“You sure you’re all right? I’m supposed to report any accidents in the store and fill out a form,” says Cashier Girl.
He waves her off. “I’m good. Just didn’t expect…” His words trail off and he glances around as if expecting the older woman to reappear.
“She’s gone,” I say.
“Thank fuck. I need out of this place.” He grabs hold of the bar on the cart and clings to it.
Cashier Girl pulls out a walkie-talkie, never taking her eyes off us. “I better call Steve—that’s my manager. He’d want to know you fell. Just last month a baby opened a jar of strawberry jelly and made the biggest mess. His momma kept yelling that he might be allergic. I had to file a report and everything. Plus, it looks like you opened a beer and drank it. That’s stealing, if you think about it, and we didn’t even check your ID—”
Seriously? I pull a ten out of my purse and push it into her hand. “This is for the beer. Run along—and don’t move my cart. I’ll be back.” I turn toward Blaze. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”
Cashier Girl takes a step forward. “Wait—does this mean he’s not going to sign something for me? I have some paper in my locker!”
Geeze. Is every female alive in love with him? “No, he’s not.”
I grasp his upper arm, even though I think he’s fine, and we head down the aisle just as I hear the girl radioing her manger to let him know two carts were left in aisle 9.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mrs. Wilson getting in line to check out, and I purposely lead him in a different direction.
We walk side by side, my body acutely aware of his, the sound of his breathing, the movement of his legs, the tingle of heat from his hard muscles under my hand. I drop it from his arm. He’s fine, Charisma. He doesn’t need you hanging on him.
The cold wind hits us in the face, and he looks up to get more air as we make our way across the parking lot. He walks to his truck, which is parked just a few rows away from my car.
He stops at his driver’s door, leans back, and tucks his hands in his jeans. Relief is evident on his face. “Thanks for that.”
I nod. I should go, should just leave him be and go back in the store to finish getting my groceries…
“You’re sure you passing out was just a reaction to her? You’re not sick? I—I can give you a ride home?”
What the hell am I saying?
I can’t handle him next to me in my car. Plus, I’d probably offer to walk him up to his dorm. Where we had sex.
He gives me a small smile. “Not sick. I feel better.”
“Tell me who she was. Like you said, we didn’t really do a lot of talking…”
He arches a brow. “I recall you saying, Yes, yes, yes, just like that you handsome, talented sonofabitch.”
I laugh; I can’t help it. “I never said you were handsome. Who was she?”
“Well, damn, if I’d known all I have to do to get your attention is pass out, I would have been falling at your feet all day long.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
“Liar.”
“You’re a liar.”
He stiffens, and tension fills the air. “Never lied to you. Not one time.”
“No, you were brutally honest. Maybe that was worse.”
We stare at each other, and the only sound is the cars zipping past us on the highway out in front of the store.
He gets this faraway expression on his face, and his gaze lowers. “Carry-Anne was seventeen when my dad ran a red light and hit her. She was the perfect little Alma girl, prom queen, sweet as pie, and the mayor and his wife’s pride and joy. My parents, on the other hand, were trailer park trash who lived to get their next fix. Carry-Anne died at the scene. My dad was stoned. That’s pretty much it in a nutshell.”
My eyes flare wide. How did I not know this?
It’s as if he reads my mind. “We never really talked about serious shit when we were together, did we?” He pauses. “Only three people at Waylon know that story: Dillon, Ryker, and now you.”
I shake my head. “I’m so sorry. That must have been awful—for everyone. What happened to your parents?”
“My mom died—thrown from the car. My dad lingered on life support for several days until my uncle pulled the plug.” His mouth twists. “I was ten when it happened, old enough to know everyone in the whole town despised them. They’d both been in and out of jail for one thing or another.” A resigned look settles on his face. “My dad’s brother and his wife raised me.”
“Were they good to you?”
