Page 89 of Love to Hate You

Actually, she loves it.

She understands the finer nuances of the game. Daisy isn’t pretending to enjoy football because I play it. Hell, she’d have the game on even if Noah and I weren’t home to watch it with her. And that, my friends, is probably the sexiest thing of all.

Which is precisely why I’m screwed seven different ways to Sunday. There’s not a damn thing I don’t like about her. Believe me, I’ve tried racking my brain for something to latch onto.

But I can’t. She’s fucking perfect.

The buzzer rings and I watch Daisy as she gracefully unfolds herself from the couch and jogs to the door.

Goddamn that ass.

Not to mention the adorable navy socks she has pulled up to her knees with the silver T’s on them.

I hear a deep male voice followed by her laughter.

What the hell?

She offers some playful banter I’m barely able to make sense of even though my ears are attuned to the sound of her voice. I’m two seconds away from flying over there and putting the kibosh on whatever flirtation is happening when she returns with three boxes of pizza, an order of breadsticks, and a salad.

Her gaze collides with mine. Whatever she finds there is enough to leave her stumbling to a halt as her eyes widen in alarm.

Fuck me.

I avert my gaze and rub the back of my neck where tension has gathered. I’d like to blame it on the game, but it has nothing to do with that and I know it.

What the hell am I doing?

Better question—what the hell am I going to do about it?

Because this situation can’t continue indefinitely. Already, it’s spiraling out of control. I’d secretly hoped that I would grow tired of banging Daisy.

Not to sound like a prick, but I usually screw someone a couple of times and get bored. It’s been two weeks and instead of feeling that, I can’t get enough of her. The more I have, the more I want. I’m insatiable when it comes to her.

Daisy sets the boxes on the peninsula that separates the kitchen from the living room. She doesn’t glance my way again, but I can tell she’s affected by what she saw on my face. Her fingers flutter as she grabs the plates and napkins.

Always ready for his next meal, Noah is off the couch before she has a chance to set the paper products down. He opens the first box and helps himself to four pieces. Ashley wanders over and stares at him.

Noah holds out the overloaded plate to her. “Here, you want this?”

Her face scrunches with disgust. “You know I don’t eat carbs and fat.” She glares at the pizza. “God, it’s practically swimming in oil. My arteries are getting clogged just looking at it.”

Noah shoves half a slice into his mouth. Apparently, he doesn’t feel that way because he proceeds to wolf down the entire piece like he hasn’t eaten in months. Ashley stares in horror, looking a little green around the gills.

Between bites, he says, “Yeah, I know, babe. It was a joke. Chill out. Your rabbit food is on the counter.” He reaches for the second slice. “A few carbs might do you some good.”

She glowers and heads to the counter where her salad awaits inspection. She doesn’t open the clear plastic container, just peers down at it. “Why are there croutons? Didn’t you ask for them on the side?”

Noah sucks in a breath and releases it as if trying to hold onto his patience. He’s a better man than I am, that’s for damn sure. I would have thrown in the towel a long time ago. Actually, I wouldn’t have gotten involved in this situation in the first place.

“You heard me on the phone, babe. I asked for them on the side.” He rolls his eyes. “Honestly, it’s not that big of a deal. They’re just croutons, pick them out.”

I glance at Daisy with a raised brow. Even though she’s never admitted it to me, I don’t think she cares for Noah’s girlfriend. As far as I’m concerned, Ashley is a huge pain in the ass.

Daisy returns the look and grabs a plate, taking a seat at the table to watch the show. And by that, I mean the Ashley-Noah drama that’s about to unfold and not the football game. It’s like a horrific car accident you can’t look away from.

Ashley huffs and returns to the couch where she scowls at the television screen. Noah glances at me with a frown as if he doesn’t understand what just happened. I shrug and shake my head.

Sure, I get what’s going on but I’m not touching this with a ten-foot pole. I have enough of my own shit going on to get involved in his issues.

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