“Yeah, rules,” I murmur. “Not a fan.”
She looks as if she might say something, but she doesn’t.
I take in that erratic pulse at her throat again.
Everyone fades away as we just…stare.
I glance at her lips. God, that mouth. I want…
Her eyes flicker with something I think is desire, and I inhale sharply as memories surface, of us, of her showing up at my dorm room for our third and final hookup, although I didn’t know that then.
Head high, she’d waltzed into my bedroom like she owned the damn world and kicked the door shut with a red heel. “You want this? Come and get it,” she said, throwing off her black coat and twirling around. Fucking goddess. She was completely naked, her tits big and perfect, her pussy already wet. I know because she told me in delicious detail about driving in her car to get to my dorm, how she couldn’t get me out of her head, how she’d masturbated all week to mental images of me. She had a dirty, dirty mouth, and everything inside me wanted her words, needed them. I stared at her while she stood there and played back the previous time she was in my dorm room when we had sex on the floor with me behind her, a redo of the library, neither of us even able to make it to the bed.
“Afraid, football player?” she asked after I stood there too long, probably with my mouth open. She was the sexiest fucking thing I’d ever seen, all curves and big eyes. She gave me a little smile, brushed a finger over her piercing—and I was gone. I ripped my clothes off, barely got a condom on before I picked her up and pushed her against the wall. I slid inside her all the way to the hilt, shuddering. I recall how her heels dug into my back, the feel of her ass in my hands, that whimpering noise she made when I pulled her hair to the side and bit her neck like an animal then kissed it like a lover.
I fucked her until I couldn’t breathe and my legs shook.
I fucked her until she called my name like a prayer.
I fucked her until she was all I could see.
Until she was all I wanted.
Until I thought I might scream from just the need to make her mine.
Afterward, she picked up her coat, slid it back on, and told me she had to go study. I sat stunned on my bed, spent and shaking, watching her, my heart a sledgehammer as I grappled with the realization that I didn’t want her to go. She ran from the library the first time, and she ran the second time, but this time—this time she hesitated at my door, lingering and looking back at me, as if waiting for me to ask her to stay. With vulnerable eyes, she chewed hard on her lush lips, a questioning look on her face as we stared long and hard at each other, our eyes having a conversation neither of us wanted to put out there. She wanted to stay. She wanted me to ask her to stay and see where it went.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t.
My heart belonged only to me. It had to.
Everyone leaves me. They always do.
And football is first. It has to be. It’s all I’ve had that felt right.
Someone in the library coughs, and I start, scrubbing my face and shoving those memories out of my head.
I jerk to stand. “I need to go.”
She frowns. “Now?”
“Yes. Early class tomorrow.” My words are gruff.
She reads my face, and I imagine what she sees. I’m shutting her out.
I…I can’t be near her anymore. Studying together? What the fuck was I thinking?
We’re over, I repeat in my head for the hundredth time since getting back to Magnolia.
I walk back to my chair, get my things, and put them back in my backpack. We don’t speak as we start back down the stairs. Our hands brush against each other, and I stuff mine deep in my pocket.
We reach the foyer of the library, and two familiar girls lingering at the entrance run up to me.
“Blaze! Oh my God, I haven’t seen you since Cadillac’s,” says one. I recognize her as one of the girls who played beer pong with us. She starts talking, but I’m not even listening, my gaze on the girl walking away.
Charisma hasn’t even stopped. She’s got her head down, and she keeps on marching right out the door of the library without even saying goodbye.
She felt that tension up there; she knows I’m retreating.
I brush them off and jog to catch up with Charisma.
“Hey, I’m walking you to your car,” I say.
“You don’t have to,” she says coolly as we pass the crosswalk to one of the lots. “You can go chat with your fans, get laid. I can’t believe you’ve gone this long. I’m starting to wonder why, in fact.”
I ignore that and keep my longer stride matching her pace until we reach her car at the back in a dimly lit area. She gets it unlocked and turns to face me.