He reaches back, pulls out his wallet, and shows me a picture. “I was eleven here, I think, and had only been with them for a year. The girls were five, two, and one. They’re a mess.” His lips curve up as if he’s thinking of them in particular, and I suck in a breath, afraid he’ll turn that megawatt grin on me.
I stare down at the image he shows me.
It’s a family portrait with him as a skinny boy, tall for his age even then. He’s wearing a baggy blue dress shirt and high-water jeans that show the edge of white socks. Worn out sneakers are on his feet, but it’s his face that gets to me. No smile.
His uncle must be the man with his arms around a petite lady holding two babies in her lap while an older child hugs her leg. The little girls are sweet, their faces round and adorable—but Blaze stands apart from them, just a little. His eyes…they’re squinted with a faraway look, his face flat. His hands are clenched tight against his legs, as if he’s holding himself as still as possible.
I look up at him, my eyes skating over the chiseled face that looks like nothing could ever penetrate the surface. I could say, You look lonely, and if I’d been there, I’d have been your friend, but I don’t. He’s a proud person; I can tell by the hard, set planes of his face right now.
He doesn’t meet my gaze, just stares at the photo. “I know what you’re thinking when you look at it, that I didn’t fit in, and I didn’t, but my aunt and uncle weren’t unkind. They just didn’t expect me to be added to their new family, you know? Plus, they didn’t have much, and there I was…taking up space and eating their food.”
“I see.” He saw himself as a burden.
“The church we attended did one of those free portrait things for our directory. That’s why the background is so crappy. Don’t know why I keep it, but I can’t seem to throw it away. I miss the girls the most.”
I stare at it and chew on my bottom lip, searching for something to say. I recall all the pictures of me and my brothers around the house. There’s even a high school graduation picture of me in our guest bathroom across from the toilet, and no matter how many times I’ve begged Ma and Pop to take it down, insisting no one wants to see me while they poop, they refuse to take down my “shit picture”.
He tucks the photograph back in his wallet.
“Blaze, I—”
He grimaces. “Nah, don’t tell me you’re sorry about how I grew up. If anything, it’s given me my drive. Someday I’ll prove to them and everyone in Alma that I’m not just the product of two losers. I’m going to get out of Mississippi and be someone.”
“I believe you.” Unexpected emotion flies at me, clogging up my throat as I think about him never having a family like I did.
He gives me a look, his gaze drifting over my face for what seems like several seconds. “Thank you for those words.”
“I’ve always known you have the guts to shoot for the stars. It’s plain as day when you take the football field.”
“Didn’t know you came to that many games.”
I shrug. “You know Margo. She wants us there to cheer on the team, rah-rah-ree. I did my duty.”
“Yeah, of course.” A rare, vulnerable expression crosses his face, and I don’t like it. Not one bit.
“‘All great and precious things are lonely,’” I murmur, the words slipping out. “John Steinbeck.”
His face stills, and he gives me a long, lingering l
ook, the air between us thicker, intimate.
“Is that…is that a compliment from the girl who hates me? Are you saying I’m precious?”
Uh…
“You do hate me, right?” His eyes hold mine, those baby blues that make me weak, and even though I don’t want to feel desire for him anymore, it rears its head, my senses lighting up at his smell, at our close proximity—
I back away from him, my feet knowing instinctively that it’s time to go.
“Charisma?”
“I—I have to go.”
“Don’t. We’re talking.”
“I have to. Got to get those rice cakes before someone else does.”
“You don’t want to leave. I know you don’t.”
“You don’t know anything,” I say, my hands tight on my purse. He has no right to ask me to talk to him.
“I know you’ve got walls so thick no one can penetrate them.”
“Yeah, well, so do you, but Charisma Rossi doesn’t need walls. Charisma Rossi is tough as nails.”
“She’s also talking about herself in the third person.” He lets out a small laugh. “Damn, you’re funny.”
His laugh…it makes me sad, reminding me that I won’t be hearing it anymore. “See you around, Blaze.”
