Page 8 of My Worst Pucking Enemy

“Just kidding,” he says. “I told them you were absolutely amazing and any kid would be lucky to have you as a Buddy Match.”

“Thanks, Mason. I really appreciate it.” The Buddy Match program matches kids up with adult mentors who are supposed to be a good influence on them. They’re very particular about who they approve as a match, of course, and I had to do all the usual criminal background checks and submit a million personal references.

I’ve always loved working with kids. I’ve been matched with a twelve-year-old girl named Summer, whose mother is single and working three jobs to make ends meet. Summer got in trouble for shoplifting a couple of times, which is how she ended up in the program. That’s okay; I like a challenge.

“There’s Paxton,” my sister says, pointing. “You could go talk to him if you want to make sure he’s okay, but honestly, maybe you should just give it a few days and let him recover. Tonight was not fun.”

I follow her gaze and see Paxton leaving the building from the players exit, and even from here I can see he’s still got his sour-puss look on. He’s probably trying to get out of here unnoticed so that he can go meet up with his family.

I glance back to the main exit, where I left Nick. He doesn’t seem to notice that I’m no longer with him, instead he’s preoccupied talking to some girl, leaning in and fake-laughing at something she said, and I’m going to have to have a conversation with him about that later. If he’s going to pretend to be my fake boyfriend, he can’t flirt with anyone else when I’m with him, or the deal’s off.

I’m not going to let him make me look so needy that I’d let a guy walk all over me like that. If he were really my boyfriend, he’d be wearing my cup of soda and I’d be speed-walking in the opposite direction.

Without waiting for Nick, I take off. I need to talk to Paxton. I move fast, and I have to kind of shove a little bit and get pushy, because the crowd is streaming out now and I don’t want to miss my chance.

I run into guy who’s walking in my direction and cry out “Sorry.” and then I wince.

Of course, he’s here. And of course Nick’s not by my side when I need him to be.

Professor Alex Nass-hole.

He wasn’t always my nemesis. For a while, he was my secret lover, the suave, sophisticated older man I fell for. We used to meet up at his house so nobody would see us together, and when we went out at all, we’d go to places in New Jersey so we wouldn’t risk being caught.

And then out of nowhere, it ended. He dropped me like I was roadkill and threatened to ruin my college career and also tell everyone I was a crazy stalker and show them all of the texts I’d sent him, if I ever told anyone we’d been together.

He made me feel gross. Like he was embarrassed and ashamed that we’d ever been together... when weeks before that he was handwriting poetry to me.

I love poetry. I thought it was the most romantic thing ever.

Our relationship ended in the ugliest way possible, and I didn’t feel like I could talk about it with anyone, not even my sister. She would have lost her mind. She would have wanted to make a huge public deal about it, and I would have been humiliated.

“What are you doing here?” He gives me a dirty look, as if he owns the damned stadium, parking lot included. Apparently, now that we’re not together, I don’t have the right to be anywhere in Manhattan. Not the campus. Not the class I signed up for. Not a public sporting event.

I stand up straight, looking him right in the eye. “I’m here because my sister is dating Mason Raker and she invited me. What’s your excuse?”

“Season tickets.” He scowls down at me. “You sure you didn’t come because you knew I’d be here?”

“You might want to talk to a therapist about your delusions of grandeur,” I scoff. “I assure you, I’ve moved on, and I do not keep track of your schedule.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “Weren’t you dating some guy from the Rovers? And now you’re dating Nick?”

A hot surge of triumph rushes through my veins. “You seem awfully interested in my dating life, professor. How did you even find out? Are you stalking me? I can date whoever I want now, thanks. I’m single. I’m just out there trying to find out if there’s any man in New York who can satisfy me. So far the jury’s out.”

The insult hits, and he glares at me. He’s always had an ego. I used to love to stroke and flatter it, because I wanted him to love me. I acted as if he was the best sex I ever had, which isn’t strictly true. He was pretty good in bed, if kind of self-centered. If I’m being honest, he wasn’t my absolute dream lover.

“As far as I could tell, you had no complaints.” He bites out each word.

“Did you forget that I’m minoring in theater and I’ve taken a lot of acting classes? And did you ever watch that scene in When Harry Met Sally? Faking it’s not that hard. Ask any woman who’s ever had sex.” I leave him with that and stalk off. Ugh. I better not see this argument reflected in my grades.

But if I do—what am I going to do about it?

My stomach churns as I move away from him. I cannot freaking wait to graduate and know that I’ll never have to see him again.

I keep moving, and fortunately, Pax hasn’t left. He’s talking to his family—his dad, a tall man with brown hair shot through with gray, his mother, with a glamorous blond bouffant, and three tall guys who look like Pax on steroids. They’re burly and broad-shouldered. His brothers. They’re pro football players, and I’d know it just by their bulk, even if Pax didn’t have pictures of them up on the wall of his house.

They’re built a lot like Nick, actually.

In Manhattan, Paxton is worshipped like a god, but that hasn’t always been the case. I know it’s kind of a sore spot with Pax that he grew up in the shadow of his football star brothers and chose a sport that nobody in his town cared about.

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