Page 23 of Love to Hate You

I shrug and set the bowl and utensil in the sink. I wash both and take a seat next to her on the other side of the counter. “I feel your judgy eyes watching me.”

She sighs and scrunches up her face as if solving a difficult math problem. “What’s with you two?”

I frown and flick an imaginary piece of lint off my shirt. “What do you mean?” Just thinking about Carter fills me with irritation. It’s always been like this between us, and it’s never going to change.

She gives me her best oh, please, you’re not fooling anyone look. “What’s with you and Carter?” Olivia rolls her blue eyes. “Why are you constantly at each other’s throats? Can’t you guys just get along?”

No, apparently, that’s not possible. Lord knows I’ve tried. Nothing works.

“He’s a conceited jerk who needs to be put in his place. And this,” I nod toward the oven, “is going to do the trick.”

With one elbow resting on the counter, she slides her fingers into her hair and gives me a penetrating stare. “You two act like toddlers. Isn’t it exhausting to pour so much time and energy into getting back at each other?”

Her criticism makes me feel defensive. I fold my arms across my chest. “Nope, not at all. Plus, it allows me to funnel my creative energies into a constructive outlet.”

She takes a sip from her bottle of water. “You realize this will only escalate this situation, right?”

“What I know,” I correct, “is that once Carter craps his pants—God willing, out on the football field in front of the entire team—he’ll realize that he shouldn’t mess with me anymore.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Do you seriously think that’s how this is going to play out?”

“Yup.” How can anything go wrong? This plan is foolproof.

“What happened between you two?” Olivia asks. “How did all this start in the first place?”

My mind tumbles back to freshman year. Even though Noah’s parents live close enough for us to commute to school, Marnie and Craig thought it was important that we live on campus to get the full college experience. Noah roomed with Carter. And I would pop over all the time.

I didn’t have a problem with Carter right off the bat. When we first met, I thought he was sort of good-looking. Fine, I thought he was hot.

There. I admitted it.

I was a smitten kitten just like all the other stupid freshman girls on campus.

But then he opened his big fat trap, said something jerky, and the lust that had rushed through my veins disappeared. Every time I saw him after that, he would go out of his way to be a dick. Plus, he was a major player, hooking up with different chicks every weekend. One right after the next. The guy is like a carnival ride that never stops punching tickets.

Gross.

Know what else I’ve noticed?

He doesn’t treat anyone else the way he treats me. The female population at BU can’t get enough of him. Carter Prescott has a huge following on campus. He garners attention no matter where he goes. His NFL prospects only make him more desirable. And he soaks up the attention as if it’s his God-given right.

It’s so annoying.

No. He’s annoying.

See what he does to me? Even dwelling on him for a few minutes makes me froth at the mouth. I don’t like who I become when I’m around him.

“I think you like him,” Olivia says.

That comment rips me right out of my thoughts and makes me feel like I’ve been bitch-slapped into next week.

“What?” I screech incredulously. “Haven’t you heard anything I’ve said? There’s not one damn thing I like about Carter Prescott.” Adding some much-needed emphasis, I reiterate, “Not one!”

Fine, maybe I like his biceps.

I can’t help but stare when he wears a sleeveless shirt. He’s not a steroid-infused meathead overblown with muscles. He’s lean. But what gets me most is the way his biceps flex and bunch when he shifts his arms.

Realizing that I’m starting to salivate, I force those thoughts away. Other than his biceps, there’s nothing to like about Carter. When I don’t elaborate any further, she arches a brow but says nothing.

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