Love to Hate You: An Enemies-to-Lovers New Adult College Sports Romance

My current relationship with Carter can be summed up in one word.

Awkward.

We’ve gone from constantly sniping and taking shots at each other to this bizarre formalness.  It’s like we’re strangers.  Strangers who unfortunately live together and are forced to, upon occasion, interact.

I dread when Noah takes off and leaves the two of us alone at the apartment.  Within minutes, I find excuses to hide out in my room.  I spend way too much time there.  Which has led to the realization that I need more artwork on the walls.  This place is boring.  I’ve created a whole new Pinterest board with ideas.

I might crash at Olivia’s place for a few days because I need a break from the forced cordialness.  Maybe then we can get back to normal.  Well, not normal-normal. I don’t think we can go back to the way it was before.  But we need something better than these painful interactions.

I slide the key into the lock and push open the door.  My head tips to the side as I listen for the slightest sound.  One that will alert me to the fact that I’m not alone.  But there’s nothing.  It takes a beat or two for my muscles to loosen.  The lights are off, which is another telltale sign that no one is around.  I’ve never been so thankful to come home to an empty apartment in my life.  And that’s saying something.

With a relieved sigh, I drop my bag on the table and think about what I can shove in the microwave for dinner.  Mondays are my long days.  I had three classes, and then I headed to the library to work on a paper that’s due at the end of next week.  Instead of grabbing lunch, I skipped it and wolfed down the granola bar I’d thrown into my bag earlier this morning.

The mere thought of food makes my belly rumble with hunger.

As I flick on the kitchen light, a movement from the far corner of the living room catches my eye and I freeze. The hair at the nape of my neck stands on end.  My heart lodges itself somewhere in the middle of my throat as I turn my head more fully in that direction, only now realizing that I’m not alone.

A shadowy figure sits on the recliner nearest to the window.

My fight or flight response kicks into high gear, and I’m just about to race to the apartment door, when I hear, “Hey.”

Recognition is instantaneous.

Carter.

I’d know his deep voice anywhere.

I slap a hand against my chest to still my hammering heart as my body wilts in relief.  For a minute, I’d thought someone had broken into the apartment.  The only self-defense maneuver I’m familiar with is the one where you scream your head off while swinging your fists wildly.  Not exactly a foolproof or recommended tactic.

Last week, Olivia mentioned signing up for a self-defense class offered through the university, which I’d immediately poo-pooed as a waste of time.  Considering what just happened, I’m going to highly consider registering for that class.

“Holy crap!  You almost gave me a heart attack,” I accuse.

I wouldn’t put it past Carter to try scaring me to death.  Fine, that’s not altogether true.  Before the whole laxative incident happened, I wouldn’t have put it past him.

Now?

I have no idea where we stand with one another.

“Sorry.”  He shifts on the chair.  “I wasn’t expecting anyone to come home yet.”

Irritated for allowing him to startle me, I grumble, “You could have said something when I walked in the door like a normal human being.”

He’s like a creeper lurking in the shadows.  I’m barely able to make out his features.

Since he hasn’t budged from the chair, I gravitate to the living room and flick on the light switch.  “What are you doing in the dark, anyway?”

He shields his eyes with a hand.

“Carter?” I snap.  “Why are you sitting in the dark?”

His hand slowly falls away from his face, and I gasp at the bruise around his left eye. 

“What happened to you?”  I move toward him to inspect the damage.

Succinct as always, he states the obvious.  “Got punched.”

“Yeah,” I mutter in annoyance. “I can see that.”

Without thinking, I step closer, placing my hands on either side of his face, and tilting his head upward so that I can better survey the damage.  “You’re going to have one heck of a shiner in the morning,” I murmur.

“Yup.”

I look at him straight-on.  “What happened?”

His muscles tense as he shrugs.  “Got into a fight.”

I shake my head, exasperated that everything has to be so difficult with him when all I’m after is a straight answer.  “Who did you get into it with this time?”

Probably some girl’s jealous boyfriend.  That thought settles in my gut like a heavy stone.

“No one you know.”

I frown.  “You’re always getting into fights,” I scold. “Maybe there’s some truth to what people say about football breeding violence.”

He holds my gaze steadily and a shiver skitters down my spine.  It’s unnerving to have his eyes pinned on mine.  I have no idea what he’s thinking.  All at once, I become aware of the intimate way I’m cradling his bristly cheeks in the palms of my hands.  The scent of his aftershave tickles my nostrils.

I always thought his eyes were a grayish-blue, but that’s not the case at all.  Silvery flecks dance within the flinty irises.  Normally, I go to great lengths to keep my distance from Carter.  When I don’t, little sparks of attraction flare to life between us.

Just like they are right now.

Carter clears his throat, breaking the strange spell woven around me.  I drop my hands from his face as if I’ve been scalded and quickly step away.  But it’s not enough.  I still feel the heat of his body.

Needing more space, I rack my brain for an excuse and blurt, “I’ll get some ice and ibuprofen for the swelling.”  I retreat to the safety of the kitchen.

I need a moment to collect my thoughts and calm the nerves prickling along the surface of my skin.  The attraction I feel for Carter defies logic.  I wish it would just go away.

Relieved to have something to occupy my hands, I fill a sandwich baggie with ice cubes and wrap it in a thin dishcloth.  Then I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and head into the bathroom for a couple of pain-killers that should help with the inflammation.

Not wanting our fingers to come into contact, I gingerly hand over the ibuprofen and water.  He washes down the pills in one thirsty swig.  I give him the bag of ice, which he gently presses against his left eye.  A hissing sound escapes from his lips as he settles back in the chair.  His good eye drifts shut.

With both of his eyes closed, I’m free to look my fill.  My gaze roves over his muscular body sprawled out on the recliner.  The confused emotions I experienced five minutes ago invade my belly, making it tremble with something that feels suspiciously like desire.  Part of me wants to reach out and stroke my fingers over his face again.  I ball my hands into fists.  I need to get out of here before I do something stupid and embarrass myself.

Shattering the silence, I blurt, “Is there anything else you need?”

“No,” he mumbles.  “Thanks for the ice and pills.”

“It wasn’t a problem.”

Again, I wonder how he ended up with the black eye.  This isn’t the first time I’ve seen him with a bruise on his face.  I frown, realizing I’ve never actually seen Carter lose his temper.

But he must, right?

What other explanation is there?

“You never said how this happened.”  I shift from one foot to the other as I bite my lip, wishing I hadn’t opened my big mouth.

He doesn’t bother to meet my gaze.  “Nope, I didn’t.”

The finality of his words rubs me the wrong way.  As irritation floods through my system, desire dissipates.  Not only is there a physical distance between us, but an emotional one as well.  And that’s exactly the way it needs to stay.

I fold my arms across my chest and glare.  “So, you’re not going to tell me?”  I pause for a beat.  “What did you do?  Hit on someone’s girlfriend?”

He lifts his head and opens his uncovered eye, focusing intently on me.  “Nailed it.  That’s exactly what happened.”

There’s a deadened look in his gray gaze.

One that sends shivers down my spine.

Needing to keep him at arm’s length, I sigh and head back to my bedroom.