Page 5 of Love to Hate You

Chapter Two

Carter

Brinmore University—or BU, as it’s fondly referred to—is renowned across the country for three things.

The first is football. BU gives the University of Alabama a run for its money in the sheer number of conference championships and players drafted to the NFL each year. If you don’t play, then you damn well better be a fan, because you’re inundated with football twenty-four seven. Even when we’re not in season, everyone talks about next year’s prospects, which high school players are getting recruited, who’s turning pro, who ended up on the injury list, and who’s coming back.

The second is academics. BU is a top-notch university. One of the best in the country. If you’re able to earn a degree from this school, you have a promising future ahead of you. It’s a well-known fact that BU alumni take care of their own.

And the third is the parties. BU consistently ranks as one of the top five party schools in the country with a huge Greek system. Trust me, the student body takes that honor seriously. There’s always something going on around here. If you want to go out every damn night of the week, you can. But I would strongly advise against it. That’s a good way to get your ass thrown out of school.

Is it any wonder that students flock here for their post-secondary education? BU has the elusive trifecta going on.

Academics, football, and parties.

And not necessarily in that order either.

Even though I was recruited by some of the most elite universities in the United States, it was a foregone conclusion that I would attend BU. It’s right in my own backyard, only a forty-five-minute drive from home. And that was an important requirement. I quickly shove that thought from my head. The last thing I want to think about is home. No need to ruin my mood on a perfectly good Friday night.

Instead, I move through the crowd, searching for Noah. People clap me on the back as I pass by and shout out greetings.

“Looking good in practice, Prescott!”

“Can’t wait for the home opener!”

“Gonna kick some Alabama ass this season!”

Female hands reach out and stroke my arms in open invitation. Sexy, come-hither smiles are aimed in my direction. It’s been like this for as long as I can remember. As soon as I made varsity as a starting tight end freshman year of high school, upper class girls showed interest. Our school won the state championship that year, and suddenly everyone sat up and took notice. After that, I couldn’t go anywhere without being recognized. Offers to select summer camps poured in, and my prospects for Division I college football exploded.

While this level of adoration is nice, it isn’t anything new. Just another perk of being a top athlete at this school. Although I’m not going to lie, it’s a damn fine perk. One I’ve taken advantage of on a regular basis throughout the years. If girls are willing to spread their legs for me, who am I to turn them down?

Under normal circumstances, I’d be busy scoping out the talent with the assuredness that this evening will end with me getting my rocks off.

At least once.

More than likely, twice.

But I don’t think that’s going to be the case tonight. I’ve got one specific girl on my mind. One who shouldn’t occupy space there to begin with. If I had any brains, I’d find a willing female and forget all about my roommate.

I can have any girl I want on this campus.

And, trust me, I have.

Except for one.

Daisy Thompson is strictly off-limits. There’s no getting around that fact. I’m not even going to try.

“Hey, what took you so long?” Being the good friend that he is, Noah offers me a chilled bottle of beer. “I thought you were heading over an hour ago? Tasha and Ava have been looking for you.” He gives me a sly smile because everyone knows those two girls are a package deal.

Been there, done that.

More than a few times.

Usually, that kind of information would pique my interest. But not tonight. There’s not even a twitch south of the border, which only confirms my previous thoughts.

I twist off the cap and take a swig to buy myself some time. “Had something to take care of.”

If he finds my answer evasive, he doesn’t comment on it.

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