I turn my back, and each step feels as if I’m wading through thick mud. I can’t look back. I can’t…
“Charisma.”
His voice is soft, yet it carries to me. “What?” I say, though I keep walking.
“I’m not fucking her.”
The air goes out of me, and I feel lightheaded as I whip back around.
I don’t have to ask who he means.
“I haven’t been with anyone. Not one single girl.”
“So?” My voice is raspy. “Why do I care?”
He studies me, those crystal eyes glittering at every detail of my person. He works his way over my face, lingering for a long time on my lips.
“Maybe I’m wrong, maybe you don’t give a shit, but at least now you know.”
“Why tell me now?”
His eyes hold mine. “I don’t know. What do we have to lose?”
Only the rest of me.
Doesn’t he know I would have kept on with him for as long as he wanted? The worst thing of all is that even after he ended us, I might have taken him back if he’d tried.
How awful is that? To know a guy has power over you, to know he can tear down your defenses so much that you’d take any scrap you could get?
I wanted to be his.
“I’m not your type, remember?”
He never moves his gaze from me. “You were fire in my hands.”
My heart clenches. “Don’t say things like that. You don’t mean them!”
He inhales sharply at my raised voice, and I study his expression, seeing a hesitant look in his eyes as he watches me, as if he’s unsure, as if he wants to say more, but something holds him back—
And doesn’t that remind me.
Something will always hold a guy like him back from me. He’s out of my league. He’s got a big future in front of him, one that includes the NFL and supermodels. It may not be Dani today, but it’ll be another girl soon. Guys like him don’t go around without women all over them.
A horn blares in the distance and I flinch.
“I have to go,” I say quietly, reining in my emotion. He’s part of my past and that means moving on.
“Yeah.” He jams his hands deeper into the pockets of his jeans.
My hands clench around my purse, and I pivot to head into the store. I think I can feel the heat of his stare. My body trembles, pissing me off, and I pick up my pace.
Don’t. Do not look back.
Because if I do, if I let myself talk to him, if I let him back into my world, all the ground I’ve gained over the past three months will crumble beneath my feet.
Remember how he shoved you out of his life without even an explanation?
Keep walking. One step in front of the other.
I have to. I have to. I have to.
9
First day of class, I arrive at Dr. Cartwright’s lecture hall early to get the best seat, which is center and front.
I’m working on setting up my workspace when I hear loud laughter from outside. The doors burst open, and in walk Dillon and Blaze, two peacocks entering a new courtyard. You can almost hear “We Are The Champions” blaring in the background as their theme music. Puffed up and preening, they walk down the center stairs of the lecture hall toward the front row. Everyone in the room goes silent, and I gape as some of the students sitting around me on the front row get up to make room for them.
FTS. I’m not moving.
I’ve been in classes with football guys, and they always do this. They should just walk up and piss on the chalkboard to mark their territory already.
Blaze walks forward, getting perilously close to where I am, and looks for a seat.
“Hey, Blaze. You can sit here,” says the pretty girl who was sitting next to me.
“Thanks. You’re the best. Coach loves for us to be at the front.”
“No biggie.” She pats his shoulder as she walks by, her eyes all over him. “Great game, by the way.”
“Go Wildcats.” He gives her that deadly grin and her face flames when she blushes, her eyes glazing over.
Ugh. He’s a sparkly, sexy unicorn. And everyone wants to ride him.
I put my hand up to block my face but it’s too late; he’s staring directly at me. His brow goes sky high and he plops down in the seat she vacated as Dillon takes the one on the other side. “You keep turning up wherever I go. You stalking me?”
“Fate’s a cruel bitch. We’ve been here almost four years, and this is the first class we’ve had together. Lucky me.” There’s no heat in my words. Last night changed something for us, but I haven’t wanted to think about it. I saw a different side of him, something vast and deep, and my brain is still processing and rolling it around in my head.
