figures. I get into a fight and walk away without a scratch, but I bust up my face walking into my hotel room. I’d better not need stitches.

  I turn the lights on and see Brock’s luggage in the middle of the floor. Son of a bitch. I completely forgot we’re bunking together. I can’t stay with him after what happened, so now I’ve got to fork over the cash for my own room. Drunk and pissed, I stumble into the hall and kick the door closed. I don’t mean to make so much noise, but I’m not thinking real clearly at th
e moment.

  As I walk toward the elevator to go back down to the lobby, I hear a door open. Shit, I woke someone up. Fan-fucking-tastic.

  “What the hell?” Arianna asks, peeking out of her room.

  “Nothing, Ari. Go back to bed,” I call over my shoulder, not wanting to look at her. She’s the last person I want to see right now.

  She flips the door latch so that her door won’t close behind her and stalks over to me. She grabs my chin and looks at my face. “What the hell happened to you?”

  “Rough night.” I pull away from her. “It’s no big deal. I’ve got to get going.”

  She grabs the back of my shirt. “Get in here. Let me clean it up for you.”

  Being Arianna, she of course has a full first aid kit in her luggage. She’s always prepared for everything. She drags me through her room and into the bathroom. She pushes my shoulders, forcing me to sit on the toilet. She gently cleans the cut with antiseptic and uses butterfly bandages to close the wound.

  “You don’t need stitches, but do you need to keep it clean,” she says.

  While she tends to my cut, for a moment, I almost forget that we hate each other. She’s actually tender, which is so contrary to her typical ice princess demeanor. When she’s standing this close to me, wearing nothing but a barely there tank top and boy shorts, I can’t deny how gorgeous she is. I’m a guy after all. Her body is tan and toned to perfection. Her curly blond hair is a bit tossed around from sleep, which looks so damn sexy. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she’s an angel. But I do know better, and underneath that flawless exterior is a cold bitch who gets off by torturing me.

  As she applies the butterfly bandages, her perfect tits are thrust in my face. If she were anyone else, I’d think she was doing it on purpose, but that’s not how Ari works. She knows she’s beautiful, but I don’t think she has any idea how sexy she is. She’s been married to tennis since she could hold a racket. She leans in to get a closer look at my cut, and her nipple brushes my cheek. I close my eyes and run plays through my head. Anything to keep from thinking about how she’s affecting me. The problem with my plan is that when I think of football, I can’t help but think of her. My mind shifts from Xs and Os to what I could do to her on the fifty-yard line.