I Hate You (Waylon University, #3)

by Ilsa Madden-Mills

inside. I picture him laid up in his dorm room surrounded by jersey chasers. They’re probably rubbing him down with hot oil right now, caressing those bulky, tight muscles on his back, most definitely the wiry, roped ones on his forearms— Stop. Forget the wide receiver.

My future? In six months I’ll be out of Magnolia and living a whole new life, one that doesn’t involve smoking-hot football players with rock-hard abs who tell you you’re beautiful but in the end are just big fat liars.

At six foot three and almost zero body fat, he’s tall and lithe and tightly muscular—and beautiful. Can a man be beautiful? Fuck yeah. His thick, dark brown hair has grown out, and the top strands are swept back off his forehead, carefully styled, the sides cut shorter. The lengthier hair on top is edgy looking, totally different from how he wore it last fall in a short fauxhawk.

He turns when someone calls his name, and my eyes eat up the line of his profile, strong and defined and chiseled. His nose is straight and patrician looking, his cheekbones high and sculpted, carving out a perfect face. And even though it’s January, his face is sun-kissed from playing football outside for months at a time. He’s a damn Adonis.

Piercing, intense eyes are set underneath dark brows. His lashes are long and thick and you’d think it would make him look feminine, but nope. All it does is call attention to the hint of laughter there, as if he knows something you don’t, as if he’s playing you. Which he is. Blaze Townsend is a player.

Tonight he’s wearing a Wildcats National Championship long-sleeved navy shirt that clings to his biceps. I think about the skin under that shirt, those granite-hard abs he works so hard on. I’ve had my hands there. I’ve kissed each rippling muscle, worsh...

My eyes move down, taking in the dark jeans encasing long muscular legs. I recall those powerful thighs under my hands, the d...

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.

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

Of course, he looks magnificent in a tight long-sleeved black shirt that clings to his broad chest and tapered jeans molded to those leg muscles. His face gets most of my attention, the darkness on his jawline adding a broody look. Curse him and his hotness.

I focus on his legs. No sexiness there—well, except for the tight muscles under that denim.

I inhale then immediately regret it when his scent hits me: freshly showered male with undertones of crisp pine. I shouldn’t be surprised I smell him. He’s standing way too close. What’s his deal? I decide I hate all pine trees. I will never look at another one again.

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.

That tight, muscular ass? Best on campus.

He’s about ten feet away, yet his chiseled profile is enough to make me pissed, those broad shoulders enough to make my heart stutter.

“Your parents.” She spits the words out. “They deserve what they got for killing my Carry-Anne.”

This bitch is blaming him for the actions of his parents?!

“‘All great and precious things are lonely,’” I murmur, the words slipping out. “John Steinbeck.”

His eyes hold mine. “I don’t know. What do we have to lose?” Only the rest of me.

“I’m not your type, remember?” He never moves his gaze from me. “You were fire in my hands.” My heart clenches. “Don’t say things like that. You don’t mean them!”

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

The lecture hall has small chairs, and I can’t help but brush up against Blaze’s broad shoulders as he gets settled. Goose bumps pop up on my arm each time it brushes into his. I nonchalantly ease away from him.

I take him in up close. He looks hot AF today, his damp wavy hair brushed back off his face, still wet from a shower, probably.

His hand unbuttoned my shirt, unclasped my bra, and once he flicked his tongue over my nipple piercing, any leftover reservations flew out the window. We didn’t even make it to a table, not that there was one nearby. He put me on my knees, flipped my skirt up, rolled on a condom, and fucked me, my name a litany on his lips. His skilled fingers—Jesus, they knew how to play me. I came so hard I saw stars. I came so hard the second time, he laughed and put his hand over my mouth.

“I guess that makes us psych buddies,” Blaze says with a slight grin, nudging my shoulder with his. It’s just a light touch, but the pressure sparks fire straight to my core. Down libido. I own you—you don’t own me.

I smile down at my paper, drawn into the lesson—a great distraction from the hotness next to me. Logical, human brain: one point. Illogical, sex-starved, lizard brain: zero.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of Big Red gum, unwrapping the red rectangle, popping it in his mouth, and chewing. How can a dude look hot chewing on a stupid piece of gum? I don’t have an answer for that, but of course he manages to pull it off.

Yeah, hanging out with him, even if it is just a walk across campus, isn’t a good idea. You barely knew him before, and look how he broke you then.

I can’t seem to stop myself from taking the rest of her. I mean, how can I resist? Those curves, the way her… My hands twitch. Don’t stare at her boobs, moron. Right, right. Charisma’s more than just a girl with a banging body. She’s smart as hell…and on her way to Boston soon.

