I Hate You

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  He smiles down at her and then his eyes move up and find me.

  His freezes and runs his gaze from me to Mike, his face expressionless. He takes in the table, lingering on the shot glasses, then on my date. His lips go flat.

  His date takes his arm and pulls him down to the seat.

  He keeps his gaze on me for a long time. I glare back.

  “Shit, Charisma, who is that?” It’s Mike speaking, and I tear my eyes off of Blaze and look at him.

  I clear my throat. “Blaze Townsend.”

  His eyes flare. “That’s your ex, isn’t it? The most popular guy on campus?”

  “Not technically an ex, and there are others more popular.” Not really.

  “He’s seething. Something really serious happened between you and him, am I right?” He leans in closer. “You want to get out of here?”

  I think about it. It would be the prudent thing, but when do I ever make the right decision? “No. Maybe I…need to see this.”

  “You sure? I don’t like the way he’s looking at me.”

  “Trust me, he doesn’t care—or if he does, he’s never said so.”

  He said I want you.

  Mike thinks, his gaze bouncing from me to Blaze. “Some guys aren’t much for pretty words, but their eyes tell the story. His are…scary.”

  Maybe.

  The waitress shows up with our refills, and once it’s in my glass, I suck it down.

  21

  The Purple Iris is packed when we walk in and make our way to a booth.

  “I love this place! Great idea,” she says, looking up at me with deep blue eyes.

  Not my idea. “Yeah,” I say as we take in the open seats.

  She squeezes my arm. “I heard the band tonight is great.”

  “Yeah.”

  She nods and bats her lashes. She’s Dillon’s cousin, and he’s been begging me to be nice to her and give her a chance. “You’re grade A prime beef and you’re moping around the dorm. It’s fucking embarrassing. You’re in the Combine. If you don’t have her, ride a new pony!” He might have used the phrase pussy-whipped.

  I’ve been ignoring his nagging, but today after classes and my workout, his cousin showed up at the dorm and Dillon begged me to double up with him and his girl—and why the hell not?

  She asked for space, I remind myself.

  I opened myself up in class, and Charisma acted like it wasn’t a big deal, almost like I was a nuisance, and trust me, I’ve felt like that plenty of times in my life growing up. I don’t want to go there again.

  Doesn’t she know I don’t say those kinds of things to any girl?

  Still, I don’t want to be here. I shouldn’t have come.

  I spot a booth and we move through the crowd. Voices call my name and people wave. A couple of players invite us to sit at their big table in the front, but I tell them we’re hanging with Dillon and his girl when they show up.

  My stomach jumps when I see Charisma at a booth. The girl next to me is talking nonstop, but I’m not hearing a word she’s saying.

  She’s…she’s with someone. My hands clench and press against my legs as I take them in, the glasses on their table, the way he’s leaning in over her, his arm around her shoulder.

  Yeah, it’s like that then. Space.

  Yet, here I am with someone.

  What right do I have?

  But those are logical thoughts, and right now, logic is way out of reach, stupidity inching in. I want to go over there and pull her out of that booth. My hands curl—

  “…which side of the booth do you want?”

  I look down at the redhead and blink. What’s her name? Melody…Melanie? I shake my head then nod when I realize that’s the wrong response.

  “Uh, wherever, yeah, great.” Only when I slide in, my view is of her.

  My hand goes in my pocket and I touch the note there.

  The one I can’t bring myself to ask her about.

  My date leans into me, and I look down at her. How the hell am I supposed to get through this date when I don’t even remember her name?

  We order a round of drinks as the band picks up, a ragtag but talented group of students from Waylon who mostly do old rock cover songs.

  M is on her second beer when Dillon and his girl, a brunette, join us. I don’t know her name either, but I’m glad for the distraction.

  “How’s it going?” he asks me when the girls pull out their phones to take selfies.

