Hate To Love You

I added another rule, “No thinking, either.”

“Yes.” He nodded in approval. “That’s the best one yet. No thinking. Just . . .” He bent down, his lips over mine. “Feeling this.” He pressed them against mine, and I groaned, grabbing on to his shoulders as he hoisted me into his arms. My legs went around his waist, but instead of the bed, he just held me there and pressed me to the door.

His lips were on mine. His one hand was on my hip, and his other cupped the side of my face. He pulled back, only a fraction of an inch, and said, “This is okay with you?”

I nodded. God, yes. “No talking. No thinking.”

“Just feeling.”

“Hell yes.”

I dragged his mouth to mine. It didn’t need to be so far away.





It was after midnight when I finally kicked him out.

We maintained our rules. We didn’t talk. When I pushed him away, he just nodded, kissed me, pulled his shirt on, and kissed me again. He pulled on his socks and shoes, another kiss. Then grabbed his phone and his own keys. Two more kisses, as I began walking him toward the door.

This wasn’t what I did with boyfriends. The few that there’d been, it’d been all business. A grope. A chaste kiss goodbye, and then they were out the door. This was light and fun and sexy and I was forgetting how much I hated the guy.

I pulled away at the door and shook my head. “No more.”

I broke the no-talking rule.

His half-smirk reminded me, but he raked a hand through his hair, looked up and down the hallway, and was gone. The door closed with a hard bang, and I jerked back inside so the squawkers didn’t know that was me. I heard their door open, and the girl I had flipped off earlier grumbled, “Who was that?” She pulled back into the room. Her voice grew muffled as the door closed.

I went to the window in time to see a shadow dart from the stairway and off to the parking lot. It was then that everything hit me.

I made out with Shay Coleman.

Shay Fucking Coleman.

He wanted to fuck me.

I plopped down on Missy’s desk chair since it was closest to the window. Raking a hand through my hair, I was dumbfounded. I was still writhing around on that bed, feeling his hands everywhere, his kisses, feeling him on me. Groaning, I buried my head in my hands.

What the hell did I just do?

No. I couldn’t go there and let myself be filled with shame. Whatever. I sat back up. So what? So the fucking what? I made out with a guy? Who cares if I couldn’t stand him outside the bed? We weren’t in a relationship. I wasn’t going to date the guy. Hell no. This was physical. And if it happened again—well, I wasn’t going to think about that, either.

I stood and actually shrugged it off.

I wasn’t going to be filled with remorse, and I wasn’t going to feel cheap and dirty. It was kissing. It was healthy, just like I said to Missy. That was healthy, too.

Thirty minutes later, I was dressed for bed and feeling a little better.

My teeth were brushed. Face was washed. I thought about a shower, but I decided to wait till morning. I could feel him still on me through the night, and so what if it was Shay. I hadn’t made out with a guy in a while. It actually felt nice, if I just forgot who it was.

I was on my computer when a key fitted into the lock. The door swung open. My roommate came in.

I didn’t look over. She could make her belittling comments. I wouldn’t care. Gage sent me a second email, asking if I’d go to the football game with him. Why he didn’t just text, I had no idea, then the smell of booze tickled my nose. I looked over. She was at her closet, swaying back and forth, and she had pulled her shirt off.

She was alone.

The door was still open, so I shut it and was returning to my desk when I braked. There was a backpack resting on the other side of my desk chair. It wasn’t mine. It wasn’t Missy’s. I was pretty sure it wasn’t Holly’s or the cousin’s.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath.

“Huh?” she barked, her head swinging around to me.

A quick glance confirmed what I already knew. She was drunk.

“Nothing.”

She pulled out one of her shirts, but it wasn’t her normal pajama top. She was really drunk. I picked up Shay’s bag and checked the contents to make sure it was his. It was. I saw his planner with his name scrawled at the top, so I zipped that bag and put it in the back of my closet. No one needed to go through it. I didn’t think Missy would, but I just never knew.

Dropping into my chair, I picked up my phone to text Shay as Missy fell to the floor. I looked up to watch. I couldn’t not see this.

I was tempted to video it, but I was being nice. For once.

As Missy wrestled with her jeans and lifted them over her head to throw into her closet, I texted Shay.

Me: You left your bag here.

Missy let out a half-gurgled moan and a cry of frustration at the same time. She didn’t stand, instead crawling to the closet. She grabbed another pair of pants.

Those weren’t her pajamas, either.

As she pulled them on—or tried since her feet kept eluding the pants’ hole—my phone buzzed back.

Coleman: Can I pick it up in the morning?

I texted back.

Me: When?

Missy got one leg in. Success. I wanted to thrust my fist in the air for her.

My phone buzzed again.

Coleman: Early. My playbook is in there.

I groaned.

Me: When is early? I’m in college, Coleman. Sleeping in is mandatory.

Coleman: Nine too early for you? I can come back to get it now.

Nine was doable.

Me: Let’s do an exchange. You bring me coffee, and I’ll meet you at the parking lot curb with your bag.

Coleman: Done. Decaf okay?

I glared at my phone.

Me: Back to hating you.

Coleman: Never stop that. The world’s equilibrium will be fucked up. I have to know what’s right and wrong. Don’t screw with my moral compass, Cute Ass.

Oh, no! No way.

Me: Third rule of what we don’t talk about. No nicknames unless they reconfirm our mutual dislike for each other. No Cute Ass.

His response was immediate.

Coleman: Cunt Ass?

A second squeak from me.

Me: NO!

I could almost hear him laughing.

Coleman: Relax. I know. Clarke’s Ass. That’s how you are in my phone.

The tension left my shoulders.

Me: See you in the morning. 9 sharp.

Coleman: Night.

I put my phone down, but then it buzzed once again.

Coleman: Ass.

I was struggling to wipe this stupid grin off my face. All was right again. I plugged my phone in, pulled my laptop back toward me, and sent a response to Gage’s email. I’ll sit with you, but only if we’re in the opposing team’s section.

He’d be pissed, but that was the only way. I turned the computer off, and by then Missy was climbing up the ladder in a bright pink silk shirt. The buttons were left buttoned, and her pajama bottoms were a pair of corduroy khakis. I was pretty sure she didn’t brush her teeth, but before my head even hit the pillow, she was snoring.





My alarm went off at eight-thirty.