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

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Olivia asks from where she’s parked on the other side of the breakfast bar while I add eggs and oil to the brownie mix.

Is this a good idea?

Without question, it’s the best damn idea I’ve ever had!

“Yup,” I proclaim, popping the P.

Olivia hasn’t voiced her concerns, but I can tell by her nervous demeanor that she’s not a hundred percent on board with this plan.  But I don’t care.  My mind is made up, and I’m moving forward.  If Carter thinks he’s had the last laugh, he can think again.

Olivia gnaws her lower lip.  I’m afraid if she keeps this up, it’ll end up a bloody mess.  I huff out a breath, well acquainted with what she’s silently trying to convey.  She thinks I’m being rash.

Under normal circumstances, I love that Olivia and I balance each other out.  I tend to be more of the leap-before-looking type, and she’s more the look-both-ways-before-crossing-the-street-and-then-look-one-last-time-just-to-be-safe type.  And I’ll admit that she’s yanked my butt out of trouble on more than one occasion.

Perhaps that alone is reason enough to reconsider the ramifications of what I’m doing, but I refuse to do that.  As far as I’m concerned, it’s full steam ahead.

Just thinking about Carter strolling in to sociology and forcing Ben out of his seat and then telling everyone within earshot that we were not only together, but that I was his baby mama is enough to make steam pour out of my ears.

Then, as if that weren’t damaging enough, the jerk eludes to giving me an orgasm.

In front of all those people.

I clench my jaw and stir the mixture with violent strokes.

After a few moments, Olivia gestures to the bowl. “You, ah, don’t want to stir out all the lumps.”

I still my power-stirring and arch an eyebrow at her.  “I’m not concerned about the amount of lumps.”

“Yeah,” she mutters on a sigh, shoulders slumping, “I didn’t think so.”

Once the batter is mixed to my satisfaction, I open the box of laxatives.  They resemble little squares of chocolate.  I pop all twenty-four pieces from the foil packet, break them into smaller chunks and add them in.

“Oh my God,” Olivia murmurs, shaking her head with a frown. “Please tell me that you’re not going to add the entire box.”

“I’m adding the entire box.” I confirm flatly, tossing in the final bits.

Her eyes widen and fill with concern.  “Do you have any idea what that kind of stimulant can do to someone’s system?”

A sinister smile curves my lips.  “Actually, I know exactly what it’s supposed to do.  Once the laxatives kick in, Carter will shit his pants for days.”

“This has disaster written all over it.”  Olivia scrubs a hand over her face.  “You realize that, don’t you?”

I shrug and blend my concoction.  “You’re being dramatic.”  It’s laxatives.  It won’t kill him. As far as I’m concerned, he’s lucky I’m letting him off so easily.

“I don’t think so,” she mumbles.

I grease a square Teflon pan and pour the thick, chocolaty batter into it, spreading it out evenly until all four corners have been filled. Then I scrape the inside of the glass bowl until it’s wiped clean.

I chuckle gleefully.  “Wouldn’t want to miss any, now would we?”

Olivia doesn’t say a word.  Yeah, I get her silent condemnation.  Lucky for me, I’m able to easily brush it aside. 

I place the tray on the middle rack in the oven and set a timer before going back to the counter and picking up the glass bowl and spatula.  With a smirk, I glance at Olivia.  “I’d offer to let you lick the spatula, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”  After pausing a moment, I add, “Unless you’re feeling constipated.”

The way she shakes her head and throws up a hand as if to ward me off is almost comical.  “I’ll pass.” 

I shrug and set the bowl and utensil in the sink. I wash both and take a seat next to her on the other side of the counter.  “I feel your judgy eyes watching me.”

She sighs and scrunches up her face as if solving a difficult math problem.  “What’s with you two?”

I frown and flick an imaginary piece of lint off my shirt.  “What do you mean?”  Just thinking about Carter fills me with irritation.  It’s always been like this between us, and it’s never going to change.

She gives me her best oh, please, you’re not fooling anyone look.  “What’s with you and Carter?”  Olivia rolls her blue eyes.  “Why are you constantly at each other’s throats?  Can’t you guys just get along?”

No, apparently, that’s not possible.  Lord knows I’ve tried.  Nothing works.

“He’s a conceited jerk who needs to be put in his place.  And this,” I nod toward the oven, “is going to do the trick.”

With one elbow resting on the counter, she slides her fingers into her hair and gives me a penetrating stare.  “You two act like toddlers.  Isn’t it exhausting to pour so much time and energy into getting back at each other?”

