Page 5 of Love Hate

“What?” I blinked at my best friend, and our team tight end, my brows furrowing in confusion.

“You’re staring at that building like it called your mom a whore,” he said. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” I lied, tossing my book aside with a sigh. “Just struggling with Lit.”

“Man, why the hell did you even take it?” he asked, rolling his eyes as he picked up the copy of As I Lay Dying I’d dropped on the ground. “You’re going to miss your GPA.”

“No, I’m not,” I lied. Because of course I was. I didn’t understand half the shit we were required to read in that class and my papers went from C-level in high school to D-level in college and I didn’t know how I was going to scrape my grade up enough to make it before the semester ended.

“You need a tutor,” Mark said firmly. “They’re not going to let you switch classes now, so you may as well find someone smarter than you to help out.”

“Are you smarter than me?”

“Only in the sense that I didn’t sign up for a fucking Lit class.” He slapped me upside the head with the paperback before dropping it again. “Fucking moron.”

Well, that was true. I don’t know why I thought it would be easier than any of the other English classes. I guess in the back of my head it sounded almost romantic. Curling up on the lawn of the quad with an old book. But I didn’t realize I was going to have to write dissertations on dead poets and old white men all the time.

“Talk to Monsignor O’Shea,” he suggested. “See if he can find you a study buddy. That guy will do anything for you.”

That was probably true. I was a monster quarterback, pulling in attention from everywhere to the small, Michigan, Catholic college that hadn’t gotten a whiff of notoriety since that hockey player had gone to the big leagues early. But that had been ten years ago, so now I was the shining star.

“Yeah,” I agreed finally. “You’re right.”

“I’m always right.” Mark grinned at me. “I’m headed back to the apartment, you coming?”

“Nah, I’m going to hang here for a little bit,” I told him. “I’ll see you later.”

He got back to his feet and walked off, leaving me alone again.

I blew out a sigh as I considered my options. It was true that I needed help. And while I hated to ask for it, a tutor might be just the thing. Especially if I could find some cute girl that I could finagle into just doing my work for me.

People started filing out of the building and my attention was pulled there, my gaze seeking out the dark-haired dickhead as if it were a habit. But I’d either missed him, or he hadn’t come out the front entrance with everyone else.

That was fine. I’d find him soon enough.

I stood up and brushed dirt and grass from my jeans before grabbing my book and my bag and stalking off toward the library. Tutor or not, I had to at least get through the pages that were assigned, and I needed to do it somewhere I wouldn’t get distracted by anything else.

Because damn, Faulkner could not get to a fucking point to save his life.

Chapter Three

~Andy~

“Hey, Princess.”

I jumped at the whisper against my ear and sighed as Trevor dropped into the chair across from me, a wide grin across his lips that didn’t reach his eyes.

“What do you want?” I asked, leaning over my Theology book and glaring at him.

“Just wanted to say hello,” he insisted. “Welcome you to St. Catherine’s. Now it can be just like old times.”

No.

No. No. No.

Nothing could be like old times. Not with him. Not here. Not ever again.

He leaned back in his chair and opened the slim paperback he’d brought with him, his gaze shifting to the pages.