I Hate You

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  I heave out a breath.

  He frowns at me. “That was your shot.”

  I settle the weight back down on the pole. “My shot for what? If they don’t see what I can do on the football field, that’s their loss. I don’t need you trying to get me pity-drafted.”

  I don’t know where the words come from, only that I’m frustrated with myself.

  His face goes red. “I’m just trying to help, dickhead.”

  “I fucked it up. Fine,” I say tightly, anxiety churning inside me.

  Ryker stands there for a moment, shakes his head, and walks off.

  I finish my workout, pissed I didn’t say the right things. I never know what to say, not when it really matters. Give me a room full of fans and I’m the wittiest dude there, but put my future on the line and I hesitate.

  Why do I do that?

  Because deep down, no matter how hard I fight, part of me thinks I’m not worth it, that I’m not good enough to make it.

  Later, Archer is in the locker room with two of the younger defensive players when I come in for a shower.

  He eyeballs me. “Hey, wide receiver, maybe that scout wants to hire you to be Ryker’s water boy in New York.”

  I roll my neck. “He clearly didn’t notice you.”

  He stands from the bench he was sitting on, and his buddies follow. “You trying to piss me off, pretty boy?”

  I turn to him, and he puts his face directly in front of mine, almost nose to nose. I take him in, assessing his height and muscle tone against mine. My hands curl. I can take him. We’ve been picking at each other for months now, and I can only take so much before I blow up. Normally, I’m not a hothead; I keep myself on a tight leash, keeping my goals front and center, but I’m sick of him. Schoolyard fights flash in my head, messy brawls I got tangled up in, usually over a comment about my parents and how they killed the mayor’s daughter. I learned how to use my fists then, how to stick up for myself.

  He slaps his bare chest, where he has a tattoo of five huge stars, his high school recruiting ranking. “Don’t you know who I am? ESPN’s been talking about me since I was a sophomore in high school. Five, boy!” I was barely a three-star high school player.

  I bark out a laugh. “It doesn’t matter what people thought when you were young. They’re looking at what you’ve done lately, and when it comes to you, I’d say not fucking much.” I give him a grin, but inside, my body is ready, coiled and tense.

  He pushes my chest, but I immediately square back up and shove him until he stumbles over the bench behind him.

  “Hold him!” he yells out to his posse as he scrambles to stand.

  Hands grab each of my arms.

  “Fuck that,” I say as I struggle to get out of their grip. I manage to shake one of his minions off and grab the other by the shirt just before Archer punches me in the stomach.

  All the air surges out of my body, and I bend over to catch my breath.

  He’s not stopping and comes right back at me. I duck under his next punch, which was intended for my face.

  “Too slow,” I mutter.

  He swings wide over my head, and I counter with an uppercut directly under his jaw. His head snaps back, his eyes pure evil when he focuses back on me. His leg kicks out at me and hits my shin.

  Pain ricochets through me, and my teeth grit.

  “You trying to injure me where it counts, huh? Asshole,” I call out, rushing him and landing my fist in his stomach like he did to me.

  He gasps and clutches his waist.

  Feeling someone behind me, I swirl around and face his buddies, but they step off.

  “Whoa, whoa, we’re done,” they say, hands up, eyes wide. “Don’t want any trouble.”

  “You better be. That shit isn’t fair,” I bite out.

  Archer has straightened and wipes blood off of his lip.

  “This is over,” I snap, pushing past him. “Let it go.”

  “Not for me.” He grabs my shoulder and slams me into a locker.

  I rub the arm that took the brunt of the impact, and every logical thought in my head, the ones telling me I need to end this, click off. I wrap my hand around the thick gold chain around his neck and yank on it, forcing him to get back up in my face.

  “You want to get me riled up, Archer? You’ve got no clue what I can do to you. It’s a conscious choice every single day to not slam my fist into your face.”

  “What the hell?” shouts Coach Sanders as he bursts into the locker room. He scans the place in a heartbeat. “Are you two crazy?”

