Hate to Love You Page 7

  “Just make sure you keep it that way,” Dad says in a stern tone.

  The legs of my chair scrape against the tile floor as I push away from the table. “Well, this has been a real slice, but I need to get back to campus and study.”

  “Fine.”

  As I walk away, he adds, “And square things up with your co-captain. You don’t need to bring bad blood out onto the ice with you. Not when your season is just about to get underway.”

  I wave a hand over my shoulder while walking toward the front door.

  Yeah…that’s not going to happen.

  Reed can suck it, as far as I’m concerned.

  Chapter Nine

  Natalie

  “I need coffee,” I moan, feeling blurry-eyed as Zara and I set out across campus. “Please tell me we have time to stop.” I didn’t sleep well last night. All I could think about was the ridiculous situation with Brody that I’ve become embroiled in. It’s frightening how quickly it’s taken on a life of its own. Clearly, it needs to be snuffed out before it grows any larger.

  Zara glances at her phone. “As long as there isn’t a huge line, we should be fine.”

  We stop at Java House, a coffee shop in the middle of campus. As I open the door and step inside, I’m not surprised to find a longer-than-usual line. My guess is that everyone is still hungover from the weekend and needs a little extra shot of caffeine to jumpstart their Monday morning.

  I may not be hungover, but I feel the same pain.

  A few customers glance our way, some doing double takes as a wave of murmurs moves through the crowd. Uncomfortable with the amount of attention I’m drawing, I pause over the threshold, causing Zara to slam into my back.

  “What the hell, Nat?” she grumbles in irritation.

  “Sorry.” Ignoring the looks and hushed voices, I step inside the shop and take my place in line. I do a quick count. Looks like there are seven customers ahead of us.

  “I don’t know if we have time for this.” Zara murmurs, glancing at her phone again. “We’re cutting it close, and I can’t afford to be late.”

  I bounce on the balls of my feet, jonesing for a caramel mocha. “I’m not sure I can make it through the next hour without some help.” I need caffeinated fortitude in order to deal with Brody and the situation that is spiraling out of control.

  Not wanting to acknowledge the looks aimed in our direction, I stare straight ahead. I’d told myself that what happened with Brody would blow over. In the grand scheme of things—war, politics, world hunger, disease—this isn’t a big deal. But still, the rumor that Brody and I are now Whitmore’s golden couple has spread like wildfire across social media in less than forty-eight hours.

  Zara leans in close to my ear. “Is it my imagination or are these people staring at you?”

  It’s not her imagination. I can literally feel eyes crawling over me. For someone who enjoys her anonymity, it’s a strange sensation. “It’s your imagination.”

  “I don’t think so.” She sounds perplexed. “How are you not noticing this? It’s even making me uncomfortable.”

  “No one is paying attention to us,” I repeat. “It’s a normal Monday morning. Nothing out of the ordinary is happening.” It’s like I’m reading from a script that I’m unwilling to deviate from.

  She snickers. “Oh, sweetie, are you hoping if you say it enough times, it’ll be true?”

  “That’s the plan,” I admit tightly. “And so far, it’s working.” Not really. I noticed people staring as soon as I stepped onto campus ten minutes ago. A few even waved and said hi like we knew each other. The first time it happened, I actually swung around and glanced behind me figuring the greeting was meant for someone else. But there wasn’t anyone there.

  Creepy.

  “Well, this should be interesting,” Zara murmurs under her breath.

  We’re still four deep when a barista yells, “Extra-large caramel mocha with extra whip for Natalie.”

  With a frown, I glance at Zara from the corner of my eye. Then I look around the tiny shop waiting for someone with the same name to grab the drink I was planning to order. Thirty seconds tick by and the cup remains unclaimed on the counter.

  Looking straight at me, the barista enunciates the order with more care.

  Zara nudges my arm with her elbow. “Okay, this is going to sound strange, but I think she’s talking to you.”

