“Everything all right?” The guy asks when I get lost staring at her driver’s license for a moment too long.
“Yep, sorry.” I hand her back her card, letting my gaze linger on her face for a moment. Something in our eye contact screams, I know where you live now. Her expression is laced with fear, and I love it.
I’m not going to fucking hurt her. Tease her a little bit, sure. Make her hate my fucking guts, definitely, but I’m not violent, and I don’t need her fucking up my future any more than she already has.
After getting their drink orders, I watch them from the bar as she tries to act normal through their awkward conversation. Fuck, I’m never dating. It looks terrible.
Gina steps up next to me while I’m waiting for the bartender to pour the red wine. “Cullen, you coming to my place tonight? A few other servers are coming. We got the good stuff from last weekend.”
By good stuff, I know she is referring to the Blue Dream we smoked at her place over the weekend, and I admit, it was a fucking dream, but I can’t afford that shit anymore. I didn’t eat on Sunday because I spent my last dime on that. If she didn’t have a boyfriend, I’d offer her sex in return, but I don’t need to get into it with him.
“Nah, I’m good. Thanks though.”
“You sure?” she asks, leaning forward a little and sending me a wink. I hate how she flirts with me—but only at work. It’s so fucking obvious.
“Go home to your boyfriend, Gina,” I reply as I take the wine and walk toward the table. I catch Everly watching me intently, and I decide to fuck with her. Turning away, I take her wine to the beverage station, keeping her back to me and hiding her wine from view. I peek skeptically back at her, making it look so fucking suspicious. I’m not going to actually do anything to her wine, but she doesn’t know that. And it’s fun as hell to watch her squirm as I set it down in front of her.
The rest of their dinner is uneventful, and I love watching her chew the inside of her lip as she pokes through her pasta dish, like I planted a bug or piece of glass in it. I didn’t do shit to her food. I’m not fucking twelve. And their date looks like torture anyway. Every time I pass, he’s talking about himself, and she’s struggling to appear interested. If he gets in her pants tonight, it would be a fucking miracle because she looks like the ice princess sitting across from him.
I end up bringing her two more glasses of wine, which he pays for in the end, and I notice the look of disapproval on his face when she asks for the last one. Can’t say I blame her there. I’d need to be drunk to get through the night too.
As they get up to leave, I watch from across the restaurant as she follows him to the door. She manages one quick glance in my direction before leaving, and I send her a disgruntled expression. I hate her more than I’ve hated anyone, and I’ve spent the last eight years of my life directing all of that anger and resentment at this stranger I didn’t even know. It was easier that way, but now as I watch her sulk out the door in misery, I almost hate her for how pathetic she looks.
The woman in the courtroom had fire and passion in her face. She hated my father and took pride in being a part of his downfall. She was a spitfire, full of angst and hate. But now, this woman I’ve seen twice today is just…sad. And I hate her more for that.
Once she’s gone, I feel almost bored. Hating Everly West was something fun to do. Without even doing anything to her, at least it was nice to have somewhere to focus my energy. I have every intention of staying in her class, and I wasn’t planning on being very nice to her to begin with, but now I feel like this is a sign I need to do more. It feels downright diabolical when I think about it, but diabolical feels good.
I am going to make Everly West’s life hell, and I’m going to make her hate herself for what she did to my family. And I am going to love every fucking minute of it.
3
Everly
Thank God for Fridays. Class today was uneventful, and I was pleasantly surprised that Cullen kept his distance after class, disappearing with the horde when the lecture was over. With my first week at Florence U complete, I finally pack up my stuff and lock my office door. It’s past five, and I really could have left an hour ago, but it’s a Friday night, and aside from stopping at the market for wine and cheese for dinner, I have absolutely no plans.
My date with Jerry on Wednesday night was a complete bust. Not only did he do nothing but talk about himself the entire time, I could hardly act natural when the one kid I’m trying to avoid shows up everywhere I turn. I was just glad I finished my first glass of wine without dying of cyanide poisoning. I’m being irrational, I know.
Aside from that strange show of intimidation after class, he probably couldn’t give two shits about me anymore, so I’m not even going to worry about him.
Walking out to my car across the lot, I notice there is a crowd of male students in shorts and loose-fitting muscle shirts walking to the rugby field behind campus. Averting my eyes as they pass, I try my hardest not to check out my scantily clad students, but it’s not easy. They’re all adults, right?
Fuck, what is wrong with me?
I need to get laid. That’s what.
That’s when I spot him. He’s bringing up the rear, and instead of wearing the same white tank the other guys are wearing, Cullen Ayers is walking past me without a shirt on at all. I notice his tattoos start at his neck and drape all the way down his chest and into his black shorts. He’s not completely covered. They are sporadic, like an unfinished mural, but holy hell is it distracting. Any chance of me looking away now is long gone.
Our eyes lock, and my mouth goes dry. Suddenly he stops and shouts something to his teammates who continue on without him. Then, he turns and walks in my direction.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
God I don’t want this confrontation right now. I really don’t need another reminder he hates me or that I’m responsible for his mother’s death.
Suddenly he’s standing right in front of me. Still shirtless.
“Cullen, I mean—Mr. Ayers, how can I help you?” Just trying to act like his professor is laughable. I sound ridiculous.
“Cut the bullshit, Miss West.”
My eyes widen and I force myself to swallow.
“What do you want then?” I snap, as he said, cutting the bullshit.
At my question, he laughs. It’s deep and sarcastic, chilling me to the bone. “What I want you can’t give me.”
“Why don’t you get back to your practice?”
He stares at me for a moment, sizing me up as if he’s deciding his next move. “I bet you want to just avoid this confrontation, right? Pretend you and I don’t know each other. Pretend we have no history, and you didn’t royally fuck up my entire life? Is that what you want, Miss West?”
“Perhaps you should request a transfer. This is a conflict of interest.”
Again, he laughs, this time shining those pearly white teeth that send chills up my spine. “This isn’t a conflict at all, but it is interesting, isn’t it?”
He’s unhinged, and it scares the shit out of me. I don’t scare easily. I’ve spent enough time working around men who thought intimidation was an acceptable tactic for dealing with headstrong female coworkers, so if this kid thinks he’s going to push me around, he’s going to be surprised to find I don’t bend easily.