I Hate You - Ilsa Madden-Mills Page 0,31

Mr. Townsend, what did you write down as your seventh response?”

He moves around in his seat and gets a hesitant look on his face before he speaks. “Uh, let me see. Seventh response I wrote down: Charisma.”

I blink.

“I appreciate the compliment,” the professor says with a smirk. “I’ve been told I have lots of charm and charisma while I teach. Feel free to elaborate on your responses next time, especially if they are complimentary of me. Let’s get one more. You in the middle…”

I glance over at his paper, and Blaze catches me peeking. He lets me see a few of his responses, but not all of them.

Charisma has been jotted down several times.

I smirk and whisper, “Please.”

“Show me yours?”

I shake my head.

He pulls out that gum from his pocket. “Want a piece?” His gaze holds mine steady, clear and wide and so blue, too damn innocent for my liking. I search his face for answers, trying to determine if he’s dropping a hint about the note, but he gives me nothing.

“No. Thank you.”

He shrugs and keeps his voice low. “Fresh breath and all that. You been hooking up with anyone lately?”

The question comes out of nowhere, and I pause and look over at him, seeing that questioning look in his gaze and the way his hand taps at his leg.

“No,” I murmur, staring down at my notebook.

“Huh. How come?”

“I’m working on it. Got a couple of chess guys calling me.”

He frowns. “Which ones?”

“Why?”

“No reason. Just curious. I haven’t seen you anywhere for three months. Thought maybe you had a guy on the line.”

“And if I did?” I arch my brows. I do have a date planned with Mike soon, but…

His gaze holds mine. “Then he’s lucky. You need a good guy, Charm. It wasn’t me.”

It wasn’t me.

I lick my lips and dart my eyes back to the front of the room.

The professor ends the class, thank goodness. “Please turn in your response notes and remember to sit in the same place on Wednesday. Thank you all.”

“Wanna walk to our next class together?” Blaze asks as we turn our papers in.

“Uh—” I’m surprised. Why does he want to?

“We can talk more,” he adds.

“Um, that’s okay. My next class is clear across campus near the planetarium.”

“Mine too.”

“Really?”

He blushes, the color rising slowly from his neck to his face. “Uh—”

“Blaze!” The girl who gave up her seat for him is back and standing close. She’s got her hand on his shoulder again, only this time it lingers, brushing him off as if he has lint on his shirt. She rambles on about the game and how great he played.

He’s polite with a grin, that usual laidback, Southern charm thing going on, and I mumble a quick goodbye then dart between other students.

Yeah, hanging out with him, even if it is just a walk across campus, isn’t a good idea.

You barely knew him before, and look how he broke you then.

10

I reach the stairwell where she’s headed. “Charisma?”

She freezes when I catch up and touch her shoulder, but she doesn’t jerk away. Progress.

Wait? Do I want progress with her?

She throws her head back in that defiant way of hers, and her dark hair falls over her shoulders, long and thick, the curls soft. Part of me wants to touch them, to wrap my finger around those strands. Her whiskey-colored eyes flash fire at me, and she’s wearing a hole in her bottom lip as she chews on it.

I can’t seem to stop myself from taking the rest of her. I mean, how can I resist? Those curves, the way her…

My hands twitch. Don’t stare at her boobs, moron. Right, right. Charisma’s more than just a girl with a banging body. She’s smart as hell…and on her way to Boston soon.

Yeah.

We’ll be going in different directions after graduation.

Who knows where I’ll be, but it won’t be where she is.

“Can we be friends?” It’s not really what I wanted to say, but it’s what comes out.

She blinks. “Why?”

I adjust the backpack on my shoulders. “Maybe we were just fuck buddies who never talked about real shit before, but it’s a new semester. Maybe we can make a fresh start. Our friends are dating.”

She gets a wary look on her face. “Okay, tell me something about you. Surprise me.”

I rack my brain trying to decide what I can tell her. She probably wants me to say something really intelligent, and while I could do that, what I come up is: “I hate mayonnaise.”

A full smile crosses