I Hate You - Ilsa Madden-Mills Page 0,5

no anesthesia than see him with Dani.

I snatch up my purse and try to figure out the best path out of the bar without catching Blaze’s eye. I scan the room as I break down how to get through the crowd and reach the emergency exit near the restrooms. Sure, the alarm will go off, but who’d notice with all the happy times going on?

A warm tingle goes down my neck, and I freeze. Moving slowly, I turn my head and look back in his direction.

Yeah. He’s found me. Cold blue eyes tangle with my brown ones, and all those pep talks I gave myself on the drive over flee my mind.

The crowd falls away, and it’s just me and him in the room. Three months since we were face to face, yet it feels like a million years since I saw him.

For some reason, my mind goes back to that night freshman year at the toga party, the one he and I never discussed, those long passionate kisses and how electrifying they were. His mouth on mine was like falling and flying at the same time.

I haven’t kissed a man on the mouth since.

“Never breaking my rules again,” I mutter under my breath, my gaze lingering on the curve of his lips.

Darkness flits across his face as he takes me in, not a normal expression for him, and the air grows hot around me. The seconds tick by as he pauses, drops his waving hand, and searches my face. A scowl appears on his brow, crinkling his forehead. Icy eyes glitter at me, long and hard, gazing over the heads of the people jostling to get close to him. My hand holding the glass trembles.

Do not be affected by the intensity of those eyes. Don’t. You. Dare.

Right.

Maybe it’s the tequila finally kicking in or the painful new shoes or the fact that my skin is itchy as hell and probably beet red as well underneath the mohair, but something insane hits, and I give him my own Miss American wave—only it’s really a one-finger salute. It’s a whole new level of juvenile, completely childish and revealing. I’m bitter, it screams.

I hate you is scrawled across my face.

Same is what he’s thinking if the tightening of his lips is anything to go on.

Twin spots of pink hit his cheekbones, and a muscle in his jaw pops. He watches me, his face carved from marble, expressionless, but underneath I sense something deeper, almost there on the surface, but he keeps it hidden. Yeah, that’s the thing with him; on the surface, he appears carefree and loose, but below is a lake, still and deep.

He never let me dive into those waters.

A few seconds later, he blinks rapidly, looks away, and pushes through the crowd.

Bye, asshole.

The two girls tag along, a matching set, two pretty bookends.

Margo talks out of the side of her mouth. “Was that rude gesture really necessary? Remember our relationship with the football players. I know you and Blaze had a fling, but we still want them at our parties. We have to keep up with the Thetas—”

“Trust me, that was barely even anything. I’m restraining myself.” The old me would have confronted him months ago, would have chased him down and demanded answers.

Only…

I just…couldn’t. I have my pride, and he has her.

She huffs. “True. I recall a baseball player you kicked in the shin freshman year.”

“He also put his hands down my pants when I clearly said no, Madame President. FTS.” Fuck that shit.

She gets quiet beside me. “Seriously, I never understood what happened between you and Blaze—”

My chest fills as I inhale. “We were casual. That’s it.”

I watch as his frame maneuvers through the throng of people. Several clap him on the back, and I even see one girl smack his ass and giggle. He reaches back and gives her a kiss on the cheek, and my hands clench as anger rushes to the surface.

Such. A. Womanizer.

I never should have trusted myself with someone so…so alpha.

Normally, I choose nice guys, sweet and quiet, ones I can easily control. I never let them get too close. When you grow up with a dad who cheats on your mom, when you actually see him kiss another woman, you learn to protect yourself.

I flinch. He’s changed directions, and he’s headed straight for our table. There’s a determined set to his face, and my heart pounds, each passing second stretching and tugging at me until I’m breathless and damn near panting.