Another change? He’s sporting dark scruff on his jawline, giving him a slightly dangerous look.
I suck in a gulp of air. I never pictured him with sexy facial hair, and it’s…it’s…
It’s nothing. My heart is pure, hard steel.
The lights from the ceiling bathe him in a spotlight as he presents the entire bar with that famous sexy grin, the one that melts your insides and makes girls fall at his feet.
He turns when someone calls his name, and my eyes eat up the line of his profile, strong and defined and chiseled. His nose is straight and patrician looking, his cheekbones high and sculpted, carving out a perfect face. And even though it’s January, his face is sun-kissed from playing football outside for months at a time. He’s a damn Adonis.
Piercing, intense eyes are set underneath dark brows. His lashes are long and thick and you’d think it would make him look feminine, but nope. All it does is call attention to the hint of laughter there, as if he knows something you don’t, as if he’s playing you.
Which he is.
Blaze Townsend is a player.
Tonight he’s wearing a Wildcats National Championship long-sleeved navy shirt that clings to his biceps. I think about the skin under that shirt, those granite-hard abs he works so hard on. I’ve had my hands there. I’ve kissed each rippling muscle, worshipping him with my lips and tongue. God. I was crazy about his body.
My eyes move down, taking in the dark jeans encasing long muscular legs. I recall those powerful thighs under my hands, the dark curls I ran my fingers through.
Oh, just stop already!
F’ing hot.
F’ing asshole.
My libido frosts over when I see who’s with him.
On either side are two gorgeous girls with varied shades of blonde hair. They’re everything I’m not: tall, skinny, beautiful. My throat tightens at the perfection of them, and for a second I want to run out of here, but I hold steady. I’ve had three months to prepare, and I’m tough. I CAN DO THIS.
Yeah, but you can’t compete with that, a mean voice whispers in my head.
Applause breaks out inside the bar. Blaze lifts a hand and mimics a Miss America wave, his full, carnal lips tugging up in a slow smile that grows, becoming broader and wider. Dude could be a toothpaste model. I swear I hear a gasp from every female in the room. The effect of his mouth is positively infectious. If he were a preacher, he’d be saving souls left and right.
I roll my eyes.
He’s with Dillon McQueen, the backup quarterback, and several other players.
“Oh, yay, the team is back on campus. Let’s celebrate. Yippee,” I mumble to myself as a girl in a Wildcats shirt nearly mows me down in her quest to get to them.
“I know, right?” She stops next to me, stars in her eyes. “Blaze is just…gorgeous, right?”
My lips flatten. “Totes.”
She licks her lips, her eyes darting from him to me. “Wait…did you date him?”
“No.”
“You sure? Now that I think about it, I thought I saw you guys together at the Chi-O homecoming party last fall. Aren’t you that girl, the one he dumped—”
“We never dated,” I practically spit.
We only had sex—three times, to be exact, one time for every week we were “together”. Once in the library and twice in his dorm room. Not once did he buy me a sandwich or offer to take me to a movie—not that I would have accepted, but that’s not the point. The point is he never wanted anything from me except sex.
“That was a banging party though. Glad you came,” I say with a bright smile, keeping my turbulent feelings under lock and key.
She’s not even listening anymore though, her gaze on Blaze and friends. “Yeah. Who are those girls he’s with? You think I have a shot?”
Thetas. The taller one on the right with the slinky navy and orange dress—school colors, of course—honey-colored hair, and blinding red lipstick is the one he escorted all over campus in November and December. Dani. On the nights when I was weak after we broke up, I’d stalk his IG and see pics she’d posted: them at Cadillac’s, in the student center, at a party, in his dorm. I walked a narrow tightrope last fall, avoiding places I thought they might be, going straight to class and then coming right back home.
He never sought me out. Not one time.
“Dani is the one on the right. She’s…uh…with him a lot,” I tell the girl, my voice carefully even.
I’m doing good. I really am. Much better than last fall.
I don’t know the girl on the left, but she’s beautiful, her white-blonde hair straight and silky. Like Dani, she’s dressed in a low-cut, skimpy dress—nothing wrong with that. I have a plethora of low-cut dresses, and I’ve been known to flaunt what I have. Hello, mohair dress.
“Candy with an ‘i’,” Margo says, offering her name, and I guess I must have asked for it. She knows everyone on campus.
My eyes widen at Margo. “Dani and Candi? Stop it. Are they related?”
“Nope. Just Thetas. Nice, right?”
“Flipping fantastic,” I mutter.
In typical college fashion, there’s raging competition between us and the Thetas. They’re the beautiful, rich, party girl sorority while Chi-Os are known for being brainy and attractive in a warm, fuzzy kind of way.
“They’re like…pretty, sleek greyhounds,” Margo says with a little growl, her gaze on the girls.
“Guess that makes us adorable spaniels,” I say and Margo laughs.
Random Girl gives us a wary look, and I realize I’d forgotten she was standing there.
“Ignore us. You should totally take a shot at Blaze if micro-penises are your thing.” The words, again, are devoid of emotion. I am over him. I swear. The fact that my chest is heavy right now does not matter. Not one bit.