  “What’s her name? Your cousin?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Fuck you, man. That’s my family and you don’t even know her name?” He studies my face, and whatever he sees makes him frown. “Dude, it’s Mary—easiest name in the world.”

  “Does it end with an “I”, like M-E-R-R-I? Because I’m starting to see a trend lately.”

  He smirks. “Nah. Just regular Mary.”

  I nod.

  His eyes skate over the room, linger for a moment in one spot, then come back to me. “Now I know the problem. Your ex is here.”

  “Not my ex.”

  “Okay, your former hookup who’s also in our class, also known as the ‘hot piece who turned me down sophomore year’.”

  “Fuck you.”

  He takes a sip of his beer. “See. That explains the mood.”

  “I’m fine,” I snap.

  He studies me. “Tonight, you’re not gonna think about her or anything. You’re gonna drink some beer and have fun. You feel me?”

  The band takes a quick break, and Dillon gets up to go talk to them. They look at me a few times until I finally raise my beer and toast them.

  Dillon waves for me to join, and I finish up the beer and head that way—anything to move around and get her out of my line of sight.

  “You wanna sing tonight?” Dillon asks. “The band is asking.”

  “Nope, not feeling it.” I have a few times over the years, mostly when I’ve had too much to drink and someone prods me until I give in and do it.

  Mary has joined us. “Oh, please, Blaze! Dillon is always talking about how great you are.”

  I shrug. “I’m not that good. I just know how to carry a tune.”

  Dillon shakes his head. “Liar.”

  The band guy speaks. “You know any eighties songs?”

  My eyes go over to Charisma. “A few.”

  “What instrument do you prefer? I’ve got a little bit of everything. Piano, guitar, drums…” he asks.

  She’s not watching me, instead looking at her date, their heads bent low. I watch him touch her hand—

  “I can play them all, but I’d rather just sing. What song you want? I know the words to a shit ton.” Thanks, ADHD.

  We run through some options, talking over Skid Row, Guns N’ Roses, and Poison, but nothing strikes me.

  Then it hits me, and I suggest a song that’s been burning inside me for three damn days. Images of her play out in my head, that short skirt, her heels.

  “Can you sing it like he can?” Carson, the lead singer, asks with excitement. He’s a tall, skinny guy wearing a Metallica shirt.

  I bark out a laugh. “I’m rusty, and it might sound shitty, but…”

  He grins. “Doesn’t matter. It’s the whole package they’ll see.”

  Whatever. I just want to sing those words to her, get them off my chest.

  Dillon rolls his eyes. “Dude, your voice is butter. You’ll nail it.”

  I look back at Charisma, and part of me—okay, all of me—wants her to be watching me, wants her to want me so bad she can’t stop looking.

  Mary hands me another beer, and I take a long sip.

  Fuck it.

  I don’t need her.

  All I need is this…the crowd going nuts when I take that stage. They care. They don’t need space.

  “All right. Let’s do this.”

  Dillon dances a little jig, and Mary claps her hands then throws her arms around my neck for a hug.

  The band wraps up their break and takes the stage. I f
ollow them.

  22

  “Your not-ex is on stage.”

  I start at his statement, having been deep in thought, and turn to watch as Blaze walks across the wooden floor then hangs a little ways back from the lead singer. Cheers and applause go up, and several people call out his name from the football table near the front.

  One of the guys from the band grabs the mic. “All right, guys, we’ve got a special treat for you tonight. He needs no introduction, but please welcome Blaze Townsend, one of the football players who just brought us home a national championship!”

  More whoops and applause.

  “Sing it, Blaze,” comes from the girl he’s with.

  I swallow down another sip of wine. I’m not sure I can sit through this. I’ve heard him sing; it made me cry.

  He stalks up to the mic, raises his hand, and waves Miss America style. The crowd goes nuts.

  “Ah, thanks y’all. That was a fine welcome. You’re a good group.”

  “We love you!” shouts a girl at a table up front.

