Read Online Books/Novels:
Hate to Love You
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:
Rule #1: No hot guys.
Rule #2: No drama.
Rule #3: New year. New place. New me.
Football captain and quarterback, he was the big guy on campus. The cocky guy in my political science class with a smirk. I hated him on sight . . .
. . . and he was about to break all my rules.
|Books by Author:|
Shay Coleman tanked my dream of going pre-law.
Okay, not really. That was an exaggeration, but it had been my dream to be a lawyer. I joined mock trial. I was a witness the first year. The head defense lawyer my second year.
I knew my shit.
I knew the loopholes. I knew all the motions, what I could object to, what I couldn’t, and what I still wanted the imaginary jury to hear. I went the whole nine yards.
I was going to become a lawyer.
Until I marched into my first political science class and everything went downhill from there.
I learned four things right away over the first couple of weeks:
1. Memorizing laws was boring. No, really. It was really boring. Too boring for me. I knew I’d have to cut my losses here.
2. While I didn’t need to study in high school, I sure as hell did in college.
3. I needed to learn how to study.
4. Arrogant pricks could be real assholes in college, too.
Shay Coleman taught me that last one.
“Break into groups of four or five.” The professor raised the worksheet in the air. “Go over these discussion questions, and one person will share with the class. Go.”
I glanced around from my spot in the second-to-last row. This was where I cursed myself for not forcing Kristina to take the course with me. I was a freshman and this class was mostly upperclassmen.
Gripping my seat, I was ready to turn it in one way or another, but nope. Blondie on my right was in a group. Her back was facing me. The same thing straight ahead.
I knew who sat on my left and I didn’t want to look that way.
They sat there the first day of class. I was in the second-to-last row on that day and had watched them, one by one, as they trailed in.
They were big.
They were muscular.
They were gorgeous.
All six of them.
One was tall with broad shoulders, dark blond hair, blue eyes lined with ice, trim waist, and the kind of cheekbones girls would melt into their seats and sigh about. He was model material, and it was so cliché, but of course, he was the school’s quarterback.
Shay Fucking Coleman.
The others were a starting defensive lineman, a wide receiver, a tailback, an offensive lineman, and the lankiest one was the team’s kicker. I knew this because my brother, Gage, made me go to not one, not two, not five, but seven of the games last year when he was a freshman. Then, as if that weren’t enough, he’d quiz me on their stats when we walked back to his dorm.
It was the best part of my visits.
Note the sarcasm.
But back to that first day of class—his five friends had taken the entire last row, and the only chair left open had been the one right behind me.
Shay paused, bringing up the rear. He looked at the chair and then at me.
Here was the thing.
I was young, but I knew I had that Nina Dobrev look. Slim body, long brown hair, and long legs. I was a couple inches taller than normal girls so I didn’t understand the appeal, but guys liked how I looked, or they did until they found out Gage and Blake Clarke were my brothers. Opinions changed after that, though I had hoped that would change in college. Dulane was big. It was a private university, but it was still big enough that I could go four years and never see my brother on campus.
Over fourteen thousand students attended Dulane.
I rarely got hit on in high school, but people used me to get to both my brothers, Gage and Blake. Girls loved me, and guys either respected me or hated me. It depended on how they viewed my brothers, but there’d really only been one of those two reactions. The guys mostly showed me respect. That lasted until Gage graduated. Blake was years older, so he was out of the house long ago, but Gage was the hold-out. Once he went to Dulane last year, everything changed.
Guys in my grade remembered how I looked, and respect went out the window. I was hit on enough that the girls began to hate me. Add that year to an event that already happened when I was a freshman . . . well, let’s just say it all came together and made me instantly hate the guy standing behind me.
His top lip curved up, as if he were holding back a laugh. His eyes were mocking me.
I gritted my teeth.
I would’ve been sitting right in front of him. He would’ve been staring at my neck. He could’ve reached forward, pretended something was in my hair just so he could touch me. He could’ve checked my ass out the whole time since our backrests only covered the top half of our backs.