  That’s not possible. I haven’t made it to the counter yet. “It can’t be mine.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Natalie?” Again, the girl snags my surprised gaze. “Your name is Natalie, right?”

  I jerk my head in the affirmative.

  Again, she talks all slow-like. “You’re dating Brody McKinnon?”

  Oh, for fuck’s sake.

  Seriously?

  “Ummm…” How am I supposed to respond to that question? I am most definitely not dating Brody. This entire fake-dating fiasco is a gigantic mix-up. One that needs to be rectified ASAP.

  “Yep, that’s her.” Zara grabs my hand and forcibly drags me to the front of the line. More people turn to stare.

  The barista beams as she hands over the coffee with a flourish. “This is what you usually order, right?”

  “Ummm…” I’m confused. What’s happening here?

  “Yup,” Zara supplies in my silence. “It is. Extra-grande and whip. Just the way she likes it.”

  “I thought so. You’re a regular here.” She leans toward me and whispers, “I’ll have it waiting for you every day at quarter to ten.”

  When I continue staring in befuddlement, Zara jabs me in the ribs with her elbow and whispers under her breath with a smile, “Say thank you.”

  “Thank you,” I mumble like an idiot.

  “You’re welcome. Just let McKinnon know that we absolutely love him here at Java House.” The way she says “love” makes it sound more like loooooove.

  “We’ll definitely do that. Your support is appreciated.” Zara pumps her fist in the air. “Go Wildcats!” Then she leans across the counter and asks, “So…any chance I can get a frap with no whip?”

  “Of course, coming right up!”

  With a delighted grin lighting up her face, Zara turns back to me. I’m sure my expression is more what-the-fuck-was-that. I frantically shake my head at her.

  “This is freaking awesome!” she whispers giddily.

  Finding my voice, I mutter, “This is weird! I don’t like it. Not one bit.”

  Less than two minutes later, the barista is back. “Here you go! Frappuccino with no whip.”

  Thrown off by the whole bizarre exchange, I dig through my pocket for cash and pull out a few folded-up bills. “How much do we owe you?”

  She takes a step away from the counter, holds her hands up, and shakes her head. “Don’t worry. It’s on the house.”

  “What? No!” My eyes slide to Zara, silently begging her to back me up on this. “We can’t accept these drinks without paying for them.”

  “Are you kidding? Of course, we can!” Zara interrupts. When she elbows me for a third time, I glare. There’s a perma-grin plastered across her face that makes her look slightly manic. Okay, it’s more than slightly. “Thank the nice girl again and let’s get to class before we’re late.”

  I don’t have the chance to argue because Zara pulls me away from the counter. Before I get too far, I stuff the wadded-up bills into the tip jar. I can’t just not pay these people. It would be wrong. I feel bad enough for cutting in front of the customers who were already waiting in line.

  I stumble out of the shop and grind to a halt. “What the hell was that?”

  Zara grins and takes a sip of her drink. She closes her eyes and sighs with exaggeration. “That, my love, is one of the many perks of dating Brody McKinnon. And you know what? I love it. Dare I say that the coffee tastes a little better because of it?” She squeals. “All right, I dare. It tastes so much better.” Her eyes dance. “Told you this wasn’t going to blow over anyt
ime soon.”

  I hate to admit it, but Zara might be right. Which means that I need to speak with Brody immediately. This farce needs to end before it spins any further out of control

  Chapter Ten

  Natalie

  I arrive at Dr. Miller’s class with a few minutes to spare. On the way over, I was bombarded with more people calling out my name and waving. After a while, I just waved back. A few even stopped and told me how much they love my boyfriend.

  My boyfriend…

  What am I supposed to say to that?

  Ummm, thank you?

  This episode has thrown off my entire morning. I’m a fidgety mess as I wait for Brody to make his grand entrance. I’m in the middle of taking my agitation out on my gnawed-to-the-pulp thumbnail when Kimmie Sanders walks in.

  I do a double take.

  Well…I think it’s Kimmie.