I stare at her, eyes searching hers. She’s got that exposed look again, that bruised one, the one I saw at Cadillac’s. I know I should just walk away right now, but my body isn’t listening to my head.
“You’re upset,” I say after a few moments.
“I’m not. Go back and flash your abs at those girls. See if I care.”
This feels like it’s about more than just the girls in the library.
“I don’t give a shit about those girls. I can read your face, Charisma. If you’ve got something to say, just let it out.” I lean against her car door and cross my legs.
Her mouth tightens. “Fine. You want to know what’s been eating at me since I saw you? Why did you dump me? I thought we…” Her words trail off, her fists at her sides.
A long sigh comes from my chest, and I grimace and look off across the lot, avoiding her eyes. “You were going to cut me loose eventually.”
“Blaze, that’s…not true. I wanted…” She stops. In my peripheral, I watch as she swallows and blinks. “You said I wasn’t your type, goddamn it. You hurt me.”
I close my eyes. I did say that. I rake my hands through my hair and pace around the parking lot. I stop and face her. She is my type, scary smart and hot as hell.
And I’m not worthy of her.
Good girls like her don’t stick around with a guy like me. Sure, I have a talent for football and people tell me I’m handsome, but underneath…
Why would she want me?
“Charm, I’m so sorry I said that. It came out wrong. I bungled it up, and you didn’t deserve that. You are my type, and I think deep down you really know that.” I pause. “I’m not yours.”
“How do you know my type?” she says, her face hard.
“I just do. I’ve seen you, Charm—since freshman year. I know you like them nice and quiet and smart. Chess guys, whatever. That’s not me.”
She shakes her head, as if realigning everything in her mind. “Let me get this straight: what you really meant was that you weren’t my type?” Her words are incredulous, still tinged with hurt.
I nod.
“And that was all it took for you to break it off?” She huffs out a laugh, but there’s no humor there. “We’d just had sex the night before.”
I swallow and start pacing again. “I didn’t intend to do it like that, okay?”
“Then why did you?”
Why? WHY? Because after she left my dorm room, I knew if I didn’t do it at the party, then I never would.
“I…I was worked up from the game, and it just happened. Plus, you…you looked like you’d be okay without me. You had your sorority and friends, and I realized I needed to focus on football. I didn’t want things to get serious between us, and it felt like…like it was going there if I didn’t put a stop to it.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to lay it all out, to try to explain that she had the potential to hurt me, but my mouth won’t say the words.
She dips her head, but before she does, I think I see the shimmer of tears in her eyes, and it makes me freeze. I take a step back. Nah, I can’t go there. I can’t. If she cries, I’m gonna lose it. I’m gonna hold her in my arms and I’m going to try to kiss her and she’ll tell me to stop—
The words are wrenched f
rom her, and she clings to her backpack as if it’s a lifeline. “I didn’t know you were a coward, Blaze.”
My throat is suddenly tight. “Yeah, well, now you do.”
She takes a deep breath and seems to gather herself. “We should have had this conversation months ago, but you plastered Dani to your side. For what? To keep me away from you? Why?”
Unease prickles over me. She’s got me there. She does. I used Dani as a shield, because I knew if I got within one foot of Charisma—
“Tell me how you feel, Charisma. Wasn’t I just a good fuck? Weren’t you just using me?” This feels crucial to me, and I tuck my hands in my pockets to hide my nervousness.
Her head shakes. “Don’t turn this around. It doesn’t matter how I felt. We’re over anyway…right?” She stares at me, waiting for a response, and my chest feels tight.
“Right.” I rub a hand through my hair and hold her gaze. “Charm. I am sorry for how it ended.”
“Yeah. Whatever.” She turns her back to me, gets in her car, and cranks it.
I don’t try to stop her. I’ve pushed myself as far as I can when it comes to talking about this.
She pulls out, and I stand there until she’s gone, her taillights glowing in the dark.