“Micro-penis?” Her eyes flare.
“It’s a joke,” I say dryly. “Go get him. Please.” As in, please get out of my sight because I can’t say one more word about him.
She gives me a weird look and then a rushed bye as she heads their way.
The entire place is still whistling and cheering. The applause goes on for an absurdly long time, and my body grows stiffer with each passing moment.
“STL,” I murmur. Stayed too long.
Forget facing him. I’d rather touch a hundred wolf spiders on my pillow while having a root canal with no anesthesia than see him with Dani.
I snatch up my purse and try to figure out the best path out of the bar without catching Blaze’s eye. I scan the room as I break down how to get through the crowd and reach the emergency exit near the restrooms. Sure, the alarm will go off, but who’d notice with all the happy times going on?
A warm tingle goes down my neck, and I freeze. Moving slowly, I turn my head and look back in his direction.
Yeah. He’s found me. Cold blue eyes tangle with my brown ones, and all those pep talks I gave myself on the drive over flee my mind.
The crowd falls away, and it’s just me and him in the room. Three months since we were face to face, yet it feels like a million years since I saw him.
For some reason, my mind goes back to that night freshman year at the toga party, the one he and I never discussed, those long passionate kisses and how electrifying they were. His mouth on mine was like falling and flying at the same time.
I haven’t kissed a man on the mouth since.
“Never breaking my rules again,” I mutter under my breath, my gaze lingering on the curve of his lips.
Darkness flits across his face as he takes me in, not a normal expression for him, and the air grows hot around me. The seconds tick by as he pauses, drops his waving hand, and searches my face. A scowl appears on his brow, crinkling his forehead. Icy eyes glitter at me, long and hard, gazing over the heads of the people jostling to get close to him. My hand holding the glass trembles.
Do not be affected by the intensity of those eyes. Don’t. You. Dare.
Right.
Maybe i
t’s the tequila finally kicking in or the painful new shoes or the fact that my skin is itchy as hell and probably beet red as well underneath the mohair, but something insane hits, and I give him my own Miss American wave—only it’s really a one-finger salute. It’s a whole new level of juvenile, completely childish and revealing. I’m bitter, it screams.
I hate you is scrawled across my face.
Same is what he’s thinking if the tightening of his lips is anything to go on.
Twin spots of pink hit his cheekbones, and a muscle in his jaw pops. He watches me, his face carved from marble, expressionless, but underneath I sense something deeper, almost there on the surface, but he keeps it hidden. Yeah, that’s the thing with him; on the surface, he appears carefree and loose, but below is a lake, still and deep.
He never let me dive into those waters.
A few seconds later, he blinks rapidly, looks away, and pushes through the crowd.
Bye, asshole.
The two girls tag along, a matching set, two pretty bookends.
Margo talks out of the side of her mouth. “Was that rude gesture really necessary? Remember our relationship with the football players. I know you and Blaze had a fling, but we still want them at our parties. We have to keep up with the Thetas—”
“Trust me, that was barely even anything. I’m restraining myself.” The old me would have confronted him months ago, would have chased him down and demanded answers.
Only…
I just…couldn’t. I have my pride, and he has her.
She huffs. “True. I recall a baseball player you kicked in the shin freshman year.”
“He also put his hands down my pants when I clearly said no, Madame President. FTS.” Fuck that shit.
She gets quiet beside me. “Seriously, I never understood what happened between you and Blaze—”
My chest fills as I inhale. “We were casual. That’s it.”
I watch as his frame maneuvers through the throng of people. Several clap him on the back, and I even see one girl smack his ass and giggle. He reaches back and gives her a kiss on the cheek, and my hands clench as anger rushes to the surface.
Such. A. Womanizer.
I never should have trusted myself with someone so…so alpha.
Normally, I choose nice guys, sweet and quiet, ones I can easily control. I never let them get too close. When you grow up with a dad who cheats on your mom, when you actually see him kiss another woman, you learn to protect yourself.
I flinch. He’s changed directions, and he’s headed straight for our table. There’s a determined set to his face, and my heart pounds, each passing second stretching and tugging at me until I’m breathless and damn near panting. I lick my lips and pat my hair, smoothing my dress with my hands. Dang—it’s still soaked.
He halts in front of us.
3
I walk into Cadillac’s like the conquering hero Julius Caesar after he defeated the Gauls, or maybe a gladiator entering the Colosseum after a victorious showing in the games.
Did gladiators go out for a beer after the games? No doubt they did. They probably had hot girls with them too.
Applause breaks out and I flash a big smile, taking in the adulation. The cheers of congratulations continue as we make our way around the room, and a warm feeling grows in my chest. Attention from fans, a football in my hands—it’s all I’ve ever needed.
I started playing rec league when I was twelve—late for the superstar I am—because my aunt and uncle needed a babysitter for me and the field was just down the road from our house. Convenient for them to get me out of their hair, and a good way for me to channel my restless energy.
“Blaze! Great game!” shouts a guy I remember from class last semester.
I wave.
