Page 13 of Hate To Love You

“Sorry, thanks,” the girl just walks away. Well okay then.

Taking a sip of the hot coffee, I immediately realize that there isn’t any sugar in it, but I don’t want to go back and complain. I guess I’ll just drink it as is.

It’s Friday morning, which means today’s the day we begin our projects. I left the house before anyone was up, and I tossed and turned all night thinking of working with Ryker. I also haven’t told Lainey or Ellie about this. I’m exhausted, my coffee’s as bitter as my mood, and to top it all off, I forgot my umbrella.

To be fair, it wasn’t raining when I left the house, and I didn’t check the weather. Either way, now I’m going to get soaked walking to class. Mallory Center is only one building down from the cafe, but the rain is coming down pretty hard.

I take a deep breath and decide to make a run for it.

The rain pelts against my skin but I keep moving, and when I’m just about there, an arm moves in front of me, and the rain is suddenly not hitting me anymore.

“You looked like you needed this,” Damian teases.

“Thanks,” I mumble.

The dryer in the bathroom can only do so much. My white shirt is soaked, and my hair is dripping, but class is about to start, and I don’t have time to do anything else.

I look into the mirror and run my fingers through my damp hair. My eyes move over my body and a small gasp leaves my lips as I realize my purple floral bra is completely visible through my top, and the sweater I was wearing is soaked, along with the rest of my clothes. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Okay, Gwen. Don’t panic.

I lean against the sink and take a deep breath. I’ll call Damian. He might have something for me to wear.

Picking up my cell, I click on Damian’s name and send him a quick text asking him to bring me a sweatshirt, so I don’t have to humiliate myself further than I need to.

Five minutes later, I’m sitting next to Damian in the lecture hall, swimming in his large zip-up as Professor Whitely explains more about the project.My hair is still soaked, and I probably resemble a wet dog.

“Alright, here’s the deal. The project is simple. Each team will come up with a comprehensive analysis of a novel of your choosing and explore themes within the novel,” Professor Whitely looks around the room, probably making sure everyone is listening.

“You should have your novel chosen by class on Monday. You’ll discuss everything together and agree on what themes are presented. At the end, you’ll turn in a ten-page essay that you’ve written together and a full presentation. You have three weeks to complete this project. Any questions?”

No one raises a hand or makes a sound. I look over to Damian, but instead of paying attention to Professor Whitely, he’s scrolling through his Instagram feed.

Something inside me forces me to look over my shoulder which was a mistake because I make eye contact with Ryker. I cannot work with him for three whole weeks, let alone the rest of the semester on other projects. I’m never going to make it. That, or he won’t make it because I’m going to kill him.

I roll my eyes at him, and I see him smirk in response as I turn back around to face the front of the room.

“Alright. Get started.” Professor says, rounding her desk and taking a seat behind it.

I filled Damian in on my situation with Ryker the night Professor Whitely decided to ruin my life. He laughed at my misfortune in true best friend fashion, and I slapped his arm so hard he yelped, which made me smile.

Damian looks at me and winks, giving me a teasing grin. “Have fun with your partner, Gwenny,” I shoot him a lethal glare.

“I hate you.”

I stand from my seat and walk toward the one person I don’t want anything to do with. Ryker’s stare makes me slightly uncomfortable as I get closer. His bright green eyes sweep over my body as I step up to his seat.

His jaw is tense, and his hands are steepled together on top of the table. Now that I’m really looking at him, I guess he is kind of attractive, in a cocky, ‘I know I’m an asshole’ kind of way.

The way his dark hair is a mess of curls on top of his head, one strand hanging down on his forehead. How his eyes look like emeralds, how his smirk is probably one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen, even though I hate it.

But he’s a jerk. His attitude and personality are like a repellent, and I could never actually be into someone like him. He’s exactly the kind of guy your parents warn you not to get involved with.

No matter how physically attractive he is on the outside, the inside is like black ice. Not to mention, I’m pretty positive he’s fucked every girl attending Ellington U, and maybe even some girls in the neighboring colleges. He’s probably got some kind of venereal disease. Gross.

Ryker stares up at me. “Hey, Rebel,” he says, one side of his mouth slightly raised. I roll my eyes at the nickname.

“Don’t call me that,” I want to ask why he calls me that, but I don’t want to speak to him longer than I have to.

His eyes shoot down to my chest and I look down to see what caught his eye.

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