Page 16 of Hate To Love You

“Oh, Gwennyyyy! Allie cancelled. How was your discussion with Ellington’s Most Eligible Elite?” Damian teases as he charges in as if he lives here. Well, I guess the debate is over. Ellie, Lainey, and Haley all turn to me at the same time.

I’m going to kill Damian.

Chapter 11

Ryker

Fuck.

I have not been able to close my eyes without seeing Gwen and that purple bra that peeked through her very wet white shirt. She tried to hide it with the sweatshirt, but it’s like the universe wanted me to see her.

The bra perfectly fit her tits and pushed them up just the right amount to see enough but leave the rest to the imagination. She was so embarrassed, her cheeks turned a bright scarlet color, and it made me want to egg her on more.

The shock on her face when I mentioned we should do our project on Wuthering Heights would have been offensive, if not for the fact that I was still thinking about her impeccable tits.

I did however enjoy the way she blushed when I called her out on it. She automatically went on the defensive. I wonder if she does that often, tries to defend herself after everything she says or does.

I run my hand down my face as I lay on the couch in the living room where I’ve been laying since I got home from class. Patrick, Mason, and Holland haven’t been home yet, and who the fuck knows where Logan is. Probably being daddy’s good little boy and sitting in his room with a book in his face.

I roll my eyes and stare at the ceiling. My father is never going to let me have my own life. I don’t really even know what I want to do when I leave Ellington in the spring, but I do know I want nothing to do with him while he runs the company.

Logan wants to be an engineer or something, but I don’t even know why he’s trying because our father will never let that happen. Honestly, why are we even wasting time in college if Robert already knows he wants us to work for him? What’s the point? Why am I even trying so hard to impress him? Why do I care?

Even though I despise the man, he’s still my father, and I feel some sort of sick loyalty to him. Robert Steele is no father, but I’m stuck with him. I may be twenty-two, but I’ll be stuck under my father’s thumb until he takes his last breath.

I hear the front door open in the distance and multiple pairs of footsteps ascending in the hallway.

Patrick, Holland, and Mason enter the living room looking exhausted and sweaty. Fuck, I forgot about practice. I’ve been too in my head about my father and Gwen and this project that I haven’t even thought about it.

The boys finally notice me sitting on the couch, their laughter dying down and their faces twisting into a mix of confusion and concern.

“Where have you been, man?” Pat asks, setting his bag down on the ground and circling the couch to stand in front of me.

“Yeah, coach is pissed,” Holland adds. Yeah well, coach will get over it. I’ll just threaten his job and he’ll back down.

I shouldn’t use my last name for threats, that’s something my father does, but sometimes it really can help.

I clear my throat and run my hand through my jet black, messy hair. “I forgot.”

The guy’s eyes go wide, and I hear Mason choke on the water he’s just sipped on.

“You forgot?” Holland asks, the surprise clear in his voice. I stand from the couch and head to the connected kitchen, grab a water from the fridge, and take a long sip.

“Better not give coach that excuse. He’ll kick your ass,” Mason steals my spot on the couch, turning on his stupid game. I lean against the kitchen counter, watching the screen as guns and different characters pop up.

“What’s going on?” Pat’s eyes meet mine from across the room. He knows me better than anyone, and I can’t keep much from him.

“Nothing. I had class this morning, and we were assigned a partner project.”

“Dude, that sucks ass. Group projects are the worst,” Mason says as he stares at the screen in front of him, causing me to roll my eyes. Yeah, no shit.

“Okay…” Pat draws out.

“Do any of you know a Gwen?” I realize now that I don’t know her last name. We haven’t gotten to that. It only occurs to me now that she knows exactly who I am, last name and all, but I barely know anything about her.

Holland looks back at me from the chair in the living room. “Guinevere Sharpe?” I shrug.

“I don’t know. All I know is her first name.”

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