Hate to Love You

Shay sat up, his eyes darkening. “You look good like that.”

I raised a hand to my hair. Still a mess. And my lips were swollen and tingly. I touched them, too. “Yeah.” He did, too, but I held that in. I stayed there, sober and clear-conscious thinking returning, and the questions were starting to form. What were we doing? What was I doing? With him? I hated him . . . right?

Didn’t I?

He rose lithely to his feet and started across the room. “Don’t start thinking. Don’t. Just—” I was still against the door but straightened to my fullest height and gazed up at him. I could feel his body heat. His chest was right in front of me. One inch away. He dropped his head, his eyes dreamy, and I could feel his breath like a soft whisper on my skin. His finger traced my lip as he added, “We don’t talk about it, remember?”

His hand skimmed down my arm, falling to my hand. “No talking.”

I added another rule, “No thinking, either.”

“Yes.” He nodded in approval. “That’s the best one yet. No thinking. Just . . .” He bent down, his lips over mine. “Feeling this.” He pressed them against mine, and I groaned, grabbing on to his shoulders as he hoisted me into his arms. My legs went around his waist, but instead of the bed, he just held me there and pressed me to the door.

His lips were on mine. His one hand was on my hip, and his other cupped the side of my face. He pulled back, only a fraction of an inch, and said, “This is okay with you?”

I nodded. God, yes. “No talking. No thinking.”

“Just feeling.”

“Hell yes.”

I dragged his mouth to mine. It didn’t need to be so far away.





It was after midnight when I finally kicked him out.

We maintained our rules. We didn’t talk. When I pushed him away, he just nodded, kissed me, pulled his shirt on, and kissed me again. He pulled on his socks and shoes, another kiss. Then grabbed his phone and his own keys. Two more kisses, as I began walking him toward the door.

This wasn’t what I did with boyfriends. The few that there’d been, it’d been all business. A grope. A chaste kiss goodbye, and then they were out the door. This was light and fun and sexy and I was forgetting how much I hated the guy.

I pulled away at the door and shook my head. “No more.”

I broke the no-talking rule.

His half-smirk reminded me, but he raked a hand through his hair, looked up and down the hallway, and was gone. The door closed with a hard bang, and I jerked back inside so the squawkers didn’t know that was me. I heard their door open, and the girl I had flipped off earlier grumbled, “Who was that?” She pulled back into the room. Her voice grew muffled as the door closed.

I went to the window in time to see a shadow dart from the stairway and off to the parking lot. It was then that everything hit me.

I made out with Shay Coleman.

Shay Fucking Coleman.

He wanted to fuck me.

I plopped down on Missy’s desk chair since it was closest to the window. Raking a hand through my hair, I was dumbfounded. I was still writhing around on that bed, feeling his hands everywhere, his kisses, feeling him on me. Groaning, I buried my head in my hands.

What the hell did I just do?

No. I couldn’t go there and let myself be filled with shame. Whatever. I sat back up. So what? So the fucking what? I made out with a guy? Who cares if I couldn’t stand him outside the bed? We weren’t in a relationship. I wasn’t going to date the guy. Hell no. This was physical. And if it happened again—well, I wasn’t going to think about that, either.

I stood and actually shrugged it off.

I wasn’t going to be filled with remorse, and I wasn’t going to feel cheap and dirty. It was kissing. It was healthy, just like I said to Missy. That was healthy, too.

Thirty minutes later, I was dressed for bed and feeling a little better.

My teeth were brushed. Face was washed. I thought about a shower, but I decided to wait till morning. I could feel him still on me through the night, and so what if it was Shay. I hadn’t made out with a guy in a while. It actually felt nice, if I just forgot who it was.

I was on my computer when a key fitted into the lock. The door swung open. My roommate came in.

I didn’t look over. She could make her belittling comments. I wouldn’t care. Gage sent me a second email, asking if I’d go to the football game with him. Why he didn’t just text, I had no idea, then the smell of booze tickled my nose. I looked over. She was at her closet, swaying back and forth, and she had pulled her shirt off.

She was alone.