The lecture hall has small chairs, and I can’t help but brush up against Blaze’s broad shoulders as he gets settled. Goose bumps pop up on my arm each time it brushes into his.
I nonchalantly ease away from him.
“You got a pen I can borrow?” he asks me, and I turn my head, which has been staring down at my notebook, looking intently at nothing.
I take him in up close. He looks hot AF today, his damp wavy hair brushed back off his face, still wet from a shower, probably.
“Seriously? Aren’t you prepared?”
He pulls a handful of pens out of his backpack. “Just messing with you. I’m uber prepared. I’ve got to ace this class.”
He fiddles with his notebook, getting it situated on his desk just so. He moves it forward and then back, then to the side, then—
“Can you ever sit still?” I laugh nervously. I’m not sure what to say after our convo last night. Have we called a truce? Do I want a truce? Maybe. Regardless of the fact that he hasn’t been with Dani—and why hasn’t he—he didn’t want to continue with me.
“Just, you know, I’m antsy. Always have been.” A pink blush rises on his face. “You never noticed before?”
I did, actually, but we happened so fast and then it was over so I never commented on it. On the football field, I’d noticed how he would always be on his feet, walking up and down the sidelines, slapping other players on the back when he isn’t playing. When I’d see him at Cadillac’s, I saw how he rarely sat down, preferring to pace the room and talk to people. I wonder if being busy keeps his head clear? I wonder…
Dang.
We really didn’t know each other.
“Why are you antsy?”
“Are we about to have a real conversation?” he asks.
“We did last night.”
“Indeed. Did you dream about me?”
And there he goes with the cockiness.
“Nope. I dreamed about cupcakes, lemon ones called Pucker Up. I shoved two in my mouth
and may have had an orgasm.”
“Did you dream about golf-ball-headed aliens too?”
Oh, he went there, the first time we had sex. Memories bombard me of us in the library when we ended up in the Dead Zone, the deserted top floor of the library where no one went. We sat on the floor in the dark between two bookshelves and talked about dreams. Later, using our phones as lights we giggled and stared at drawings of sexual positions in a Kama Sutra book. We studied a particular one, both of us transfixed on the image of a long-haired woman bent over a dining table laden with grapes and fruit as a tall man took her from behind, ecstasy on both their faces as they had sex. “Let me do that to you, Charm,” he said to me in a low voice before he kissed my neck. I nearly levitated off the floor we were sitting on. Here was this guy, so freaking out of my league, but I didn’t hesitate. I whispered my rules to him, and he stared at me for a long time, his chest held so still, studying me as if I was a puzzle he couldn’t figure out. I knew his reputation as a player. I knew we were just friends because our friends were dating, but I held his gaze and unzipped his pants. His hand unbuttoned my shirt, unclasped my bra, and once he flicked his tongue over my nipple piercing, any leftover reservations flew out the window. We didn’t even make it to a table, not that there was one nearby. He put me on my knees, flipped my skirt up, rolled on a condom, and fucked me, my name a litany on his lips. His skilled fingers—Jesus, they knew how to play me. I came so hard I saw stars. I came so hard the second time, he laughed and put his hand over my mouth.
When it was over, we adjusted our clothes, stood up, and just looked at each other. We both wore stupefied, astonished expressions. His hair was mussed from where my hands had tugged. He’d yanked mine out of my ponytail and it was down, sticking to the sweat on my face. I hadn’t planned on having sex with him. I don’t think he had. He was the wrong kind of guy to hook up with. We just happened, like all delicious mistakes do. “We can do that whenever you want,” he finally said, eyes low and heavy, lust still swirling. “Your rules. Call me.” I gave him a jerky nod and bolted out of the Dead Zone, out of the library and into the coolness of the fall air. And shit, I did call him a week later. I got sucked in, knowing he was not my norm. Maybe that was part of the attraction—a guy I’d never give a second look except to admire him in a passing kind of way.
I Hate You Page 7