  Mike arches a brow at me. “Last chance to get out of here.”

  But I don’t respond, my body linked to the man on stage. I study his face, taking in how easy he is on stage. Somewhere, he’s going to be big, and I wish he could see what I see when I look at him: beautiful man, talented in so many ways…and a coward when it comes to us.

  Blaze looks out over the crowd. “This song’s a classic, and I hope I do it justice. I’d like to dedicate this song to…” He clears his throat, then continues. “Doesn’t matter. If I suck, just focus on the guys in the back, especially bass and drums, because they’re great.”

  “You won’t suck!” declares his date.

  He tosses a look back at the guys and the one on bass guitar kicks in, the sound and tune immediately recognizable. The drummer keeps the intense beat.

  I shiver when Blaze sings the first line to “With or Without You”. His gruff voice fits and grabs me, not letting go. It’s low and yearning, giving me goose bumps. He closes his eyes and cups the mic when the guitar sneaks in a quick solo. His head beats with the tune and then he comes back, his voice tearing up my heart, ripping it apart.

  That song is mine, and he’s taking it.

  Does he feel that way about me? Like the lyrics? Does he feel as if he’s waiting on me? Does he think he can’t live with or without me? Maybe. I’m too exhausted from us to dwell on it, and I suck in a deep cleansing breath, trying to separate myself from the words of the chorus, but my eyes are damp.

  He ends the song and looks back at the crowd. He sweeps his gaze across the space and his eyes land on me, linger for a long moment, then move on. “Now don’t ask me to sing another one, because I don’t want to steal the band’s thunder tonight. Thanks, guys.”

  The applause is deafening.

  He walks off stage, and Dillon gives him a chest bump.

  His date throws her arms around him and kisses him on the cheek.

  I want to rip her hair out.

  “Man knows how to make an exit—and sing, and play football. Color me impressed. Is there anything he can’t do?”

  “No,” I mumble.

  Mike gives me a long glance and frowns. “We can go, Charisma.” He pauses. “Or, if you want to talk to him, I can go and you can stay? I’m cool.”

  “Mike…you’re the nicest guy I’ve met in a long time, but I’m fine.” I push out a smile.

  I watch Blaze grab another beer from a passing waitress and chug it down. He doesn’t even look in my direction.

  “I just need to go to the restroom. Give me a few,” I tell him then grab my purse and get up.

  There’s a long line for the ladies’, but I wait, keeping my face averted every time a tall man walks past to get to the men’s. Finally, it’s my turn, and I walk in and shut the door. You’d think they’d have more restrooms, and clearly they need to modernize.

  I stand at the sink and stare at my face. I look blindsided. I’ve had several drinks, but I feel sober as a priest. I end up turning the cold water on and splashing it in my face. Fuck makeup. I’m done with this night. Mike is right—I need to get out of here. If he gets up there and sings another song, I’ll lose it.

  I leave and let the next girl in then make my way through the hallway.

  And there he is.

  His back is leaned against the wall, arms are crossed.

  He’s not in line; he’s waiting on me.

  Electric blue eyes pin me and don’t let go.

  I straighten my shoulders and walk his way, stop in front of him.

  I’m acutely aware that there are people all around us, but I tune them out and focus on him.

  His face is made of stone, and except for that hand-tapping, you’d think he was perfectly relaxed.

  I’m under his skin; otherwise why push me away so hard?

  But I need more than him just wanting me; I need him to be in this as deep as I am. I need him to feel as empty as I do when he’s not around, to ache and want to spend every moment with me.

  I love him. Those feelings started freshman year when we kissed, and no matter how much I try to ignore how I felt, it only escalated when we spent time together last fall.

  Love hurts; I know it does. Love is opening yourself up like a book, letting someone see your secrets with every paragraph and page exposed, knowing that the person you’re showing it to can walk away at any minute. And maybe he will.

  Love only works if you try, if you take a chance.

