I Hate You (Waylon University, #3)

by Ilsa Madden-Mills

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

FBI mode is on.

He pulls out that gum from his pocket. “Want a piece?” His gaze holds mine steady, clear and wide and so blue, too damn innocent for my liking.

“You going to defend my honor?”

“Please spend the rest of class thrusting at each other to gain experience,” Chaz instructs.

“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 extra effort was worth it. That one inch you lowered your pants makes all the difference.”

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

“You’re one rude motherfucker.”

I have feelings for her, scary fucking feelings that keep me awake at night.

but if you don’t want me, just tell me. Tell me right now. Write it out nice and neat in that smart-girl handwriting you have, and I’ll tape it to my mirror so I can see it every day when I get up.

Dr. Cartwright arches his brow with a what the fuck did you do look on his face.

He closes his eyes. And me? I walk away,

“Maybe this was a setup,” Blaze says as he steps into the flowerbed to help me. “Maybe he’s hopping back to Chile or Argentina or wherever he’s from.”

“Never even bought you a sandwich, but people think we’re together.” “OMG,” I whisper.

“Zip it,” I say. I don’t have time for testosterone-induced bullshit.

“Ma called me. My brother Mattie is dating a Protestant and she’s spying on him, reading his text messages. I had to hear all about it. The usual.”

He looks away. “Yeah. That’s on me. I told everyone to stay clear of my room. I told them I had a date.”

“I said, Tie me to the bed.”

ABSOLUTELY LOSING MY MIND OVER THIS

Good for you for admitting your proclivities, Mr. Townsend.” “Yes, sir. Proclivities are on my mind constantly.” Good Lord. He’s too much. Too far, rein it in, my gaze tells him. He gives me a grin.

“I brought rope.

Blaze Townsend: tall, well built, but can’t run. Whatever.

She’s scared, just like me, but she loves me—a poor trailer park kid from Mississippi.

Charisma, Charisma, Charisma. Where are you, baby? I need you so much.

But she’s worth fighting for. Wherever she is, I kiss my fingers and send them up into the crowd. For her.

“Can you see me, Charm? Can you see the man I really am underneath all this?

“Ma says you two have to come in now so the neighbors don’t talk.