Dare You to Hate Me

The problem is that I would have screwed her right there. I would have let her control every goddamn second of us fucking on the couch, when I’ve never let anyone have that same courtesy. I played her game until I realized it wasn’t real and stopped anything from going further. My ego and dick are still bruised over it.

“Studying,” Number 81 says casually as I walk further into the room and start digging through the fridge for things to eat. “If I’m going to ace this thing, I need to use my secret weapon. Did you know Ivy is a closet nerd? She enjoys school. Takes notes every single class.”

I turn on my heel, bread and deli meat in hand, and eye Ivy as if to say, since when? She never liked school. Every time we’d get into trouble, it was because she was cutting class and I was dumb enough to follow her.

I notice the slight way she sinks into the wooden chair, as if she doesn’t want the attention. Mine or anyone else’s. Too bad. “I like the structure,” she corrects him, picking up her pen and jotting something down on the stapled packet off to the side. “And are you even filling this thing out? That’s the whole reason I’m here.”

DJ’s hand shoots to his chest, a palm flat over his heart. “And here I thought it was to see me.”

I snort as soon as I see the way she stares at him—deadpan yet deadly. He’s smart enough to back off, sighing, and reaches for his pen and much emptier paper.

“So,” I press, laying everything I need for a sandwich out on the counter. “Yo

u still planning on skipping the game?”

Clearly, our wide receiver didn’t know that based on the way he dramatically drops his pen and gapes at his study partner. “What? Why wouldn’t you come to the game?”

Ivy doesn’t even bother glancing up at him. “Because I don’t like football. Or any sports for that matter.” There’s a slight pause. “I’m partial to soccer, I guess. Plus, I like making money. Taking Friday night shifts means a bigger paycheck, not that I’d expect you to understand.”

My lips curve up slightly as I open the mayo. She used to play soccer in middle school. Goalie. She got pulled in eighth grade during one of the last games because the ball broke her collarbone, and she never joined again. Her parents couldn’t afford another hospital bill.

It’s not far off to assume DJ comes from money. His family has a big place in Boston, and he tends to wear nicer clothes. Brands I’ve never heard of until hanging around him. My family is middle-class, but it never stopped us from settling for something from a Target clearance rack back home.

“Are you a heathen?” my roommate asks.

Ivy doesn’t miss a beat. “Are you a hermaphrodite?”

I choke on my own saliva as I spread mayo on one of the slices of bread. When I look at DJ, he’s sputtering out, “What the fuck? No. Why would you even ask that?”

Her shoulders lift. “I thought we were just throwing out random questions that make no sense. Unless there is some truth to it.” This time, she looks behind her shoulder right at me. “You’ve seen him in the locker room. Is there?”

I snicker when I notice the way Number 81’s face turns red, all the way to his ears. “Unfortunately, I can confirm he’s all male. I’ve seen him whip it out one too many times to be uncertain. Including that one time he got so drunk he flashed—”

“That was one time!” he instantly cuts me off, standing up and glaring at me.

My grin grows over his agitation. Sophomore year, he hit Captain Morgan a little too hard and ended up not only flashing a male cop, but woke up spooning Number 14, who’s since graduated, in the living room. They’d both been hammered and vowed not to speak of it to anyone. But there are pictures.

Taken by yours truly.

Ivy clears her throat. “As fun as this spat is to watch—” Her tone says the exact opposite, which makes me shake my head in amusement as I go back to making dinner for myself. “—I have places to go after we’re done here, so can we please finish this?”

DJ drops back into his chair obediently. Can’t say I’m too surprised. Ivy has that touch, that edge to her that people usually listen to when she means business.

“Hot date?” I press, stacking some of the roast beef onto the bread and slapping a few slices of cheese on next. “I’m sure the guys are lining up at your door to experience that shining personality of yours.”

Through my lashes, I see her shoulders straighten. It’s an asshole thing to be sarcastic about, but I am curious. The guys say nobody sits by her in class because she scares them off with her expression. Even Number 81 looks slightly curious, which I’m not as enthused about.

Ivy ever so slowly turns around, resting an arm on the back of the chair. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I do have a hot date. Tangled sheets and all.”

My nostrils flare when we lock eyes, and she smiles innocently at me. “With whom?”

“None of your damn business,” she snaps back quickly.

I stop what I’m doing and lean my palms on the edge of the counter to hold myself up. “I’d say it is considering you had my cock in your hand only days ago.”

DJ quietly murmurs, oh shit under his breath, but otherwise stays silent as he looks over his notes.

“Well tonight is somebody else’s turn.” Again, she shrugs, unabashed over the simple statement. Her eyes show no mercy, no shame, and I don’t know what to think. Gone is the girl I used to know, and in her place is a total stranger with a fiery personality she only could have gotten by the shit she’s experienced in the last few years. “Don’t be greedy, Hot Shot.”