I Hate You (Waylon University, #3)

by Ilsa Madden-Mills

With long nearly black hair that has pale pink streaks scattered throughout, she’s a petite thing but feisty as a colt. I take in the creamy pale skin, intelligent light brown eyes that don’t miss a thing, and that perfect pink bow of a mouth. Yeah, she got under my skin so fucking bad last semester I thought I was going to lose my mind—until I cut her loose.

“You have your entire life to be a jerk. Why not take tonight off?”

Because ditching her was like tearing a limb from my body. Three times we had sex, and you’d think it wouldn’t mean much, but it had, and that was the problem.

Ugh. He’s a sparkly, sexy unicorn. And everyone wants to ride him.

He’s everything. He’s everything I never knew I wanted. He’s perfection wrapped in a dark, deep lake, and I ache to swim in those waters, to discover his secrets and let him delve into mine.

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.

“Promise you won’t get tired of me, Charm. Promise me you’ll stay.”

I’ve been saying football is the one thing I can’t live without, but it’s a lie. She is. It’s her.

It wasn’t about fear or not having faith, but about us figuring each other out, learning how to live together. We happened fast, but sometimes love is like that. It slams into you and you might stumble a few times, trying to figure it out, but if it’s real, you’ll make it. You’ll last.