  What if…what if I don’t care if all he can say is I want you?

  I let that idea linger, settle, and take hold.

  My chest hitches as we stare at each other. I think about those songs he sang to me in my room, the song he sang tonight.

  If he’s been waiting for something from me, here I am.

  What else do I have to lose?

  His date pops up next to him, her hand curled around that bicep like it’s hers. She’s young, maybe a freshman, and so dang pretty. She’s exactly right for him, her height just a few inches shorter than his in her heels, her frame slender and perfect. My stomach twists. I can see her and him; it works in my head…so much better than we do.

  But, I shove those insecurities down.

  F her.

  She doesn’t know the man I know. He’s never sang “Break Up in a Small Town” to her.

  Whoever she is, I reach out and peel her fingers off him, and I guess she’s too surprised to stop me. She gapes at me, and I smile tightly. Hey, little freshman, my eyes say, you don’t know me, but right now you’re holding something I want. Back the fuck off.

  I take two steps until I’m against him. My hands slide up around his chest to his shoulders, my palms pressed tight, so tight against his hard chest. His eyes don’t even widen as he watches me, never dropping my gaze.

  “Excuse me?” says the girl. “You have your hands on my date!”

  “He’s not yours,” I say, looking at him.

  She huffs.

  “Give us a minute,” Blaze tells her, his voice low, eyes on me.

  I think back to Cadillac’s and Dani plastered to his side.

  He never fucking looked at Dani when I was there.

  He’s not looking at this girl either.

  It was me every time.

  We don’t speak. We don’t have to. My hands find the base of his skull and I pull on the hair there, soft and then harder, until his mouth opens slightly. Standing on my tiptoes, I press my lips to his, our mouths touching, so soft. Tears prick at my eyes when he doesn’t give me one inch, not with his tongue or with a move to pull me close. I’m accosting him in front of the bathroom line like a crazed fan and—

  I don’t care. God…this.

  He smells and feels like everything that’s precious, just like I knew he would. The sun, the moon, the sky. I sigh and say his name, tilting my head to fit his mouth full-on. My teeth nip at his bottom lip. My nipples bead and my breasts press into him, the feel of him und
er me like a hot brand on my skin. It’s not even his skin, just a stupid shirt, but it…it licks at me.

  I kiss him hard, my hands now cupping his cheeks, giving him all the emotion I kept bottled up for three months.

  I feel when he capitulates, when his lips move with mine, when his arms embrace me and hang on. He takes control, his tongue inside my mouth, exploring me, taking, and I surrender to it. Take me, take me, my lips say. Love me and only me.

  Don’t ever stray. Don’t ever look at anyone but me.

  I know it’s too much to ask, but I bask in his touch like a flower who needs the rain after a long drought. He’s the first to pull away with slow movements of his mouth, and I tilt my head up and reach up for more, wanting to taste him again, one little kiss to keep for myself, but he’s back against the wall, his eyes low as I ease away from him and let my arms fall to my sides.

  He watches me, his face boarded up.

  I stand there for way too long. I feel bare and open, people whispering nearby. I’m also aware of his date a few feet away. She hasn’t gone far. Smart girl.

  Seconds tick by. One, two, three, four, five.

  My chest expands. “Best kiss I’ve ever had.”

  He closes his eyes.

  And me?

  I walk away, my hand on my mouth, feeling the tingles.

  23

  I drive Mary back to her dorm and we get out to walk into her building. It’s late, but she’s still chattering about my singing and what a good time she had, even though some other girl kissed me.

  My hands tighten as I open the lobby doors and escort her inside.

  “Blaze, I can’t thank you enough for such a great time.” She pulls me past the girl at the front desk and leads me over to the stairwell. “You in the mood for a nightcap? I have some Fireball up in my room.”

  She tilts her head up at me as she pulls her hair off her shoulders, swishing it around shapely shoulders.

  “Ah, I’m pretty beat. I have classes tomorrow.”