13
“I hope we don’t get caught,” Margo mutters as we slip like ninjas through the stately front door of the Theta mansion on sorority row. It’s bigger than our house, rumored to have at least twenty bedrooms upstairs for upperclassmen. We’ve crashed parties before, and the opulence and over-the-top decor is enough to make me grit my teeth. We aren’t the “rich party girls” the Thetas are, and we’ve accepted it, but Margo is determined to get the latest scoop on our competition. I don’t know why since it’s our last semester, but that’s just her. No one gets the best of her. She’s on a mission, and she’s dragged me and Penelope with her.
Might as well.
It’s the Friday after a long week of classes, and my plan was to watch TV, but after Penelope gave me a rousing pep talk and reminded me we’d be incognito and then proceeded to say, “You never know who you might see,”…well, I jumped at the chance.
Margo adjusts her feathered black masquerade mask with red jewels on the side. Penelope and I do the same. We. Are. Ready.
“If anyone asks, we’re three freshmen, green as a blade of fresh spring grass. Got it?” I say.
Nods come.
“Right on,” Penelope says. “This party will blow.”
We’re dressed in all black, the theme of this fabulous shindig. Margo’s in jeans and an expensive-looking cardigan set—which I told her is a dead giveaway, but she ignored me. Penelope’s in a short leather skirt and a cropped sweater. Her red hair is swirled up in a tight bun, her mask loaded with feathers. She keeps blowing them out of her mouth.
I’m in three-inch strappy black heels, primo cropped leggings—the kind that suck everything up—and a snug gold vest with intricate black embroidery and cloth-covered buttons. With a deep plunging neckline that displays my cleavage, it’s a snazzy little vintage piece that caught my eye at a consignment store in New York. It breaks the “black only” rule a little, but I couldn’t resist it.
“Thanks for helping me spy on their party. Ugh. Why didn’t we think of a cool party for back to school?” Margo complains.
“Madame President, think of our high GPAs. Remember our kickass homecoming gig where everyone in the world showed up, even townies! This party will never top any of ours!” I say.
We do a fist bump. We had a few glasses of pre-party wine back at the house.
I adjust my own mask, which is made of soft velvet and has sparkling faux diamonds in the corners. My hair is slicked back in a high ponytail, the pink strands brushed with temporary brown hair paint Penelope swore would wash out later.
I could be any girl tonight.
There’s a long line of people in the foyer as we ease closer, the Theta standing there checking IDs and handing out wristbands for alcohol.
“Uh-oh,” I say. “ID check.”
“Dammit, how are we going to get past her?” Margo mumbles.
I’m in the middle of them and throw an arm around each of their shoulders. With me in heels and them in flats, I’m almost as tall as they are. “I’m sick and you’re taking me to the bathroom. Remember freshman year and that dance club we wanted to get into—do that, got it? Go with it!”
My head falls down to my chest and I force out a retching sound. It’s loud and gross. I have my brothers to thank for that—I’ve heard them barf plenty of times.
The crowd moves as Margo and Penelope support me, pushing through the people and carrying me straight to the front where ID Girl is at a podium, a little clipboard and earphones in her ear. Shit, they’re miked. Super cool. She’s talking into her headpiece as a guy in a Kappa Sig shirt stands there waiting, annoyance on his face.
“Girls! Get in line with everyone else!” she yells.
Penelope’s words run together. “She needs a restroom stat, please, plus we’re not twenty-one, don’t need a band, ’kay? Gotta go!”
“I’m gonna puke!” I call out in a Southern accent.
“Gross!” someone shouts as I make myself gag. People jerk away, some muttering and pushing closer to the podium to put distance between us.
Headpiece Barbie looks at us and frowns as the Kappa Sig gets a frustrated look on his face and pushes his ID at her.
She tightens her lips and looks down at the long line of people waiting to get in. I feel her gaze on us and push forward, dragging Pen and Margo with me as I mumble, “Move it, girls. Don’t give her time to say no.”