  Even though it’s a ten a.m. class, and most of us usually look like we’ve just rolled out of bed and sprinted across campus like we’re contestants on The Amazing Race, Kimmie usually sweeps into the room wearing full makeup with her hair perfectly styled. She favors tops that reveal way too much cleavage and skirts that barely cover her butt cheeks.

  That’s not the case this morning.

  I can’t help but stare. I don’t think she’s wearing a drop of makeup and her hair has been thrown up in a messy bun. Her outfit consists of leggings and a boxy sweatshirt. Not even a cute midriff-baring top.

  Is that…a stain on her chest?

  In the three years I’ve known Kimmie, I’ve never seen her dressed like this.

  Since she’s a finance major like me, I usually end up having at least one class with her a semester. That being said, we’re more acquaintances than friends. Kimmie is all about the Delta Zetas, and I have zero interest in Greek life. But still, this departure from the norm has me concerned.

  When she plops down at the desk behind me, I turn in my seat. “Kimmie? Are you okay?”

  Maybe she’s not feeling well. Although I’m not sure why she would bother showing up if that were the case. All she does is yap at Brody during class. Academics have never been her top priority.

  As soon as her baby blues focus on me, her entire body deflates and tears fill her wide eyes.

  Jeez.

  Whatever is going on is much worse than I originally suspected.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask gently. I’m always willing to help a sister out. Pussy power and all that, right? “You seem upset.”

  She blinks. Her normally pretty face takes on a pinched quality as she glares at me.

  “What’s wrong?” Her voice rises with each syllable. A few students swivel on their chairs to see what’s going on. “How can you ask me something like that?”

  “What?” My spine stiffens in confusion. Clearly, I should have kept my big mouth shut.

  Lesson learned.

  Today has been weird enough without adding a Kimmie Sanders meltdown to the list. But it’s too late to backtrack. I see the impending storm brewing in her eyes. Any moment it’s going to rain down on me.

  An innocent bystander.

  A concerned acquaintance.

  Kimmie leans toward me. Her hands have balled into fists on the desk. If she tries to crawl over it, I’m out of here.

  “I really can’t believe you, Natalie!” she snaps, her voice shaking with unspent emotion.

  My eyes widen, and my hand flies to my chest in shock. “Me? What did I do?”

  I think this chick has lost her mind. Maybe she’s inhaled too many hairspray fumes. I’m no psych major, but this isn’t normal behavior. Not even for Kimmie Sanders.

  Her eyes narrow. If looks could kill, I’d be a pile of ash. “I’ll tell you what you did! You stole the man I love right out from beneath my nose!” She wails the last part, and I cringe as more classmates turn in their seats, craning their necks to stare at the unnecessary drama she’s creating. “How could you?”

  The accusation has my jaw falling open and hitting the desk.

  Stole the man she loves?

  What is she talking about?

  Before I’m able to wrap my brain around words and even try to sort out this mess, she continues. “I thought we were friends! Well, not anymore! Friends don’t steal each other’s men.”

  Oh my God, she’s totally delusional. That’s the only rational explanation for her unhinged behavior. I’ve heard about young adults in college having nervous breakdowns. I’ve just never witnessed it for myself. Poor Kimmie. I hope she finds the necessary help she needs to get better.

  “Kimmie,” I say carefully. “We’ve never been friends.” Why would she think that? I can’t think of one time she’s even acknowledged me outside of class.

  She folds her arms over her ample chest. “Well, we certainly aren’t anymore!”

  I’m afraid of what she’ll do if I try rationalizing with her. It might make the situation worse. And I don’t need that. Not on top of everything else going on this morning. Maybe I should just play along. “Who exactly did I steal from you again?”

  Two fat, crystal-looking tears trek down her pale cheeks. “You know exactly who you stole, you conniving little bitch!”

  More people have trickled into the room and are staring at the spectacle she’s making of herself. I just want to melt into the floor. Is it too late to transfer to a different section this semester? I’m sure Dr. Miller would be sympathetic to my plight.

