I shake my head and bury my face in my hands.
Deep breaths, I tell myself. I need to take deep breaths, or I’m going to commit a felony and go to prison for second-degree murder.
I’m less than a month into this living arrangement, and already I know it’s going to be a long year.
Chapter Two
Carter
Brinmore University—or BU, as it’s fondly referred to—is renowned across the country for three things.
The first is football. BU gives the University of Alabama a run for its money in the sheer number of conference championships and players drafted to the NFL each year. If you don’t play, then you damn well better be a fan, because you’re inundated with football twenty-four seven. Even when we’re not in season, everyone talks about next year’s prospects, which high school players are getting recruited, who’s turning pro, who ended up on the injury list, and who’s coming back.
The second is academics. BU is a top-notch university. One of the best in the country. If you’re able to earn a degree from this school, you have a promising future ahead of you. It’s a well-known fact that BU alumni take care of their own.
And the third is the parties. BU consistently ranks as one of the top five party schools in the country with a huge Greek system. Trust me, the student body takes that honor seriously. There’s always something going on around here. If you want to go out every damn night of the week, you can. But I would strongly advise against it. That’s a good way to get your ass thrown out of school.
Is it any wonder that students flock here for their post-secondary education? BU has the elusive trifecta going on.
Academics, football, and parties.
And not necessarily in that order either.
Even though I was recruited by some of the most elite universities in the United States, it was a foregone conclusion that I would attend BU. It’s right in my own backyard, only a forty-five-minute drive from home. And that was an important requirement. I quickly shove that thought from my head. The last thing I want to think about is home. No need to ruin my mood on a perfectly good Friday night.
Instead, I move through the crowd, searching for Noah. People clap me on the back as I pass by and shout out greetings.
“Looking good in practice, Prescott!”
“Can’t wait for the home opener!”
“Gonna kick some Alabama ass this season!”
Female hands reach out and stroke my arms in open invitation. Sexy, come-hither smiles are aimed in my direction. It’s been like this for as long as I can remember. As soon as I made varsity as a starting tight end freshman year of high school, upper class girls showed interest. Our school won the state championship that year, and suddenly everyone sat up and took notice. After that, I couldn’t go anywhere without being recognized. Offers to select summer camps poured in, and my prospects for Division I college football exploded.
While this level of adoration is nice, it isn’t anything new. Just another perk of being a top athlete at this school. Although I’m not going to lie, it’s a damn fine perk. One I’ve taken advantage of on a regular basis throughout the years. If girls are willing to spread their legs for me, who am I to turn them down?
Under normal circumstances, I’d be busy scoping out the talent with the assuredness that this evening will end with me getting my rocks off.
At least once.
More than likely, twice.
But I don’t think that’s going to be the case tonight. I’ve got one specific girl on my mind. One who shouldn’t occupy space there to begin with. If I had any brains, I’d find a willing female and forget all about my roommate.
I can have any girl I want on this campus.
And, trust me, I have.
Except for one.
Daisy Thompson is strictly off-limits. There’s no getting around that fact. I’m not even going to try.
“Hey, what took you so long?” Being the good friend that he is, Noah offers me a chilled bottle of beer. “I thought you were heading over an hour ago? Tasha and Ava have been looking for you.” He gives me a sly smile because everyone knows those two girls are a package deal.
Been there, done that.
More than a few times.
Usually, that kind of information would pique my interest. But not tonight. There’s not even a twitch south of the border, which only confirms my previous thoughts.
I twist off the cap and take a swig to buy myself some time. “Had something to take care of.”
If he finds my answer evasive, he doesn’t comment on it.
I can’t tell Noah that I was screwing around with his cousin. Figuratively, not literally. That would go over like a ton of bricks. A brick he would then bludgeon me with.
I had a sneaking suspicion that Daisy was meeting up with some clown and I wasn’t wrong. As soon as she stepped out of her room wearing a short skirt and curve-hugging shirt with her hair all beach wavy and makeup perfectly in place, I knew what was going down.
I almost wince.
Yeah, that was so not going to happen.
I made damn sure of it.
She may not appreciate that I did her a solid by getting rid of that loser, but too bad.
I could tell exactly what was going through that guy’s mind. It goes through my head every damn day. You can’t be around Daisy and not have those illicit thoughts circulating through your brain. The girl looks like sin on a stick.
Sorry, dude. Not tonight.
For either of us.
I lift the bottle to my lips again to cover the grin tugging at the corners. By the time I skedaddled from the apartment, I thought Daisy was going to bust a nut. I probably shouldn’t mess with her the way I do, but it’s so damn easy to whip her into a frenzy.
Is it totally perverse to admit that I derive a certain amount of satisfaction from it?
Fine…more like a shit-ton of pleasure. I try not to examine the reasons for that too closely. I’m afraid of the answers I might unearth.
When it comes to his cousin, Noah has a strict no-fraternization policy in place. He’s like a junkyard dog guarding a juicy bone.
And who can blame him?
