Page 14 of Love to Hate You

“Sophomore,” he confirms.

“Ahhh.” That makes him nineteen or twenty. “Where did you transfer from?” I ask, trying to keep the conversational ball rolling.

You’re welcome, Olivia.

“Cal State.”

I almost laugh. Not only does he look like a California boy, he actually is one.

“Really? What a coincidence. Olivia just spent the summer in La Jolla.”

He turns to her with more interest. “I love La Jolla. What were you doing there?”

Even though I didn’t do much, I’m tempted to pat myself on the back. He’s from California. Olivia loves California. Voila. These two are a match made in heaven.

Olivia, who tends to be shy, chatters away about the Scripps Institute of Oceanography where she interned. Tanner nods in all the appropriate places and seems genuinely curious about what she’s saying. His body is angled toward her, which is a telltale sign of interest. In a minute or so, I’ll create an excuse to leave so they can get to know each other better.

If graphic design doesn’t work out for me after college, maybe I should consider a career in matchmaking. I’m that good. Just as long as it doesn’t have anything to do with my own love life. Then I’m a disaster.

I grab my glass from the table between the loungers and suck down the rest of my lemonade before rising. The cement burns the soles of my feet before I quickly slide into my sandals.

“Looks like I’m out of lemonade.” I jiggle the glass. “I’m going to grab a refill.” My gaze bounces between the pair. They look adorable together. “Can I get either of you anything?”

Neither can be bothered to take their eyes off one another as they reply with, “Nope” and “I’m good.”

With a huge smile plastered across my face, I maneuver across the crowded patio. Unable to resist, I throw a quick look over my shoulder to make sure Tanner and Olivia are still hitting it off. Yup. They are. Tanner has taken a seat on my lounger. With a sigh, I turn around and promptly slam into a rock-solid body.

That in and of itself isn’t much of a clue as to who I’ve crashed into because this place is crawling with hard male bodies. Somehow, I just know who it is. Call it intuition. Or a feeling of foreboding. As much as I want to be oblivious to Carter Prescott, I’m not.

I stagger back a step, and he immediately reaches out to steady me. His fingers wrap around my arms, singeing my already heated flesh. A jolt of electricity zings through me, making the hair at the nape of my neck prickle with awareness. I clench my jaw and fight my body’s natural reaction to him.

When he doesn’t immediately release me, I glare. “Is there something I can help you with?” Because I’m irritated with myself for letting him get to me, my words come out sounding churlish.

“Doubtful.”

The attraction humming beneath the surface of my skin dissipates in response to his snarky comeback. “Then maybe you should let me go.”

His hands drop from my arms. The warmth of his touch instantly cools. Even though he’s wearing mirrored sunglasses, I’m cognizant of his perusal. My nipples harden in response. My cheeks heat at the dreaded headlight effect I’m now sporting. It only ups my agitation and makes me snap, “No matter where I go, you always manage to be in my way.”

Instead of taking a step back the way I expect him to, he steps closer, invading my space. “Must be a happy coincidence.”

“Trust me, there is nothing happy about it,” I shoot back.

There is always a hit-and-strike-back quality to our conversations. It’s strangely sexual.

I try to keep my gaze focused on his face, but I’m unbearably aware that the only piece of clothing covering him are brightly patterned board shorts that sit low on his waist. The heat of his nearly naked body hits me in heavy, intoxicating waves. My body instantly responds to his maleness despite my dislike for him. As much as I hate for him to feel like he’s gotten the best of me, I need to retreat and regroup.

When he doesn’t budge, I move around him.

I blow out a sigh of relief as I take two steps away. Somehow, I’ve managed to hold onto my temper and nip this conversation in the bud before it could spiral out of control. I’m proud of myself for that.

“That suit you’re wearing seems—”

At the sound of his voice, I whip around to face him. “My suit seems what?”

“It seems a little too…” He pauses as his eyes coast over me again. “Little.”

Acting on instinct, I close the distance separating us. My face is scant inches from his when I come to a stop.

---