I Hate You: an enemies-to-lovers standalone Page 3

  “Still quick-witted,” I say. “Haven’t seen you around much. You look good.” My gaze holds hers.

  “You gonna ask me about the weather next?” She cocks her hip.

  “I’m just being pleasant. Am I annoying you?”

  “Annoyance would imply I care.”

  My teeth grit when my eyes betray me and land on her tits. Her curves are insanely lush, full hips and breasts, a Marilyn Monroe type. “You’re soaked. Planning on entering a wet dress contest?”

  “As if. One of your fans spilled a beer on me,” she says just as Dani appears, her smell arriving first, a floral perfume, sweet and thick.

  “Blaze! Thought I lost you. Hey, guys, so glad you came out to celebrate,” she gushes at the group, her hand curving around my bicep.

  Charisma’s eyes watch Dani. “Yes, you did find him. A plus. He’s all yours.”

  There are a few moments of tense silence as we all look at each other. Margo and Connor have wide eyes on us, and even the guys in the back seem to be waiting for something to happen. One of them keeps giving Charisma a sheepish grin, a clear look of appreciation on his face. Heat rises inside me. He’s right up her alley: nice, subdued, smart…malleable. Everything I’m not.

  “Aw, thanks, honey. What’s your name?” Dani says as she gives Charisma a quick, assessing look, sizing her up.

  “Charisma. No ‘i’ on the end, in case you were wondering.” Her elegant brows arch. “My friends call me Charm. You don’t have to.”

  “Lovely name with just a touch of tacky. Very hipster.” Dani scrunches up her pretty face.

  I watch Charisma—you never know what she might do—but there’s no discernible reaction to Dani except a slight curl of those pink lips.

  Charisma grabs a glass off the table and raises it. “To tacky names, Blaze’s included,” she says dryly.

  Touché.

  I lift my own glass. “My mom was stoned when she picked mine. She said the world was ‘ablaze’ when I came out.”

  “I had my pop’s eyes, and that’s why Ma gave me mine. He’s one charismatic guy,” Charisma mutters before tossing back her drink.

  “Both of you have lovely names,” says Margo, her eyes bouncing between us.

  “At least it’s not Dimpleshitz,” Connor adds, and everyone laughs—everyone except for Charisma and me.

  I stare at her. Fuck, I can’t help it. My hands twitch at my sides and the muscles in my jaw tighten while her face is void of emotion, carefully blank, her eyes leveled at some point across my shoulder.

  How can she keep her cool when she hasn’t seen me in months?

  She’s ice. Subzero. Antarctica in a wet dress.

  She hates you.

  Dani clears her throat. “They cleared a big table for us, Blazey. Let’s do some shots.” She attempts to tug me away from the group.

  I don’t budge.

  “You guys wanna join us?” My gaze sweeps over them, lingering on Charisma.

  “No,” she says coolly.

  Margo and Connor say they’re in and the chess guys look semi-interested, except for the one who keeps giving Charisma Hey, wanna play with my knight later glances.

  Whatever.

  I should walk away, but I want a reaction from her, and I don’t even know why.

  I lean into her space, pulling Dani along with me. “Sure, babe? The owner said all drinks are free for us.”

  She gives me a long, slow blink. “I have better things to do…better people to associate with.”

  Margo gasps, but really, she should know Charisma says whatever the hell she wants, which is part of what attracted me to her—her spirit and fire.

  “Better people, huh? Like who?” Is she seeing someone? I throw a look around at the guys with Connor, and they visibly shrink back.

  “Like…it’s none of your business, football player. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She snatches her coat off the back of a chair and throws it over her arm.

  I take a step closer, blocking her path, and her scent hits me, fresh and clean with a hint of peppermint. You’d think such a regular smell wouldn’t get my dick hard, but it does.

  I stare down at her. “Just one drink?” Shit. What is wrong with me?

  Dani laughs, the sound a little forced as she caresses the inside of my bicep. “Some people just aren’t in the party mood, right? Come on, let’s go, Blazey.”

  “Not yet,” I say firmly.

