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’sannoying.
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.”