“Dude, this place is packed,” Dillon says. He’s got that glazed-over, I’m-going-to-party-till-I’m-trashed look in his eye as he takes everything in. Tall and muscular with a freshly shaved head—he promised he’d shave off his blond dreadlocks if we won the championship—he’s originally a California surfer boy who moved to Alabama when he was ten just to play football in the South, a rich kid. We came from completely different backgrounds, but he’s the closest thing I have to a brother.
I grin. “Wish Mav and Ryker were here. Losers.”
“Yeah, well, they’re getting some girlfriend action right now. Their player days are over.”
True. Maverick practically bolted off the bus and ran straight into Delaney’s arms as she waited for him in the parking lot, and Ryker was pretty much the same. He didn’t even say goodbye before peeling out to go to Penelope’s.
Dillon grins at a pretty, brunette co-ed who rushes up and throws her arms around his big frame.
The athletes run this small, exclusive university, and football really is king. I roll my shoulders. I’d do well to remember that. No matter my family and scholastic shortcomings, this year is mine.
At the end of the big game, I started doing the Miss America wave for the fans, and the crowd in the bar goes nuts when I whip it out. I’m feeling good, then my eyes sweep the room and land on a table near the front.
Charisma.
I freeze.
I haven’t seen her—even in passing—for months, and the effect is like a bucket of cold water in my face.
She flips me off, and I feel red starting at my neck and rising up to my face. Something about her always…always…
“You good?” Dillon asks me, his gaze following mine.
“Fresh as a goddamn daisy.”
“Charisma is over there.”
“Thanks, Captain Obvious.”
His eyes check her out. “Can’t blame you, man. She’s not my usual, but I’d tap it. I tried sophomore year. She turned me down cold, said I was too popular. Weird.”
“Don’t even think about her like that.” I frown. “And why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“Didn’t seem important. You were only with her for a hot second.”
“It is important. And it was three weeks. Stay away from her.”
His lips kick up. “Didn’t think you cared, dude.”
“I don’t. I’ve moved on.”
“Then why can’t I even talk about her—”
“No,” I snap. “End of.”
“Fine, chill out.” He eyeballs Dani and Candi chatting with their sorority sisters as they hang on to me. “You’re winning if it’s a competition. You have two and she has none.”
“It isn’t a pissing contest.”
I can’t help but stare in her direction. Jealousy pulls at me when I see how some of the guys with Connor are giving Charisma little glances. With long nearly black hair that has pale pink streaks scattered throughout, she’s a petite thing but feisty as a colt. I take in the creamy pale skin, intelligent light brown eyes that don’t miss a thing, and that perfect pink bow of a mouth. Yeah, she got under my skin so fucking bad last semester I thought I was going to lose my mind—until I cut her loose.
A beer gets pushed into my hands by Dani, and I lean down to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thanks.”
“I’ve missed you,” she murmurs, her hand caressing my jaw.
I pull back before she can take it any further. “Yeah. Time to party,” I say.
Maybe five minutes pass, and when a break appears in the crowd around us, I step away from the girls and my feet lead me to Charisma’s side of the room.
Sure, I shouldn’t talk to her. I really shouldn’t, but hell, it’s been three months and I’m over her. She doesn’t have power over me. No one does. I haven’t thought of her since…shit, since right before we walked into this place. I saw her car in the parking lot, and unease mixed with something darker took up residence in my bones. Might as well get it over with and rip the Band-Aid off. I wince. More like wax ripping off my chest hairs.
She watches me approach, her face flat and expressionless before she drops her gaze and looks down at her phone, scrolling. Her grip is tight, fingers white wit
h pressure.
Margo jumps up and throws her arms around me with a big hug.
“Blaze! You guys played amazing,” she says. “I’m so stoked for you!”
I smile and give her man Connor a fist bump. “Thanks. Greatest day of my life when we won.”
I reset my gaze on Charisma.
Pretend like nothing happened between us, I tell myself. Be cool. She’s not anyone important, just a blip on your way to the NFL.
“What’s up, city girl?” My voice is gruffer than I intended.
She tosses her head back and looks up at me. “The sky. Heard you had a good game.”
“Good game?” interjects Conner. “He only set the record for number of touchdowns and yards from scrimmage during the game. You were on fire, Blaze—no pun intended.”
“Thanks, man. I appreciate that.” I smirk. “So you didn’t watch the game?” I ask her, sticking my hand in my pocket. My fingers brush over the secret note I keep tucked in there, hidden away.
“Missed it.”
“Not surprised. We never did have much in common—oh, except for that one thing.”
She flutters long lashes. “You have your entire life to be a jerk. Why not take tonight off?”
I throw my head back and laugh before sobering and leveling my eyes back on her. Damn, she’s funny. I recall an hour-long giggling session we had in the library once about the weirdest dreams we’d ever had. Mine was about cows who took over the world by killing humans with their methane farts. Hers involved golf-ball-headed aliens kidnapping her and sending her back to Earth to become the next female Tiger Woods.
My chest tightens at the memory, and I shove it away from me, stuffing it deep inside my box of Charisma memories.
“Still quick-witted,” I say. “Haven’t seen you around much. You look good.” My gaze holds hers.
I Hate You Page 2