The door was still open, so I shut it and was returning to my desk when I braked. There was a backpack resting on the other side of my desk chair. It wasn’t mine. It wasn’t Missy’s. I was pretty sure it wasn’t Holly’s or the cousin’s.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath.

“Huh?” she barked, her head swinging around to me.

A quick glance confirmed what I already knew. She was drunk.

“Nothing.”

She pulled out one of her shirts, but it wasn’t her normal pajama top. She was really drunk. I picked up Shay’s bag and checked the contents to make sure it was his. It was. I saw his planner with his name scrawled at the top, so I zipped that bag and put it in the back of my closet. No one needed to go through it. I didn’t think Missy would, but I just never knew.

Dropping into my chair, I picked up my phone to text Shay as Missy fell to the floor. I looked up to watch. I couldn’t not see this.

I was tempted to video it, but I was being nice. For once.

As Missy wrestled with her jeans and lifted them over her head to throw into her closet, I texted Shay.

Me: You left your bag here.

Missy let out a half-gurgled moan and a cry of frustration at the same time. She didn’t stand, instead crawling to the closet. She grabbed another pair of pants.

Those weren’t her pajamas, either.

As she pulled them on—or tried since her feet kept eluding the pants’ hole—my phone buzzed back.

Coleman: Can I pick it up in the morning?

I texted back.

Me: When?

Missy got one leg in. Success. I wanted to thrust my fist in the air for her.

My phone buzzed again.

Coleman: Early. My playbook is in there.

I groaned.

Me: When is early? I’m in college, Coleman. Sleeping in is mandatory.

Coleman: Nine too early for you? I can come back to get it now.

Nine was doable.

Me: Let’s do an exchange. You bring me coffee, and I’ll meet you at the parking lot curb with your bag.

Coleman: Done. Decaf okay?

I glared at my phone.

Me: Back to hating you.

Coleman: Never stop that. The world’s equilibrium will be fucked up. I have to know what’s right and wrong. Don’t screw with my moral compass, Cute Ass.

Oh, no! No way.

Me: Third rule of what we don’t talk about. No nicknames unless they reconfirm our mutual dislike for each other. No Cute Ass.

His response was immediate.

Coleman: Cunt Ass?

A second squeak from me.

Me: NO!

I could almost hear him laughing.

Coleman: Relax. I know. Clarke’s Ass. That’s how you are in my phone.

The tension left my shoulders.

Me: See you in the morning. 9 sharp.

Coleman: Night.

I put my phone down, but then it buzzed once again.

Coleman: Ass.

I was struggling to wipe this stupid grin off my face. All was right again. I plugged my phone in, pulled my laptop back toward me, and sent a response to Gage’s email. I’ll sit with you, but only if we’re in the opposing team’s section.

He’d be pissed, but that was the only way. I turned the computer off, and by then Missy was climbing up the ladder in a bright pink silk shirt. The buttons were left buttoned, and her pajama bottoms were a pair of corduroy khakis. I was pretty sure she didn’t brush her teeth, but before my head even hit the pillow, she was snoring.





My alarm went off at eight-thirty.

I slept, but the dreams had been filled with kisses, heavy breathing, touching in places all over the body, and a general feeling of being aroused. The whole night.

I was exhausted, but I pulled myself out of bed.

Checking my phone, I knew that Shay would be on time, so I picked up my pace. Dressing, washing, the whole get-go seemed to take longer than normal for some reason. I pulled on jeans, sandals, and a baggy shirt. I didn’t need to proclaim any hotness level here.

I wasn’t trying to be attractive for Shay Coleman.

Still. I paused after I grabbed my keys, phone, and his bag. I reached for some lip-gloss because my lips looked chapped.

Looked. Didn’t feel it, but it never hurt to be proactive.

I was on the curb, his bag next to me, and waiting for five minutes before his black Jeep Wrangler pulled up. He parked in a slot behind me.

I picked up his bag and crossed over the sidewalk and smallest amount of grass. He turned the engine off but didn’t move to get out. I walked to his side and lifted his bag. He pulled the bag through his open window, but he nodded to his passenger side. “Want to get in for a second? I got your coffee.”

Surprised, I shrugged and went around.