  Charisma’s mouth tightens. Some of her control is slipping, and part of me is glad. Because standing here close to her…it feels like I’m winded, and I want her to feel the same.

  There’s a slight tic under her right eye and her hands are tense and balled up, one at her side and one holding on to that coat. She blinks rapidly and glances away from us, chewing on those full lips, working the bottom one with her top teeth as she answers my question. “Sorry, no more drinks for me. I need to run. Sheldon, Leonard, Howard, and Raj won’t wait forever.” Her voice has an ever-so-slight quiver around the edges.

  “Who are they?” Dani asks, her expression bored.

  “Big Bang Theory,” I tell her, still looking at Charisma even though she won’t return the favor. “Popular TV show.”

  “Never heard of it,” Dani says. “Sounds lame.”

  “The characters are hilarious, smart people. You wouldn’t enjoy it,” Charisma says, her expression tight as she stares at Dani’s hand on my arm.

  Her eyes finally lift to mine, and she seems to take a deep breath. “Congrats on the win. I mean that. I know it was…everything you wanted.” She looks at Dani and then back at me. “I’m happy for you.”

  Oh.

  She’s being nice. She’s…over me.

  I frown, feeling off balance, but I rein it in. Good. Good. This is how it should be.

  I open my mouth to say something—I don’t know what—but she’s already walking away, her heart-shaped ass sashaying to the door. My hands tighten when I see the appreciative looks she gets from guys around the room. I’m not surprised. She has this are-you-brave-enough-to-handle-me attitude that makes you want to tame her.

  I hadn’t been up for it, not with football hanging over my head.

  Before she walks out, she pauses at the door and partially turns to look back at me.

  But this time…

  Her face is completely unguarded, anger and hurt and vulnerability there, as if she didn’t think I’d be watching.

  Her face is like a bullet to my chest.

  You dumped her. You went on with your life.

  So why did everything about that night make me so angry?

  Coach says I played the best game of my career after that party. He suggested I needed a full-time assistant just to call me ugly before games so I would play pissed off all the time. The memory of that night resurfaces, sneaking into my head and throwing images at me. Us dancing…my body pressed against hers…and then the words I pushed out of me with force, words that saved me from falling into a deep hole with her.

  She opens the door and walks out.

  End of. Done. We are over. I don’t want to be near her again.

  So why does my chest…

  I’m still looking at the door when Candi, Dani’s sorority sister and lookalike, joins us. I feel like I’m being squeezed by two beach balls as the girls latch onto my arms and pull me back to our table.

  4

  At the table, Dillon is recounting to everyone the only big play he was part of during the game where we ran a fake kick in the first quarter and he threw me a touchdown pass. “…and then out of nowhere Blaze rises up and catches the ball with one hand. He cradled it like a little baby and landed on his back. I thought my pass was intercepted for sure, but he bailed me out!” He raises his glass. “To Blaze! A Wildcat legend!”

  Yeah, right—but what’s next? A tingle of dread goes down my spine. If the NFL doesn’t work, I’ll probably just end up selling cars like I do in the summer to earn extra money.

  “Lighten up, man!” Dillon says as he claps me on the back. “Lose that frown and let’s celebrate.”

  Right, right.

  “Maybe he just knows deep down that he didn’t have anything to do with our big win,” adds Archer with his Cajun drawl. “Defense won that game. Then you pretty boys get all the glory. Please.”

  I swivel my head and take him in. Tall and lean with a sleeve of tattoos up his arm and short Billy Idol bleached hair, he thinks he’s the best thing on our team. Pompous dickhead.

  I just grin because he hates it. “Poor Archer. Your feelings hurt by all the attention the offense gets?”

  His lips curl. “Fuck you, Townsend. You may have made some big plays, but who really cares? NFL scouts don’t.”

  “No arguing tonight,” Dillon says subtly as he slides between us and squeezes my shoulder.

  “Later, assholes.” Archer laughs and heads off to another table of defensive players and a few jersey chasers.