A full smile crosses her face, and I blink at the force of it, the way her plump lips curve up. They’ve always fascinated me, and shit, I know they’re just regular lips, but she—

I picture Charisma in a white fencing uniform—is that what they call it?—her lush body bouncing around, poking her opponent with a sword. Nice. I could get behind that.

Shit. She really doesn’t want to be near me. My heart twinges as her words snake around inside my chest. I did that to her. I removed her from my life in a public way that everyone knew about, even though that wasn’t my intention, and it made her hate me.

You publicly humiliated her. She has every right to hate you.

Awe fills my mind. She watched. She…watched me. Something stirs deep within, soft and warm, shifting, aching to get out, desperate to walk up to her and just wrap my arms—

Chaz gives me a long, lingering glance, brushing over my frame. He comes back to my face, blinks, and then blushes. I just smile. I’m used to men checking me out since coming to Waylon. I don’t lean that way, but I don’t have a problem with people who do.

“…his size will put you at a severe disadvantage,” Chaz is saying to her. “That’s what I keep telling him, but it fits better than you’d think,” she replies. Nah, oh nah. She did not just… Her amber eyes glint at me. She did. I put my fist up to hold back a laugh. Chaz stares at her without comprehending.

“Do you think he hears himself, or is he completely oblivious to the sexual innuendoes?” I’ve walked closer to her and whisper in her ear. “He has to know.” A blush rises on her cheeks, and I’m fascinated by it. Is she thinking about us? About me inside her?

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.

“Uh-huh.” Her gaze slides over me like silk, lingering on the hint of abs. Mission accomplished. “Were you watching me, city girl?”

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.

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.

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 take in that erratic pulse at her throat again. Everyone fades away as we just…stare. I glance at her lips. God, that mouth. I want… Her eyes flicker with something I think is desire, and I inhale sharply as memories surface, of us, of her showing up at my dorm room for our third and final hookup, although I didn’t know that then.

She was the sexiest fucking thing I’d ever seen, all curves and big eyes. She gave me a little smile, brushed a finger over her piercing—and I was gone. I ripped my clothes off, barely got a condom on before I picked her up and pushed her against the wall. I slid inside her all the way to the hilt, shuddering. I recall how her heels dug into my back, the feel of her ass in my hands, that whimpering noise she made when I pulled her hair to the side and bit her neck like an animal then kissed it like a lover.

I fucked her until I couldn’t breathe and my legs shook. I fucked her until she called my name like a prayer. I fucked her until she was all I could see. Until she was all I wanted. Until I thought I might scream from just the need to make her mine.

I rake my hands through my hair and pace around the parking lot. I stop and face her. She is my type, scary smart and hot as hell. And I’m not worthy of her. Good girls like her don’t stick around with a guy like me. Sure, I have a talent for football and people tell me I’m handsome, but underneath… Why would she want me?

She dips her head, but before she does, I think I see the shimmer of tears in her eyes, and it makes me freeze. I take a step back. Nah, I can’t go there. I can’t. If she cries, I’m gonna lose it. I’m gonna hold her in my arms and I’m going to try to kiss her and she’ll tell me to stop—

He’s right here in front of me and he looks…sexy as fuck. His hair is swept back, and my eyes graze over him, lingering on that spot of bare skin I see around his wrist, how the dark hair curls, how strong his fingers look as he holds the cup and takes a sip of his drink. All it takes is a wrist and fingers and I’m hot and bothered. SMN. Shoot me now.

“I don’t know what love is, actually.” He tucks his hands in his pockets, straightening and pulling away. “Do you?” “I think it’s when you can’t think of a person without aching to see them.” “I see.” I nod. “The person you love can hurt you, though. You have to be careful.” “Maybe I don’t want to be careful anymore. Sometimes you just have to let go, right?” “Maybe.” He leans in closer, and my body trembles. He looks down at me and whispers in my ear, his lips barely touching the top. “I don’t want to be careful tonight, babe. Are you with me?”

Swallowing, I take in his angular face, the way his eyes glint—his lips. They’re pouty and full, like two fluffy pillows, and I can’t stop studying the way they curve.

The song ends, blending into a faster one, but neither of us lets go. Bodies gyrate and twirl nearby, bumping into us. We don’t waver an inch. He shields me, his muscular frame our protection as he wards off random people who veer too close. Nothing could get between us. His hips brush against me, friction sweet and sharp between my legs.

He leans down to place a kiss on my neck, his lips taking and taking, sucking, getting harder, probably leaving a mark. I lean into it, writhing, clenching around his leg. My lips part, a tidal wave of sensation pooling, drenching my panties. Music and people surround us, and I can’t tell where I am anymore.