Page 12 of Hate To Love You

When Professor Whitely brought up the partnership, my first reaction was to tell her ‘Fuck no’. But then I thought about it, and I came to the conclusion that this could work for me, and seeing how badly Gwen wanted to fight Professor Whitely made me want it even more.

Gwen’s obviously smart, and she knows what she’s doing. She might be able to help me get my grade up and get my father off my back.

When she argued with me in class on Monday, she ignited something in me. No one has ever talked to me like that, especially a woman. Most of them throw themselves at me. But Gwen? She basically told me to fuck off, and it was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

I hate to admit it, but Gwen is beautiful. She’s all long tan legs, brown hair, and crystal blue eyes wrapped in this fiery personality. She’s one of those girls that doesn’t even have to try, she’s just naturally gorgeous, and I bet she doesn’t even know it.

An image of her wearing that light blue blouse that perfectly showed off her tits and the jeans that looked like they were painted on plays in my mind. Her bright blue eyes looking big and innocent. And that mouth. Fuck, why does her stubbornness and hatred toward me turn me on? My dick twitches in my pants, begging for release.

I shake my head, attempting to get rid of the image. No, I can’t go there. Not with Gwen. She hates me, and I’m not so sure how fond I am of her.

I just want to get this project over with so I can pass this stupid fucking class and move on with my life, move on from my father. I can’t afford to be distracted.

I’m really not a dick. I may be hardheaded, and I know I can be an ass sometimes, but I’m not evil. I respect women and yeah, I have the occasional one-night stand to let off some steam, but I always make sure the woman I’m with is satisfied. See, respect. I do admit I have a problem with authority due to my father and the emotional trauma he’s caused me, but I’m pretty even tempered.

But when Gwen ran into me in the hallway, I was worked up about the meeting with my dad and I was in a shit mood. I could have reacted better, but it was too late. Plus, for some weird reason, I kind of like pissing her off. Her face gets all red and her nose scrunches up; it’s pretty cute.

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The next day goes by slow, and I haven’t heard from Gwen yet, which I guess isn’t surprising. The arrangement isn’t ideal, and I know she doesn’t understand why I even agreed to it. But this is the only way to get my dad to back the hell off. I just need to pass this class, and I need Gwen’s help to do it.

I had a few boring classes this morning and now I’m sitting in the kitchen at the Elite house with Patrick, Mason, and Holland, as Pat, Holland, and I stare into a bowl of… honestly, I’m not even sure what this is. It smells putrid, and it looks even worse, but Mason made it, and I don’t think any of us want to tell him it looks like puke.

Holland looks at me and I shrug, moving the sludge around with my fork. Mason looks like he’s about to jump out of his seat with anticipation. He’s clearly very proud of himself. Pat clears his throat before asking the question we all want the answer to.

“So… what is it?” Mason’s face falls slightly, looking a bit confused.

“It’s beef stew. What, you can’t tell? Look,” Mason points to a big block of something in Pat’s bowl. “That’s beef.”

Pat picks it up with his fork and examines it before setting it back in his bowl. Mason looks around the table at Holland and I and then back to Pat.

“You’re not gonna try it?”

“I’m really not that hungry. I actually have to uh… I have to study,” Pat says, pushing away from the table and standing. Mason watches as Pat takes the bowl full of slop over to the fridge and sets it inside. Mason looks back at Holland and I expectantly.

“Yeah, I’m actually not that hungry either. But thanks for making dinner, bro,” Holland stands from his seat next to me, pats Mason on the shoulder, and sets the bowl in the fridge. Those fuckers left me alone.

Mason watches me, seemingly waiting to hear what excuse I come up with. “And you? I assume you’re not hungry either,” he looks disappointed. I look down at the bowl one more time before ultimately deciding that I care more about my health than Mason’s feelings.

“It was a great attempt, but I think we should let Pat do the cooking. Sorry, bud,” I don’t even bother putting the bowl in the fridge because I know I won’t be eating it. I toss the contents in the trash and set the bowl in the sink.

As I make my way out of the kitchen, Mason calls after me.

“You guys are so ungrateful. I slaved over a hot stove all day to make you dicks dinner!” I shake my head and chuckle to myself. Such a drama queen.

Chapter 9

Guinevere

If the rain and gray skies are any indication as to how my day is going to go, I should probably just head back to the house now. Sinking back into bed and hiding under the covers while binging some terrible podcast sounds a lot better than what I actually have to do today.

As I stand in line at Cafe Grind, Ellington’s one and only cafe on campus, I stare out the window at the rain pouring down from above, creating huge puddles on the walking paths. Some students walk by with umbrellas, some with only their hood up. Everyone has the same look though, dark and gloomy. I hate the rain.

“Last call for a coffee for Gwen,” oh shoot.

My gaze darts from the window to the barista with long black hair that’s up in a ponytail, a red bandana around her neck, and a scowl on her face.

I grab my coffee with a small smile.

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