  Archer puffs out his chest and shoves my hands off him. “He started it, Coach.”

  “Not true. He threw the first punch, sir,” I say, shaking myself off. I don’t mention his buddies holding my arms.

  His lips press together as he walks farther into the room. He waves his hands at the younger guys. “The rest of you have work to do. Get out of here.”

  He grabs Archer and me by the arm and makes us sit on the bench. Leaning down, he gets in both of our faces. “This is bullshit, boys. Everything matters now. If you two start raining blows down on each other and that news gets back to the scouts, you’re fucked. Teams don’t want troublemakers in their locker rooms, and neither of you are special enough talents to convince them to overlook that. Grow up.” Looking straight at me, he adds, “Frankly, I’m disappointed, especially since so much is on the line.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say, giving him a nod. “You’re right. I apologize.” To him. Not Archer.

  Archer curls his lip. “Yes, sir.”

  Coach says we can go, and when I stand up to leave, my eyes land on Archer’s face.

  His snarl promises retribution.

  Back off, my eyes say. I stalk past him.

  12

  That night, I arrive outside the library and take a deep breath. It’s a clear Mississippi night and the stars are out everywhere. The temps are above freezing, a perfect night for my study not-date with Charisma. I jogged over here with my backpack on, and now I’m wishing I hadn’t because I’m sweating slightly under my hooded tracksuit.

  My heart races. Weird. I’m in the best shape of my life. A short run shouldn’t be a strain, but, hell, I know what’s got me pumping. It’s not my failure to smooze Cedrick or my fight with Archer.

  It’s me and her in the library. Alone.

  With textbooks, I remind myself.

  Still…our first time was here, and I can’t get those images out of my head.

  But that is over and done. Friends. Right, right.

  A few students walk past me to go inside and I shake myself, realizing I’ve been standing here a little too long.

  Pulling out my phone, I take a quick selfie with a nice stoic expression. It’s ridiculous, but I do it anyway. I look the picture over and run my hand through my hair. “Needs just a slight more mess to it,” I mutter.

  I reach down and adjust my snug jogging pants, pushing them down just a little to show more of my hip bones and checking to make sure that if I raise my hands to the right level, both my sweatshirt and T-shirt rise enough to reveal the bottom layers of my six-pack. Yep, there’s a bruise there from Archer’s punch, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.

  Satisfied, I inhale a deep breath and walk into the library.

  Charisma stands just inside the door next to the staircase. “That took you long enough.”

  I feel the flush starting at my neck and rising to my cheeks. Goddamn I’m an idiot. And all this red face shit—she’s the only girl who gets to me like that.

  I spread my arms and do a full circle. “Just wanna be perfect for any fans I might see.”

  “Uh-huh.” Her gaze slides over me like silk, lingering on the hint of abs.

  Mission accomplished. “Were you watching me, city girl?”

  Now it’s her turn to blush. “The extra effort was worth it. That one inch you lowered your pants makes all the difference.” Her gaze drops and she clears her throat. “We better find a table and get s
tarted.”

  I walk toward her, taking her in, the black heels, tight jeans, and a black sweater that fits tight across her tits. Damn, no one wears heels better than her. I’m not saying I have a shoe fetish, but I have a shoe something when it comes to her. Her lips are a deep red tonight, her lashes thick and fluttery, and her dark hair flows down the center of her back. I hide my grin. Whatever she says, she took some care before she met me.

  We walk next to each other up the staircase to the upper level where the study carrels and tables are. I tower over her, her head just below the top of my shoulder. She’s small next to me, and it brings out all my protective instincts. My hand brushes against hers, and she moves it away, curling it up to tuck her textbooks against her chest.

  She picks out a large table near the back. I whip off my backpack and set it on the surface as she takes the seat across from me.

  “You think we’ll be able to hear each other? You know, since you’re a mile away from me?” I point at the chair next to me. “Wouldn’t this seat work better?”

  A shrug comes from her. “This one’s just fine.”

