Dare You to Hate Me

One of his brows, dark brown like the hair on his head, quirks. “Am I that predictable?”

It’s Elena who chirps out a “Yep.”

He chuckles, swiping one of those huge hands through the tresses of thick hair that’s longer on the top versus the sides. “The usual then.”

I try not to focus on the low, husky tone of his voice that causes bumps to rise over my arms. He’s twenty-one, but he doesn’t sound it. Before I settled for a half-renovated basement, I couch-surfed with strangers. Most of them who were men older than my twenty years with every intention of making me pay them in some way, and usually not with money.

Aiden Griffith doesn’t give me the same vibes those guys do, though. I’ve had limited interactions with him since the day he walked in and stared in my direction until every inch of me felt the lick of flames from his burning blue gaze. He’ll order, I’ll tell him it’s ready, and he’ll give me a generic “have a good day” knowing I’ll never offer opportunity for more. One time he told me my shoe was untied, which I’d already figured out afte

r almost falling on my face with a tray full of breakfast for table three—who happened to be his buddies. Most of them besides Caleb and DJ, a guy from my anthropology class, laughed at my clumsiness until Aiden shot them a look. They shut up quickly.

It makes no sense to me why someone who’s as sought after as the university’s famed football player is would be at a school like Lindon. We’re not division one. If anything, we’re the misfit college—once thriving, now barely making ends meet if not for the championships the football team wins. I’ve heard people say that athletes who blow it at other schools come here to redeem themselves. Some of them make a future for themselves in the pros after their second chance, and others fizzle out.

I wonder which the man in front of me is.

I’ve been to a few games in the last year when I was squatting near campus and checking out my financial options for enrollment. Thanks to having nothing to my name, and a decent GED score, financial aid pulled through for me when I was accepted. I know a little bit about the game, but not what each position is called or what the scoring system is like. Most of what I do understand comes from the sixteen-year-old I work with who feels the need to read out sports stats from online that’s more like code to me than English. But because I want to understand, to learn after he walked in the first time, I try piecing together the little tidbits she always babbles about. Who’s the best, who’s going pro, who won’t get the chance—Lena and her grandmother have predictions for the entire team, and like most of Lindon, they’re in agreement that Aiden Griffith can make it to the top.

Elena is the conversationalist in this transaction as I prepare Aiden’s coffee because my tongue is too heavy. “Grandma Bea said the Dragons are going to kick butt all the way to the championships.”

From the corner of my eye, I see the tight end’s lips twitch upward like he doesn’t want to be cocky but can’t pretend it’s untrue. “That’s the plan. Are you coming to support us?”

I happen to know the teen bouncing on the counter is a huge football fan just like most of this town. According to some of the locals that come in for coffee, the university has broken the records for most wins at home and away because of the team they’ve had the last two years.

“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss it! Bea was going to shut down early until Ivyprofen here said she’d stay and close.” Lena snorts while I roll my eyes at her nickname for me. “I don’t know why. Nobody will be here except her.”

A new set of eyes focuses on my face, but I busy myself by spreading the olive oil and sea salt butter he likes over his bagel. “Ivyprofen?” There’s amusement in his tone, but he doesn’t let either of us explain that Elena calls me that because she says I’m a pain and she needs medicine after dealing with me. Instead, he proceeds to ask, “Not a fan of football, huh?”

All I give him is a stiff shrug, and even the smallest upward movement feels draining. I know better than to believe it’s from exhaustion but refuse to acknowledge the real reason behind the tightness consuming my body.

I remind myself I’m here to work, not make conversation with every customer that comes in. Especially not him.

As Elena goes to answer for me, her grandmother walks out from the back. “Lena, I need you to help me take out the bins of dough from the back and set them in the kitchen for me. We have a lot of baking to do today for the week.”

I usually help with the week’s preparations, but Elena expressed interest in learning her grandmother’s recipes, so I took a step back. I want to believe Bea, or Bets as I call her, sees me as another grandchild—one of the twelve she lays claim to. But I know I’m not, and that I shouldn’t try so hard to be.

You’re here for a paycheck, I tell myself again silently. Not a family.

Feeling my throat close up as I wrap up the bagel and stick it into a bag, I begin folding the top to complete the order when I hear, “Ivy.”

It’s not a roll off the tongue like he’s testing its sound.

It’s in familiarity.

You’re here for a paycheck, I tell myself once more as I turn on my heels and pass him the white bag and coffee cup without meeting those bright blue eyes that I know are on me. “That’ll be $4.25 please.”

“Ivy,” he repeats, and I wonder if he can hear how hard my heart thumps with the sound of my name coming from his lips again.

“Cash or credit?” I press, staring at the machine’s buttons, ignoring the pumping organ in my chest.

“Iv—”

“We also take Dragon Dollars,” I cut him off, gesturing toward the new promotion. Any college student that comes in can pay by scanning their student I.D card.

He cusses under his breath. “You’re just going to keep pretending then?” Even though his words are barely more than a hushed murmur under his breath, I feel them deeper than that. They sweep under my skin and squeeze my heart until I hear it crack from the pressure.

All I give him is, “Yes.”

Because pretending is all I can do to get through today without remembering the past or the girl who confided in a boy before he left her to her demons.