  I keep my voice pitched low. “I really don’t. Why don’t you just tell me.”

  “Brody!” she wails. “He’s the love of my life.”

  Son of a monkey!

  I should have known.

  Dr. Miller enters the room and shuffles through a few papers at the lectern. More people fill up the seats until all of the desks surrounding me have been taken.

  Thankful that class is about to start, I say, “Look, Kimmie, there’s been a misunderstanding. Can we discuss this after class?” I glance around, meeting a sea of curious stares. “Alone?”

  Hope kindles in her tear-filled baby blues and her bottom lip trembles pathetically. “A mistake?” she repeats in a hopeful tone.

  “Yes.” I smile in relief as her anger magically melts away. “A huge mistake. I’ll explain everything after class, okay? You have nothing to worry about in regards to Brody, trust me.”

  Her lips curve as she nods. “Yeah.”

  Turning toward the front of the room, I rub my temples in aggravation. A headache is brewing behind my eyes. It’s only ten in the morning and already I’d like to wrap my hands around Brody’s neck and strangle the life out of him.

  Damn it. This is all his fault.

  If he’d just kept his big mouth shut on Saturday night, none of this would be happening.

  Brody saunters in as Dr. Miller launches into a lesson about nonprofit enterprises. He stops, his eyes scanning the small lecture hall. I slump in my seat, somehow knowing that he’s searching for me. I need time to cool off before I talk with him. I flick my eyes toward him, hoping he’s found a place to sit. He hasn’t. The moment our gazes connect, he makes his way toward me. Unfortunately for him, all of the seats have been taken.

  But that, apparently, isn’t going to stop him. My brows draw together as he slips into the row I’m parked in.

  What’s he planning to do?

  Sit on my lap?

  When he gets to the occupied desk next to mine, he doesn’t say a word. Just slants an eyebrow. The guy pales and scrambles to gather up his computer and backpack before hustling away.

  For the umpteenth time this morning, my jaw drops. Looking relaxed, Brody slides into the desk next to me. Once he’s taken out his computer, his eyes flick to mine as one side of his mouth hitches.

  “Hey, babe,” he says. “Thanks for saving me a seat.”

  I do the only thing I can.

  I growl in frustration.

  Chapter Eleven

  Brody

  Every few minutes, I glance at Natali
e from the corner of my eye. It’s almost as if I can see the smoke pouring from her ears. My guess is that she’s on the verge of busting a nut. I’m not sure what’s going on, but I have a feeling I’ll find out soon enough.

  I’ll say this about Natalie—she never leaves me guessing as to what her true feelings are. Particularly when those feelings have to do with me. And that, I find refreshing. I’ve been around enough females to know that they don’t always tell you what’s really going on inside their heads. Which can be tricky. I’d much rather be around someone who—good or bad—just puts it out there.

  “Okay, everyone, I’ll see you on Wednesday,” Dr. Miller says. “Remember that the assignment on page two hundred and forty is due at midnight tomorrow. If you have any questions about the material, you can always email or text me. I do not, however, Snapchat.”

  A few chuckles erupt as people pack up their belongings and scatter like rats fleeing a sinking ship.

  I’m trying to figure out the best way to approach Natalie when Dr. Miller says, “Mr. McKinnon, may I have a few moments of your time?”

  “Sure thing.” I glance at Natalie. “Wait for me?”

  She nods. Her expression looks like it’s been carved in stone. That, coupled with the fact that she hasn’t spoken one single word throughout the entire fifty-minute class, has me concerned.

  “I won’t be long,” I add.

  Girls, as a rule, have never made me nervous. Maybe when I was fifteen they did, but certainly not since. There have always been too many clamoring for my attention to get hung up on anyone in particular. Nor have I ever had to work to gain a female’s attention.

  Natalie is the exception.

  If I don’t engage her, it’s like I’m not even there. Which, I suppose, is why I start acting like a fifth-grade boy with his first crush and tease her mercilessly. What I said to her before is true. I wouldn’t bother her if I didn’t like her.