Page 10 of My Worst Pucking Enemy

He leans in, his eyes blazing with anger. “Why the hell did you bring that meathead to my game?”

“Your game?” Wow, does he have an ego on him.

Paxton glares at me. “Yes, my game. You know, you and I made a point of being seen together so that the press would report on it. And it totally worked. Everybody thought we were dating. I was happy to help you out by pretending, but I didn’t think you’d turn around and deliberately make me look bad.”

“Deliberately?” I say indignantly.

“Come on, Ruby, you had to know how this would make me look.”

“No, and I also didn’t know that you would act all petty and jealous over nothing.”

“Damn it, I’m a public figure, and my career depends on my public image. You know what else is now public? The fact that it looks like you ditched me for another guy, and not just any guy, but a football player.” He spits out those words with venom. “And you know how I feel about that. I get that football always comes before me, but could you at least not have done this to me on a night when I was playing the most important game of my entire career, and the entire world was watching? Why would you do that?”

I throw my hands up in exasperation. “You want to know why? Fine. Because I need a fake boyfriend, and I kind of thought that I was developing feelings for you, and I’m just not ready to actually date anybody yet, and I knew that I’d never care less about Nick, so he was the better choice. And damn it, I can fake-date whoever the hell I want. You do not get to be jealous when you never even said anything to me about maybe having feelings back for me, when you obviously do. Your lack of communication skills should not be considered my fault. I really thought we were friends, though. You’re being a jerk for no reason.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Ruby.” He turns on his heel and storms off.

Wow. Just wow. My ability to judge men’s characters is 0 for 2, so far. First the professor, and then Pax. Paxton is not the man that I thought he was.

3

RUBY

It’s been three days since the Stanley Cup loss. I keep typing long, angry texts to Paxton and then erasing them. I’m right and he’s wrong, and I just want him to admit it and turn back into the guy I thought he was.

Well, enough of letting him live rent-free in my head.

Today is my first day with Summer Rainbow Morgan, and it’s going to be a great day and I’m not going to think about Paxton once.

Well, I already have. I am not going to think about him twice.

Summer is a skinny little brunette with a scowl stamped on her face. She’s wearing a blue T-shirt with a stain on it and jeans that are too big for her, with a strip of fabric as a belt. We’re walking through Central Park, and so far she’s barely said two words, other than to inform me that she’s only coming here because her case worker forced her to.

Her case worker told me that it might take her a while to warm up. So far, she has brushed aside any attempt at conversation and mostly stared at the ground.

Still, I refuse to let anything dent my mood today. It’s June in Manhattan, the sun is shiny, and fluffy white clouds are swimming overhead in an ocean-blue sky. Central Park is crowded with families and dog walkers and roller skaters and couples strolling hand in hand.

I lead her over to a hot dog vending cart. “Okay,” I tell her. “I am going to feed you a very unhealthy lunch stuffed with nitrates, and then you can pick something to do for the afternoon. Anything you want.”

“Really?” she perks up at that.

“Anything legal,” I add hastily.

She makes a disappointed face. “Aww. You’re boring.”

“So I’ve been told.” I order a hot dog and fries for myself, and she orders the same, and I get a bottled water and she gets a soda.

“Museum? Movie?” I suggest. She shakes her head, scowling. “Come on, there’s got to be something you want to do.”

She lifts one skinny shoulder in an indifferent shrug. “Can’t think of anything. We can just eat the hot dogs and you can bring me back to the mentor center. I know you’re just doing this because you have to.”

“I volunteered. I swear,” I say, but she doesn’t look like she believes me. “I’m in it for the long haul.”

“Or until you get those volunteer hours checked off,” she mutters under her breath.

I take the cardboard tray with our food, and we’re headed over to a bench to sit down when a familiar voice rings through the air.

“Hey.” I turn around and see Nick and a few of his teammates—Kirk, Blaine, and Teddy—making their way towards us. They’re all dressed like preppies, with polo shirts and khaki shorts and smug smirks. And worse, they’re accompanied by Jessica and Taylor, two of the girls who are always chasing after them. The girls are wearing denim short-shorts and sandals and tight-fitting T-shirts. Those girls put up with crap that no self-respecting woman ever should, like being the casual side chicks that the guys only call if they strike out at the local nightclub. I know because I’ve heard the guys gossiping about them.

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