I Hate You - Ilsa Madden-Mills Page 0,7

in the crowd around us, I step away from the girls and my feet lead me to Charisma’s side of the room.

Sure, I shouldn’t talk to her. I really shouldn’t, but hell, it’s been three months and I’m over her. She doesn’t have power over me. No one does. I haven’t thought of her since…shit, since right before we walked into this place. I saw her car in the parking lot, and unease mixed with something darker took up residence in my bones. Might as well get it over with and rip the Band-Aid off. I wince. More like wax ripping off my chest hairs.

She watches me approach, her face flat and expressionless before she drops her gaze and looks down at her phone, scrolling. Her grip is tight, fingers white with pressure.

Margo jumps up and throws her arms around me with a big hug.

“Blaze! You guys played amazing,” she says. “I’m so stoked for you!”

I smile and give her man Connor a fist bump. “Thanks. Greatest day of my life when we won.”

I reset my gaze on Charisma.

Pretend like nothing happened between us, I tell myself. Be cool. She’s not anyone important, just a blip on your way to the NFL.

“What’s up, city girl?” My voice is gruffer than I intended.

She tosses her head back and looks up at me. “The sky. Heard you had a good game.”

“Good game?” interjects Conner. “He only set the record for number of touchdowns and yards from scrimmage during the game. You were on fire, Blaze—no pun intended.”

“Thanks, man. I appreciate that.” I smirk. “So you didn’t watch the game?” I ask her, sticking my hand in my pocket. My fingers brush over the secret note I keep tucked in there, hidden away.

“Missed it.”

“Not surprised. We never did have much in common—oh, except for that one thing.”

She flutters long lashes. “You have your entire life to be a jerk. Why not take tonight off?”

I throw my head back and laugh before sobering and leveling my eyes back on her. Damn, she’s funny. I recall an hour-long giggling session we had in the library once about the weirdest dreams we’d ever had. Mine was about cows who took over the world by killing humans with their methane farts. Hers involved golf-ball-headed aliens kidnapping her and sending her back to Earth to become the next female Tiger Woods.

My chest tightens at the memory, and I shove it away from me, stuffing it deep inside my box of Charisma memories.

“Still quick-witted,” I say. “Haven’t seen you around much. You look good.” My gaze holds hers.

“You gonna ask me about the weather next?” She cocks her hip.

“I’m just being pleasant. Am I annoying you?”

“Annoyance would imply I care.”

My teeth grit when my eyes betray me and land on her tits. Her curves are insanely lush, full hips and breasts, a Marilyn Monroe type. “You’re soaked. Planning on entering a wet dress contest?”

“As if. One of your fans spilled a beer on me,” she says just as Dani appears, her smell arriving first, a floral perfume, sweet and thick.

“Blaze! Thought I lost you. Hey, guys, so glad you came out to celebrate,” she gushes at the group, her hand curving around my bicep.

Charisma’s eyes watch Dani. “Yes, you did find him. A plus. He’s all yours.”

There are a few moments of tense silence as we all look at each other. Margo and Connor have wide eyes on us, and even the guys in the back seem to be waiting for something to happen. One of them keeps giving Charisma a sheepish grin, a clear look of appreciation on his face. Heat rises inside me. He’s right up her alley: nice, subdued, smart…malleable. Everything I’m not.

“Aw, thanks, honey. What’s your name?” Dani says as she gives Charisma a quick, assessing look, sizing her up.

“Charisma. No ‘i’ on the end, in case you were wondering.” Her elegant brows arch. “My friends call me Charm. You don’t have to.”

“Lovely name with just a touch of tacky. Very hipster.” Dani scrunches up her pretty face.

I watch Charisma—you never know what she might do—but there’s no discernible reaction to Dani except a slight curl of those pink lips.

Charisma grabs a glass off the table and raises it. “To tacky names, Blaze’s included,” she says dryly.

Touché.

I lift my own glass. “My mom was stoned when she picked mine. She said the world was ‘ablaze’ when I came out.”

“I had my pop’s eyes, and that’s why Ma gave me mine. He’s one charismatic guy,” Charisma