The girl is gorgeous. She has long, honey-blond hair and bright, blue-green eyes that make my heart thump uncomfortably in my chest every time she glares at me. Which is often. She’s small in stature, only reaching the middle of my chest. I’d peg her to be around five foot three. She’s got curves for miles and her tits are definitely more than a handful.
Not that I’ll ever find out.
Although that doesn’t stop me from whacking off to thoughts of her.
Noah would have my head—both of them—on a platter if he knew that dirty images of his cousin run rampant through my brain. Christ, the mere thought of Daisy is enough to make my dick stiffen up.
I don’t know what I was thinking when I agreed to this living arrangement. Deep down, I knew it was a bad idea as soon as Noah broached the subject last spring. We haven’t been in the apartment for a full month, and already I’ve been treated to her walking around in tiny sleep shorts that are nothing more than glorified panties and thin tank tops that stretch tantalizingly across her full breasts on a near-daily basis.
With those images filling my brain, I grumble under my breath. The need to adjust my junk rears its ugly head.
Noah glances my way. “What’d you say?”
“Huh?” Heat fills my cheeks from being caught thinking about her perfect ass showcased in tiny shorts. Thank fuck the lighting is muted in here. “Oh…nothing.” I take another pull from my bottle, trying to douse the flames within.
Noah surveys the packed, off-campus party. Hell, my guess is that half the university has turned up tonight. Most of the guys from the team are here blowing off steam. The season opener is next weekend and Coach will keep all of us on a shorter leash for the next couple of months.
Most of these students have never picked up a football, but when we bring home a championship
at the end of the season, it’s a win for everyone. Not just the jocks who make up the football team, but every damn person at this university. We win together, and we lose together. And on a Friday night before the season begins, we party together.
Well, maybe not everyone.
Noah elbows me in the side and repeats, “Did Daisy get back before you took off?”
I really need to pull my head out of my ass and get my shit together. “Ummm…yeah, I think she was.”
He takes a slug from his bottle. “And she didn’t want to come with you?”
“Nope.” I clear my throat and think about the remote she tried to bean me with. She’s got a hell of an arm on her, that’s for sure. “From what I could tell, she was turning in and calling it a night.”
“Huh,” he mutters. “Her date must not have gone well.”
“Yeah, I think it turned out to be a bust.” There’s no two ways about it. Total bust. With the help of yours truly, thank you very much. But I keep that part to myself.
Noah shakes his head. “That girl runs through guys like I go through underwear.”
I chuckle.
Even though I nudged this crash-and-burn along, he’s right. Daisy is a serial dater. She has a habit of flitting from one guy to the next like a bee in a field of wildflowers, getting into relationships that fizzle out after a few weeks. It’s amusing to watch from the sidelines. But the last thing I want is to see her get involved in something serious.
That would probably kill me.
I drag a hand over my face, needing to purge thoughts of Daisy Thompson from my brain once and for all. Getting laid would probably do the trick.
For a while.
Luckily, there’s more than enough options at this party for me to choose from.
I make eye contact, flash a smile, and a girl moves in my direction. I don’t realize until it’s too late that she’s a dead ringer for Daisy, with the same hair color and curvy figure.
The semi I’ve been rocking turns into the full-fledged deal just thinking about banging Daisy.
Fuck my life.
Chapter Three
Daisy
“Hi, Aunt Marnie!” I call out while coming through the front door with Noah and Carter hot on my heels.
Noah’s mother, Aunt Marnie, stands at the huge black granite island in the center of the kitchen. She’s wearing a pretty sundress, with her long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. It’s her go-to hairstyle. Easy and low maintenance, just like her.
A warm smile lights up her face as she glances up. “Hey, sweetheart!” With a big wooden spoon in hand, she mixes together a macaroni salad for the Labor Day barbecue she and my uncle are hosting. Everyone in the neighborhood is invited, as well as all of Noah and Carter’s teammates, who turn up en masse.
Since they have a kick-ass in-ground pool, there’s always an abundance of man candy to gawk at. It’s probably one of the only perks to having a cousin who plays in a Division I football program. These guys work out all year long like it’s their job and have the buff bodies to prove it.
Carter bumps into me, muttering something about slowpokes under his breath that makes me bristle in irritation. I’d normally hit back with an equally disparaging remark, but I’m not on speaking terms with him because I’m still pissed that he ruined my date with Logan.
I try not to think about the other night too much because when I do, images of Carter wearing nothing but a pair of tight briefs that hug his sculpted torso dance through my head. It kills me to admit that he has a stunning body. All of his perfectly chiseled muscles pop out in sharp relief whenever he moves.
As someone who’s into art and enjoys drawing, I can totally appreciate his…form.
I shove that thought from my head before I start drooling.
Simply stepping foot into this house is enough to calm my jacked-up nerves. It’s home to me more so than my own ever was. I have so many fond memories of pulling up a stool and pouring my heart out to Aunt Marnie while she prepped dinner at the end of the day. Any problem I was struggling with could always be shared with her.