Her criticism makes me feel defensive.  I fold my arms across my chest.  “Nope, not at all.  Plus, it allows me to funnel my creative energies into a constructive outlet.”

She takes a sip from her bottle of water.  “You realize this will only escalate this situation, right?”

“What I know,” I correct, “is that once Carter craps his pants—God willing, out on the football field in front of the entire team—he’ll realize that he shouldn’t mess with me anymore.”

Her eyebrows shoot up.  “Do you seriously think that’s how this is going to play out?”

“Yup.”  How can anything go wrong?  This plan is foolproof.

“What happened between you two?” Olivia asks.  “How did all this start in the first place?”

My mind tumbles back to freshman year.  Even though Noah’s parents live close enough for us to commute to school, Marnie and Craig thought it was important that we live on campus to get the full college experience.  Noah roomed with Carter.  And I would pop over all the time.

I didn’t have a problem with Carter right off the bat.  When we first met, I thought he was sort of good-looking.  Fine, I thought he was hot.

There.  I admitted it.

I was a smitten kitten just like all the other stupid freshman girls on campus.

But then he opened his big fat trap, said something jerky, and the lust that had rushed through my veins disappeared.  Every time I saw him after that, he would go out of his way to be a dick.  Plus, he was a major player, hooking up with different chicks every weekend.  One right after the next.  The guy is like a carnival ride that never stops punching tickets.

Gross.

Know what else I’ve noticed?

He doesn’t treat anyone else the way he treats me. The female population at BU can’t get enough of him.  Carter Prescott has a huge following on campus.  He garners attention no matter where he goes.  His NFL prospects only make him more desirable.  And he soaks up the attention as if it’s his God-given right.         

It’s so annoying.

No.  He’s annoying.

See what he does to me?  Even dwelling on him for a few minutes makes me froth at the mouth.  I don’t like who I become when I’m around him.

“I think you like him,” Olivia says.

That comment rips me right out of my thoughts and makes me feel like I’ve been bitch-slapped into next week.

“What?” I screech incredulously.  “Haven’t you heard anything I’ve said?  There’s not one damn thing I like about Carter Prescott.”  Adding some much-needed emphasis, I reiterate, “Not one!”

Fine, maybe I like his biceps.

I can’t help but stare when he wears a sleeveless shirt.  He’s not a steroid-infused meathead overblown with muscles.  He’s lean.  But what gets me most is the way his biceps flex and bunch when he shifts his arms.   

Realizing that I’m starting to salivate, I force those thoughts away.  Other than his biceps, there’s nothing to like about Carter.  When I don’t elaborate any further, she arches a brow but says nothing.

Have I mentioned that while Olivia is majoring in oceanography, she’s minoring in psychology?

The girl takes a few psych classes and suddenly she’s Sigmund-freaking-Freud?

I don’t think so.  Under normal circumstances, I’m willing to placate her.  I’ll even let her dissect my parents’ divorce and my mother’s harebrained behavior.  But this?

Uh-uh.

The subject of Carter Prescott is not on the table for discussion.  And she can read into that whatever she likes.  We can just sit here and silently stare at one another until she realizes that I’m not going to fold under her psychological warfare tactics.

Please.

I’ve been to therapy.  My aunt thought it would be a good idea to help me process some of my feelings after both of my parents took off.  She was afraid I would have abandonment issues.  Honestly, my parents did me a favor by leaving.

So, using silence to get me talking?

Yeah—it’s not going to work. 

Huffing in exasperation, Olivia asks, “Are you sure about that?”

“Yup, pretty sure.”

She drums her fingers on the counter and narrows her eyes at me.  “Would you like my professional opinion on the matter?”

I snort.  “You are in no way a professional.”

“I’m close enough.”

“No.”  I shake my head.  “I don’t think you are.”

She steamrolls me by saying, “Well, I’m going to give you my two cents whether you want it or not.”

This is one of those situations where I need to nod my head while pretending to agree with her sage advice before steering us into a new conversation that has nothing to do with Carter.

“I think the reason Carter’s behavior bothers you is because deep down, you like him.  In fact, I suspect that you’ve liked him since freshman year.”  After dropping that bomb, Olivia sits back and studies me.  “Otherwise you would ignore him and his antics, and you don’t.  Everything he says and does drives you nuts.  It’s so classic.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, B.F. Skinner, but you couldn’t be more wrong.”  A sick knot settles in the pit of my belly.

A smile spreads across her face that makes me grit my teeth.

I shake my head.  “I don’t like him, Olivia.”  Now she’s just pissing me off.  “He’s the last person I would ever look at.”