  I shake off the comment, determined to not let Archer ruin the win for me by bringing up my lack of media coverage. We haven’t gotten along since last year when he was a little too aggressive with Ryker, our first-string quarterback and one of my roommates. Sure, that all turned out fine, but there’s a thick line drawn between us. We may play on the same team, but both of us are fighting to get into the NFL now. So far, he’s winning.

  Later, after we’ve played several games of beer pong, the crowd has thinned and the party breaks apart. Margo and Connor leave, and Dillon heads out with a brunette tucked up next to him. He drove me here, but I don’t want to block his game. I can always find a way home.

  I stand to leave and weave on my feet just a tiny bit. Truth is, it’s mostly exhaustion fueled by a few beers. I’m not trashed. I don’t get trashed, not when
there’s so much at stake with football.

  “I’ll give you a ride home,” Dani says. Her eyes are sweet and imploring, and I wince. I like her, I really do, but…

  “I’ll call an Uber.”

  “We’ll both get you home and safely in bed,” adds Candi with a crafty smile as she and Dani exchange knowing glances.

  A couple of the guys overhear and again raise their glasses.

  “BLAZE! A Waylon legend in more ways than one.”

  “Whatever.” I say it with a wide grin, but inside, something else is pricking at me—and I know exactly what it is. My head is still on Charisma’s face when she walked out the door, that bruised expression…

  I was fine, totally fucking fine, until I saw her.

  Outside, the cold wind slaps my face. Dani leads me to her little BMW, and I get in the passenger seat while Candi gets in the back. The car ride is quick, the girls giggling about how excited they are for a new semester and all the plans they have.

  I keep quiet and stare out the window. I don’t know what my plans are. My life is on hold until April when the NFL draft happens, and if that doesn’t work out—shit, I don’t want to even think about it.

  Inevitably, my thoughts drift to Charisma. What’s she doing now? Is she watching Big Bang Theory? She left Cadillac’s alone, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have some guy over. My hands tighten in my lap. She’s probably fucking him right now, and afterward, she’ll be ready for him to leave. Her and those rules.

  “Thanks, girls,” I say later when they’ve walked me up three flights of stairs. “You really are sweet to get me to my door.” I work the key.

  “Need some help with that?” Dani scoots in close to me, her tits brushing against my back.

  “Nah. Hey, did you know locks for doors were invented in Ancient Rome to create privacy in brothels? Think about it—if they’d put socks on the doorknobs, we might still live in a world without locks. Of course, they all wore sandals, so duh, locks came before socks.” I chuckle at my randomness but just get blank looks in return. Tough crowd. No one gets my sense of humor.

  Charisma did.

  I sigh internally.

  Don’t go there.

  They follow me in, and I face them in the small kitchenette of the apartment-style dorm I share with Dillon and Ryker. It’s a nice space with a den and three bedrooms. Unfortunately, it smells like old fajitas and feet.

  I give them a level look. “All right, ladies, I’m not interested in a ménage-a-jersey-chaser tonight. I need rest. I do appreciate the ride.”

  “You sure?” says Dani, her eyes gleaming. “We don’t mind sharing, you know.”

  I avoid the topic and open the fridge to grab a Gatorade. “Positive.”

  “What about a massage?” Candi asks, giving me a lingering look.

  I shake my head. “The trainers will take care of that tomorrow.”

  “What if you watch us?” Dani asks, edging closer to me. She pulls Candi along with her, lacing their hands together. “Then we work on you, whatever you want…” Her voice trails off, a hungry look in her gaze.

  I rub the back of my neck and stare at the floor. “Tempting, so tempting. Maybe next time, girls.” I guzzle down my drink as they whisper back and forth, probably plotting how to change my mind. I can’t make out what they’re saying and don’t try to. My mind is scattered in too many directions.

  All at once, I feel utterly exhausted, beat down. My bruises from the game are still healing, and all I can think about is crawling into my bed. Murmuring a final goodnight, I head down the hall to my bedroom. Just as I get my shirt off, I hear the front door slam. Dani’s disappointed, no doubt.

  I take my jeans off, pull the small Ziplock bag out of one of the front pockets, and set it on my nightstand. I stare down at the small piece of paper inside, a note written on the back of a silver Big Red gum wrapper. It’s carefully folded into a square, the corners nice and sharp. I contemplate unfolding it and reading it, but in the end, I can’t.