I’m lucky that Noah’s parents opened their home to me after my parents divorced when I was fourteen years old. It happened during the summer right before freshman year of high school. No one was shocked when my parents decided to call it quits. Everyone who knew them saw it coming like a train collision in slow motion. I think the only reason Mom and Dad hung on for as long as they did was because of me. Divorce sucks, but in some regard, it was a big relief for all of us. There were no more bouts of screaming and yelling interlaced with uncomfortable stretches of silence that lasted for days.
As soon as the decision was made, their marriage came down like a house of cards. Within months, the paperwork was signed, and my dad uprooted his life and took off for Texas. He’s still there seven years later. Only now he’s married, with two kids who are my half-siblings. I’ve only met them a handful of times, so it’s hard to consider them family. The few times I flew out for visits felt awkward, like I was staying with strangers. The last time, I changed my ticket and came back a week early. I haven’t been there since. Every couple of months, Dad and I talk on the phone. Sometimes we’ll shoot texts back and forth, but the closeness we once shared is long gone.
And my mother…I’m not sure how to describe her other than to say that she’s currently on her fourth marriage and galivanting around Europe. Frederique, her husband, has estates across the world, so I never know from one week to the next where they are.
I love my mom, but she’s a bit of a head case. The last time she blew into town, I overheard Uncle Craig mutter under his breath that she was a flake. And that’s putting it nicely. In Lydia Bellamy’s world, husbands are dispensable, and marriage doesn’t last forever.
For two months every summer, I pack up and fly to wherever she’s currently located. Last year was Monte Carlo. The summer before that was London. And it was Tuscany the year before that.
I know…boo hoo, poor me.
It’s not like I can complain. The scenery is always magical, and she takes me shopping, buying me whatever I want. We lunch and fill our days with spa dates. I always come back to school feeling well-rested and pampered.
If our relationship is more superficial than intimate, I try not to let it bother me. When she treats me more like a girlfriend she just met yachting in the South of France and confides details I’d prefer not to know about the men in her life, I let it go in one ear and out the other before it can do any permanent psychological damage.
She’s been with Frederique for two years. I suspect their relationship will reach its expiration date shortly. Even though I really liked husbands number two and three, I don’t bother getting attached. Just when I let my guard down, they’re headed for the door and she’s moving on to greener pastures.
Or men with bigger bank accounts.
It blows my mind that Marnie and Mom are related, let alone sisters. They couldn’t be more different. Unlike my mother, Noah’s mom is down to earth and sensible. She has a Bachelor of Science in Nursing and works in the emergency room at the local hospital. My mother has a degree from a fashion institute and spent a few years employed by a well-known design house before deciding the working life wasn’t for her.
Last summer break, I cajoled Noah into spending two weeks with me in Monte Carlo. After three days with my whirlwind of a mother, he told me flat out that Lydia was—and I quote—“fucking nuts.”
It’s difficult to take issue with that statement because he’s right.
She’s a wackadoodle.
“Hey, Aunt Marn.” Carter’s deep voice resonates throughout the spacious kitchen.
She flashes him an affectionate smile.
Marn.
His pet name for her sets my teeth on edge. It annoys me that Noah’s mom has a soft spot for Carter.
Then again, everything about Carter Prescott annoys the hell out of me.
“She’s not your aunt,” I snap, not
able to block out his irritating presence after his antics the other night. “You are in no way, shape, or form related to these people.” If my aunt weren’t here, I would bare my teeth at him.
See?
This is what Carter does to me. He turns me into a raging bitch. Not only am I pissed at him, but now I’m angry with myself for allowing him to get under my skin.
Surprised by my outburst, my aunt shoots me a sharp, disapproving look. “Daisy, that’s not very nice. Carter is practically family.”
I wince at her tone. The fact that she’s chastising me is embarrassing enough. But doing it in front of Carter makes it even worse and has me simmering while silently plotting his death. Aunt Marnie has a strange affinity for the goon. Personally, I can’t make heads or tails of it.
“He’s Noah’s brother from another mother,” she quips while giving Carter a wink.
“Ewww.” Noah wrinkles his nose. “That’s gross, Mom. Don’t ever say that again.”
I grumble under my breath and avoid looking anywhere in Carter’s vicinity. He’s probably smirking in delight for getting a rise out of me.
The big jerk.
Aunt Marnie knows that Carter and I don’t get along. I’ve groused about him on several occasions. Multiplied by infinity.
Noah and Carter met during football camp before freshman year and have been tight ever since. Even though Noah has skills when it comes to football, he’s not good enough to turn pro. He loves it but doesn’t live and breathe it the way some of the other guys on the team do. Noah has already taken the LSAT and is working on completing his applications for law school.
Carter, on the other hand, lives and breathes football. It’s his passion. His focus. He and I don’t talk about his future, but I hear the gossip floating around campus. Most guys are more than happy to boast about their prospects if they’re heading to the NFL. But Carter isn’t one of them. He’s guarded and private. He doesn’t discuss his family or brag about his post-college plans. I may live with the guy, but I know next to nothing about him. Which is just fine by me.
Love to Hate You Page 2