  I mutter under my breath.

  “What did you say?”

  I look up, grin, and cup my mouth. “I said, SHOULD HAVE BROUGHT TWO TIN CANS AND A PIECE OF STRING!”

  Everyone around us stares, giving us dirty looks.

  “Now look what you’ve done,” she hisses. “Next thing you know, the librarian will be up our asses.”

  “Dead Zone’s always free. It’s dark up there and no one’s around. Remember?”

  She throws a pen at me and I dodge it, laughing.

  “Blaze Townsend, you better shut your mouth, get those notes out, and start studying. Focus.”

  Damn. “I like you bossy, as long as you know I’m really in charge.”

  “Weren’t you always?” she grumbles.

  I curve my hand around my ear. “What was that? Did you say I was always in charge?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Yes, you’re the alpha male. Everyone knows it. Girls beg to be with you, and men adore you.”

  “You trying to hurt my feelings? It won’t work,” I say with a grin. “Know why? Cause this place has memories—good ones. I had you begging for it, right upstairs.” I’m teasing, of course, but her face stills, and I backtrack and clear my throat. “Hey, I didn’t mean to say it like that. I don’t want to make you feel weird—”

  She blinks, as if clearing her mind. “Fine. We had sex here and it was awesome. Whatever. Friends, right? We can joke around.”

  I lean back. “Awesome? Good to know. Of course, I thought it was—”

  She holds her hand up and smirks. “You want to pass your classes, right?”

  That knot of worry settles in my chest again, and I sigh. “Yeah.”

  I tap my pen against my notebooks and stare down at the notes. Regardless of what happens with the NFL, I want my degree more than just to get by and have a fallback. I want it because no one in my family has ever had one.

  “Tell you what—I can hunker down for a good stretch if I know I get a prize at the end.”

  Her brow arches and my hands twitch, wondering what it would feel like to have her face close to mine, to trace the lines of her features—

  “A prize? What are you, a toddler?”

  “Just my personality.” I dart my eyes around the room, thinking. “How about once I get my notes copied, you come sit next to me? No funny stuff.” I lean in over the table. “Truth is, it’s cold over here, and I could use the warmth.” I’m on a total roll, and I can’t stop the stupid shit from coming out of my mouth. But, it’s like she’s here, and I…

  “Fine, but…”

  My lips part. I can’t believe she agreed. “Yes?”

  “You have to walk me to my car after we’re done. It’s late already and it creeps me out.”

  My eyes widen. “Of course. You don’t even have to ask. I’d have done that anyway. Isn’t there something else you’d rather me do? Rub your shoulders, maybe? You know, to work out the tension from all that studying?”

  “Nope.” She pops the P and looks back at her notes.

  An hour in and I’m done rewriting notes and reading. My mind is jumping, and I know why. She’s just a few feet away from me, and I’m in Charisma overload. I went three months without a glimpse, and now I can’t stop staring at her. She’s got a little pucker on her lips, and she keeps bouncing her legs under the table like she’s jittery. She’s never jittery. She’s cool and controlled, the exact opposite of me.

  I tap my pen on the table.

  She doesn’t even look up, and I take in her face, the curve of her cheek, the way she chews on her pen. I’m back to her mouth, staring, taking in the way the lower lip is twice as big as the top, giving her a just-kissed look. I imagine her mouth on me—

  “I’m bored.”

  “Uh-huh,” she murmurs. “Ten more minutes. I’m still working on something.”

  Sooner or later, she’s going to let go…she’s going to look at me…she’s going to see the real me. She’s going to see the truth.

  I start at the thought as it enters my head, swallowing thickly. I mean, I’ve shoved everything about her so far down inside me, and most days I think I have it beat, but…damn, I’m losing my mind—

  I stand up and stretch my arms over my head then run in place. A few people look over and I toss up a wave. “Ignore me.”

  Finally she drops her pen and shakes her head at me. “Are you for real?”

  “You act all prim, but I know you’re laughing on the inside. Plus, I legit can’t help myself. Probably just need to get laid.”