“Just come back when you’re done, and let me check your ID! I’m keeping a tally so we don’t break fire code,” she calls as we make our way down a hallway and then come to a stop a few feet away and out of her sight.
I straighten up and laugh, fixing my hair. “Works every time. It’s like telling a guy you got your period.”
We chuckle as we leave the hallway and walk through the crowded den. Masked people roam everywhere, wall-to-wall students. God. I needed this night out. It’s been three days since the talk with Blaze at the library, yet I can’t get his words out of my head.
Pfft. He said I have walls up, but his are bigger than I ever imagined.
Forget him.
“Let’s check out the bar,” I say, and we brush past co-eds, loud music drifting up to our ears from their party room in the basement. They have a DJ. Margo won’t be happy.
I chance a look, and she’s scowling behind her mask, her eyes bouncing over the black balloons and streamers, the banner on the wall displaying their Greek letters. She curses, her hands clenched.
“Madame President, let it go! Alcohol!” I say with my fist raised. “Let it be so!”
“Fine!” Margo blazes a path for us until we reach the makeshift bar set up on a granite-top island in the spacious kitchen. Shiiiit. They’ve redone their house, and the space is airy and bright with sparkling stainless steel appliances and pretty white cabinets.
The bartender, a handsome fellow in a Theta shirt—boyfriend to some collegian, I assume—leans in.
“I need to see your bands if you want a drink.”
Margo pouts. “We lost them.”
“True story,” Penelope adds. “Some girl grabbed all three when we were in the restroom. You know how those underage kids are.” She makes a tsking noise and shakes her head.
“Uh-huh.” He arches a brow. “Move along now. Go back and get some new ones.”
I push them aside and look up at him. I know him from one of my design classes, Theo something.
“Look, Theo, we have an upper level design class together with Mrs. Owens. She’s a real ballbuster, right? I still haven’t done that website design she wants us to do.” I give him a big smile, my red lips curving up. Tonight the color is Red Hot. “Please, have some sympathy for us. Besides, it was nerdy Chi-Os who stole our bracelets. They’re probably drinking a
ll your good alcohol right now. Bitches.”
Margo elbows me.
He grins. “I ain’t got a thing against Chi-Os. Sorry, can’t serve you.”
I lean down farther until my cleavage is more visible. “Sure, but come on, you know me. I’m of age. You even got an A on that last font project. Sharp and original. I dig your use of bold color. I want to be like you.”
He cocks his head. “Yeah, that was a good one.”
“Spectacular! Give us some drinks…please.” I smile.
His gaze brushes over my face and lingers on my breasts before coming back up. “Ah, I don’t know. You’re pretty, though. Wish I could.”
“Aw, you think I’m pretty? You’re so sweet. Who’s your girlfriend?” Cause we both know you’ve got one, buddy. I keep my smile on. I’ve played this game before—show cleavage, flirt, get what you want.
He mumbles her name, but I don’t know it.
“I know her! I’m going to tell her how awesome you are—and that you said I was pretty, maybe how you looked at my tits.”
His face reddens.
I smile. “Don’t be mad. Now, how about those drinks?”
“Uh, sure, I guess it’s okay. What do you want?”
“You’re the best, Theo,” I say brightly as I shove a few dollars in his tip jar. Drinks are free, but I feel bad about manipulating him. Sometimes a girl just has to do what it takes.
We all three ask for two tequilas each and then shoot one back. I wince. Not top shelf, but it gets the job done.
“Beer, please,” comes a deep voice behind me, and I pause mid-sip on the second one. I’d know him anywhere, that husky gold and gray sound and the heat from his skin. He’s close, just inches away.
Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around.
It’s been a tense week after our study session. I won’t be making that mistake again.
He came into class the next day a little cool. I caught him giving me long glances, and part of me—the stupid side—wanted to talk to him more, see if I could get more out of him, but he got up and left as soon as class was over.
After he gets his beer and steps back a few feet, I let out a sigh of relief.
I Hate You Page 11