“Uh-huh.  Go on.”

I really hate when she tries to shrink-wrap me.  “Why would I like someone whose sole purpose in life is to annoy me?  Does that make any sense?  Do you know how masochistic that would be?” 

When she says nothing, perspiration breaks out across my brow as I shift with unease.  “Plus, he hates me.”  It feels like I’m grasping at straws.  “You see the way he treats me.”

“Actually, I don’t think he hates you at all.”

I moisten my lips, wishing we could just drop the subject.  “Yes, he does,” I insist.

He’s proven it a hundred different times.  I’d have to be an idiot not to realize it.  Olivia doesn’t pay attention to all the little digs he gets in or the way he constantly baits me into reacting.

I open my mouth to tick off the first dozen instances that pop into my head when she says, “He watches you.”

All the words on the cusp of exploding from my lips are replaced with, “Huh?”

“He watches you,” she repeats more slowly.  “When you’re not looking.”

The agitation swarming around in my belly dissolves.  Warmth blooms in its place.  I quickly tamp it down and roll my eyes because what she’s saying isn’t true.  “That’s probably because he’s busy plotting his next diabolical plan to drive me over the edge.  It wouldn’t surprise me if he has a hidden lair with lots of high tech equipment.”

A smile simmers around the edges of her lips as she shakes her head.  “I don’t think that’s the reason.”

I’m afraid to ask.

“I’ve told you before,” she says.  “There’s an awful lot of sexual chemistry between you two.”

Poor Olivia.  She’s delusional from lack of sex or something like that.  Can you go crazy from remaining a virgin for too long?

I’ll have to google it.

“Sorry, Jean Piaget, but you’re wrong about that as well.  There’s absolutely no sexual chemistry between us.  None.”  That might be something of a lie.  There is an unwanted energy that hums between us, but it’s completely one-sided.  And if I could make it go away, I would.  In a heartbeat.  Carter’s the last person I want to be attracted to.  It’s like a cruel joke.

“You have to admit that he’s pretty hot,” Olivia adds slyly.

Oh, for goodness’ sake.

“He’s okay,” I lie.  “If you’re into his brand of handsome.  Which I’m not,” I mumble under my breath.

“Sure, because who doesn’t like tall, dark, and handsome?”  A dreamy look fills her eyes.  “Not to mention all those muscles.”

I squash any jealousy that is trying to fight its way to the surface.

Thankfully, Olivia shakes herself free from those thoughts before I have to do something drastic, like slap her silly.  “Sorry, where was I?”

I give her the stink eye.  “You were talking about Carter’s muscles and drooling like most of the girls on campus.”  With a scowl, I plant my hands on my hips.  “I’m really disappointed in you, Olivia.  I thought you were made of sterner stuff than that.”

“What can I say?”  She shrugs.  “I’m a sucker for hot men.”

Whether I want to admit it or not, the guy is smoking hot, and I’m not the only one who thinks so.

“Well, be forewarned that his bedroom has a revolving door on it.  And that, my friend, is not idle gossip.  I’ve witnessed it with my own eyes.” 

She bursts out laughing.  “I would never hookup with Carter, and you know it!”

Actually, I do.  She’s more into…

I’m not even going to mention Noah.  That girl needs to get over him and move on with her life.

The timer dings on the oven, saving me from delving any further into this discussion.  I jump off my stool and head back to the stove.

“Brownies are ready!”  Grabbing pot holders, I open the oven door and pull out the pan.  The aroma of fudgy goodness permeates the air as I set it on the stove to cool.

“Mmmm.”  I lean closer and inhale deeply.  “They look and smell delicious.”

“They look and smell like death.  Your death,” Olivia emphasizes.

It’s in Olivia’s nature to be overly cautious.  Me, not so much.

“Yeah, yeah.”  I wave a hand in her direction.  “Come on, we better head over to the library and get some studying in before it gets too late.”

Olivia hops off her chair and grabs her backpack.  As she slings it over one shoulder, she asks, “Is there anything I can say to talk you out of this?”

I shake my head.  “Nope.”

We’ve been friends long enough for her to recognize a losing battle when she sees one.  Instead of arguing, she releases a long-suffering sigh and trudges toward the door of the apartment.  “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“You worry too much.  It’s laxative-infused brownies.  No big deal.”  I grab my messenger bag from the front hall.  “Anyway, what could possibly go wrong?”

“Famous last words,” she grumbles as I slam the door behind us.

Olivia needs to lighten up.

It’s just a harmless prank.  It’ll end up being hilarious.

Well, I’ll certainly laugh.

Carter, not so much.