No one would see. If they were walking home, they’d be hungover. No one would pay attention to one Jeep Wrangler in the parking lot.

I opened the door and climbed in.

Shay picked up my coffee, his own in his hand. “Here,” he murmured, his voice drowsy.

I shut the door. “Didn’t sleep?”

His head was resting against his seat, but he opened one eye and didn’t look too happy. “I had the biggest hard-on all night. The fucker wouldn’t go away, even after I did its business. Thanks for that.”

“Aw!” I smacked his arm. “No talking about it. That’s the first rule.”

He grumbled but said, “You’re all sorts of messed up. You know that, right?”

I shrugged. It wasn’t an insult if it was true. “I have reason. This makes my life easier.”

He shook his head, sipping some of his coffee. “You going to my game today?” That smirk came back, an extra layer of cockiness added to it. “I am the star quarterback, you know.”

Football. Good. I relaxed. We could talk about that. “I hate football.”

“Oh, my— Are you serious?” he burst out.

“What? I do.”

His eyes narrowed. “You never answered.” He continued to stare at me, long and hard, then his lips lifted again. “That means you’re going, doesn’t it?”

No answer from me.

He laughed, going back to sipping his coffee. “I’m starting to be able to read you.”

I wrinkled my nose. “That isn’t good.”

“Who are you going with?”

“This guy I made out with last night.”

“I’m playing.”

“Who said it was you?” I couldn’t help myself.

“You made out with someone before me last night?” He pretended to scowl, but his lip twitched in a half-grin. “And you broke the rule again.”

No talking about it. Fuck. I gave in, saying, “I’m going with my brother.”

“Yeah?” Interest sparked in his gaze. “What happened to your rule about being seen in public with a guy? Or does he not count because he’s your brother?”

I snorted. “No way. He’s included in that. He’s the main reason I have the rule. Do you know what girls are like when they find out I’m related to Blake or Gage Clarke?” A shiver went down my spine. “They’re either too nice or they’re not nice at all. All the girls Gage sleeps with and discards? Guess who they’re a bitch to?” I stopped a second shiver. “I’m going, but we’re sitting in the other team’s stands.”

He sighed. “I’m not even going to ask if you’re being serious. I know you are.”

“Completely.” I saw his bewilderment, which was mixed with a bit of frustration, and only shook my head. “Girls can be mean. You have no idea.”

“Yeah.” He raised his coffee. “Maybe I don’t. Guys aren’t that bad. There was bullying in high school, but that doesn’t really happen in college.” He amended, dipping his head low, “Unless they’re drunk and just assholes. Then it can get a whole different level of scary.” He squinted at me over the top of his coffee. “Something tells me you’d reduce them to sniveling cowards.”

I grinned. That made me feel better.

Spying a girl I knew from one of my other classes, I reached for the door. “Thank you for the coffee.”

He didn’t say anything, just watched me. This was when he would’ve thanked me for bringing his bag out, but he didn’t. I got out and glanced back to see him watching me intently. “Well.” I felt weird for some reason. “Good luck today.”

I walked away.

The coffee was good.

He had put in some cream and sugar.





I was pissing my pants.

Actually pissing as in full bladder leakage and the whole warm feeling you get at first, followed by embarrassment with shame, and then it’s just wet, sticky, and smelly. Okay, that might’ve been an exaggeration. I checked. My pants were fine, so no real pissing happened, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if some got out.

I was standing outside the concession stands. Gage was making me wait while he went into the bathroom, and not only were my roommate and her gang of two others ten feet away but also Becs and Aby from poli-sci were standing a few feet from them.

I was huddled behind a post and had a huge thing of popcorn and a big cup of soda clutched against my chest. I tried to raise them so if anyone came closer, I could shield my face.

“Clarke?”

I jumped. The air flooded with popcorn, and I didn’t have to imagine the feel of peeing my pants. I was experiencing it now, with soda. My face and shirt were drenched, and there was no warmth. There was coldness. I gritted my teeth. Too much coldness.

Casey was frowning at me. She was wearing a baggy Dulane University hoodie and tight jeans, and her auburn hair was pulled