Dare You to Hate Me

But not as much as the two I replied with.

I can’t.

“I’m always going to be screwed up because of the decisions I made, Aiden. There’s no getting rid of what I’ve done. There’s no forgetting the nightmares I wake up from, or the memories I get trapped in. The feelings deep inside me are engraved in my soul. I’ll never fully be better. This is…it’s a lifetime of battles ahead of me, and I don’t want to make anyone suffer by watching me figure out if I want to live or die when it all becomes too much. Even if I never want to remember my choices, I don’t necessarily regret them because I wouldn’t be who I am today if I didn’t experience what I did. Does that mean I’m proud of succumbing to my weakness? To my thoughts? No. But I have to remind myself that I want to live more than I want to die—that I have reasons to now when I didn’t before.”

Clicking my tongue, I rub the back of my neck and heft out a sigh. “Damn, Ivy. That’s… You make it hard to be pissed at you.”

When I glance back at her, she’s trying not to grin, and I’m glad the thick tension has dissipated slightly. “You used to tell me that all the time.”

I grumble, “Some shit never changes.”

Unwinding her legs, she stretches them out beside mine. “About the game this weekend… If I wanted to attend, who do I need to blow to get a ride?”

My face shadows over. “Not funny.”

She cracks a grin. “I think so.” Before I counter her, she’s moving forward and tracing the elastic waistband of my basketball shorts with one of her fingers. “I find myself free and interested in seeing how bad these Raiders are compared to the Dragons now that we have you. I’m sure they’ll be kicking themselves for letting you go.”

All it takes is her pulling down my shorts and blowing on the tip of my engorged cock for me to groan, “I’ll drive us.”

And the only response I get back is her lips wrapping around me until words no longer matter.

The cloud of flour comes out of nowhere as I’m stirring the dough, pausing to blink at the mess covering me. “Did you just…?”

I look over at Aiden—who’s sporting the I love to rub my meat apron that DJ got him after he, Caleb, and Justin all saw their tight end helping me cook dinner—and see an unconvincing look of innocence on his face.

When he asked where I was going earlier, I told him I wanted to make some cookies. It was a way to procrastinate from doing homework, which st

ill sits untouched in my backpack on the couch downstairs. I didn’t think he’d follow, much less tie the apron around himself, but he’s been letting me guide him through the recipe like his mom used to do for me.

“I’m not cleaning that up,” I tell him, fighting a smile when I put the bowl down and wipe off the flour remnants from my shirt. It’s impossible to look clean considering it’s pure black with a mostly faded logo on it from some old soda corporation. It was a cheap thrift store find, already broken in with holes, so I guess a little flour won’t kill it.

“We’ll make DJ do it.”

From the other room where said boy is studying with a few of the guys for some sports class they take together, we hear, “No, you won’t, Betty Crocker.”

I laugh and return back to the thick dough, pulling some out with the spoon and grinning at Aiden. “Remember when we used to get into fights about who’d get to lick the spoon?”

He steals the spoon from me and brings it to his mouth. “Don’t act like it was any competition. My mom always let you have it. I think she loved you more than me.”

I grab the wooden utensil back. “Don’t put it in your mouth! I still need to use it to stir in the chocolate chips.”

Another remark comes from the peanut gallery perched in the other room in the form of a “that’s what she said” joke that spawns a fit of laughter among the guys.

I roll my eyes but grin as Aiden snorts at his roommate’s cliché quip. It’s not too far off considering where my mouth usually is every morning if Aiden hasn’t already left for the gym. Seeing his face contort with pleasure as I suck him off is one of my favorite ways to start the day, and it always gets better when he flips me around, spreads my legs and shows me the same kind of attention.

I turn toward the kitchen door. “None of you are getting these cookies if you don’t shut up and study.”

I feel a set of eyes on me. “Isn’t that a little hypocritical considering you’re doing anything in your power not to do schoolwork?”

All I do is shrug and pick up the bag of my favorite chocolate chips from the counter. When I struggle to open them, Aiden takes the bag and gets the job done with those bulging, inked muscles currently on display in the plain white tee he’s wearing.

I grumble, “Show off,” causing him to snicker as I bump him with my shoulder and slowly pour the chips in. “I’m surprised the guys are doing work at all since it’s break.”

“Their professor decided to have an exam first thing after break ends, so they figured they’d get studying in now before they all leave after the game this weekend to head home to see family.”

We haven’t discussed more about Thanksgiving since he brought it up last time, and I’m grateful. It isn’t like I want to avoid the topic completely, but I haven’t figured out how I feel about it. Emily Griffith was the mother I always wanted, and her husband John was the stoic yet supportive father I wanted mine to be like too. But being around them will cause a lot of tension. Would they like me now? Would they see me as a threat to Aiden like everyone else does?

A broad shoulder nudges my arm. “Out of your head, Underwood. You’re doing that nose scrunching thing when you think too hard.”