  A sigh of relief hits me as I crawl under the covers. The ceiling fan whirls over my head, and there’s enough light coming in from the window to watch it spin. I like it on even in the winter, gives me something to focus on as I try to tamp down the thoughts in my head.

  Yet…

  I keep circling back and worrying about football and classes.

  I turn over and beat my pillow as emptiness creeps in. I don’t normally let dark feelings invade my thoughts, but I can’t let go of the fact that not one fucking person came to see me play my big game. Aunt Lorraine and Uncle Jack, the people who raised me since I was ten, weren’t there, even though I left tickets for them at the gate. Sure, I get that they’re busy and it’s hard to travel, but still, they haven’t shown up for any of my games, even the home ones. It’s as if I went away to college and became a distant memory for them.

  And Charisma? My hands reach up and scrub my face. She didn’t even watch on TV.

  I close my eyes and pray for sleep.

  A Wildcat legend indeed.

  I’m eight years old and walking down the candy aisle of the Exxon gas station, my hands holding a Snickers bar and a bag of Cheetos. My stomach rumbles, already imagining devouring them. I haven’t eaten today. Mama likes Fritos, so I grab those. Daddy likes Twix, so I balance that on top of the pile. Drinks, we need drinks. I head to the soda aisle. I’m feeling overwhelmed by the variety when the bell goes off inside the busy store, signaling someone entering or leaving. Instinctively, my head turns to the door as my parents walk out, both of them weaving. Mama stumbles over the curb outside and laughs, her eyes overly bright as she looks up at him. “You overdid it.” I heard Daddy tease her earlier. I know what that means. It means she’ll get that vacant look on her face and stare off into space. Daddy just grins and hooks his arm through hers then leads her to our car, an old white Volvo with a dent on the front fender. I dash back to the candy aisle and put everything back, but by the time I reach the front door, they’re pulling away, a cloud of smoke following the beat-up car. My heart drops and fear slides down my spine. No, no, no! I’m sorry I took too long in the restroom! I’m sorry I talked too much in the car! I’m sorry I can’t sit still! “Wait for me!” I scream as I run outside—

  I snap awake in the dark and sit straight up in the bed, stomach in knots. I…I haven’t dreamed about my parents in forever, always able to push those memories away when I need to. I heave in a big breath and stand up, my mind lingering in the past. I recall the gas station incident with absolute clarity, down to the pimply-faced employee who found me hiding in the restroom hours later. He held a toilet scrubber in his hands, and I had packages of eaten food littered around me. I wiped my tears, stood up, and faced him, trying to be brave, terrified he was going to arrest me. I’d never stolen anything, and it had been easier to do than I’d thought it would be. He asked for my parents’ cell and had all kinds of questions, but I didn’t know their number, plus I knew to keep my mouth shut. Once I told a teacher I didn’t have my field trip permission form signed because my parents hadn’t been home the night before, and that turned into a visit from a stern-faced social services lady who sat in our trailer with a clipboard and asked if I was okay.

  No, I wasn’t okay.

  I fucking wasn’t.

  But I didn’t even know it then, didn’t know my family was screwed up.

  How was a kid supposed to know what normal was when he’d never seen it?

  Somewhere down the road, though, my drugged-out parents remembered me and rolled back into the parking lot. I recall Mama running inside the store and plucking me from behind the counter where I was sitting. She hugged me tight and swore she’d never leave me again.

  But she did. They both did.

  After I’ve showered, I bring up ESPN’s draft page online to see if they’re mentioning me at all. Disappointment hits hard when I see I’m still listed as only a possible late-round or free-agent pickup. I need to be first or second round. I need reporters talking me up.

  I shut the laptop, grab a protein bar, and head to the athletic center to work out.

  What the hell does ESPN know anyway?

  The facility is deserted since most guys are still recovering from the game or nursing a hangover from last night. Not me. After spending half an hour lifting, I jump on the treadmill and pound my shoes on the rubber, hoping to get ten miles in.