  “Indeed.”

  I’m at her side of the table and sitting next to her before I know it. “You didn’t come to me, so I’m coming to you.” I push her notes away. “Let’s talk.”

  “It’s a library. We aren’t supposed to.”

  “Never stopped us before.”

  Her face flushes.

  I exhale and ease closer until our legs are pressed together. Her body stiffens, the way it did in class yesterday when I walked in.

  Shit. I want a redo button.

  “Do you ever think about freshman year?” I ask, rather abruptly, and she darts those brown eyes at me then glances away.

  “In general, sure. Doesn’t everyone at some point?”

  My hands tighten under the table. This is important to me, a memory I never brought up before because something always held me back. Fear? Maybe.

  “Remember the field party that year? Everyone wore togas?” I watch her face, but she keeps it carefully blank. “Mine was blue and I looked amazing. I even had those olive leaves in my hair—Ryker’s idea, not mine.”

  “Don’t recall that. I must have missed that shindig.”

  “Really? Huh. A group of us went in the barn to play spin the bottle, and my turn landed on you.”

  She toys with her phone. “You have me mixed up. All those girls you’ve been with must be running together in your head.”

  “It’s not that many, Charm.” I lean back in the chair, stretching out my legs, feigning nonchalance. I let a few seconds go by. “There’s a legend about those parties freshman year—the first person you kiss is the one you end up with. Did you know that?”

  I watch the pulse in her neck, fascinated by how rapid it is.

  “Fairy tales for frat boys and jocks who want to get laid,” she murmurs.

  “Hmmm.”

  Her eyes tangle with mine. “It wasn’t me.”

  “Right, right. Just some other hottie I kissed.”

  She clears her throat and swiftly changes the topic. “Penelope mentioned the awards dinner next week. She’s already cleaning our house to meet Ryker’s dad. Vampire Bill is freaking out every time she turns on the vacuum.” She pauses. “Are your aunt and uncle coming up?”

  “Nah, they’re too busy.” I keep my face carefully blank. “One of the girls has a play that night.”

  Her head cock
s, a little frown worrying her brow. “Can’t one of them come? Alma is just a few hours away, and it is a national championship.”

  My chest rises, and I look away from her, tapping my pen. I hear the questioning tone she’s using, almost gentle.

  Several seconds go by, and I count the tiles on the floor.

  “Blaze. Look at me.”

  I turn back to her, my eyes showing no emotion. “What?”

  She takes in my face and her lips turn down. “I’m sorry I brought it up. It seems to have ruined your good mood. If you ever want to talk about them or your parents, I’m here.”

  I’m here.

  Something in my chest loosens. “I don’t have that kind of relationship with them. I mean, when I first moved in, I was messed up from my parents dying, but part of me was excited. A real family…” I shrug, trying not to let my emotions show. “I walked into their house and vowed to myself I was going to be the best kid ever. I wrote down this stupid oath thing in my notebook about how I was going to sit still, take out the trash, help with the babies, and work on the farm. I would be the best son ever.” I stare at my pen, not really seeing it. “I don’t think they noticed. The day I came home from high school after signing my acceptance to Waylon, all I saw was relief in their eyes—relief that I would finally be gone and they wouldn’t have to pay for my college.”

  I raise my gaze, and she’s staring at me. I guess she has been this whole time.

  “And look at you now. Do they have any clue what an incredible person you are?” she says softly. I like that she didn’t berate or criticize them. I do care for them. I just don’t think my level of commitment to them was ever returned.

  “You think I’m incredible? In what way?”

  She gets this wistful expression on her face. “You’re hilarious, for one.” She chews on her lip. “I see underneath that too. You’re a layered person, much more than people see.”

  “Like an onion? But with fresh breath?” I laugh, then get distracted thinking about her note. I can’t stop my next words. “I have some Big Red in my backpack if you want a piece.”

  Her lashes flutter. “Probably shouldn’t. It is the library and there are rules.”