Dare You to Hate Me by B. Celeste (classic fiction .txt) 📕

not just what you do in the kitchen, it’s how you handle the business. You enjoy yourself. You’re at peace. I hear more about a recipe you tried at home than how school’s going or anything else in your life. That’s quite telling.”

I flush from the acknowledgment. “I’ve always enjoyed baking,” I admit. My mother never had time to teach me, but Mrs. Griffith would give both Aiden and I lessons. Cookies, pies, and a few of her favorite Italian dishes to cook that weren’t too complicated.

Plus, there’s nothing to say about school. I get a mixture of C’s and B’s because I struggle with listening to lectures. My mind wanders if I’m not interested, and I find myself thinking about anything other than the material we’ll be tested on.

Bets smiles and bats me away. “Maybe you should focus on culinary instead of taking all those silly classes the school requires you to. Now go home. It’s past your shift. And you’re sure you’ll be okay closing again on Friday?”

For the game. I’ve told her at least twice already that I was more than capable of running the place on my own. It worked last time Lindon had a home game, and it’ll work this week. “Yes. Most of the town will be at the game supporting the Dragons anyway, so it’ll be easy to handle.”

I can tell she wants to push the issue, but she’s learned it’s pointless with me. I could use the money, and so could she. Especially since she’s saving for a new high-tech oven that’ll offer more space for baking. “Fine, but one day you’ll tell me who it is you’re so adamantly trying to avoid by not attending. Don’t think I haven’t seen the way your eyes go to the TV when it’s playing something on the team here. I’m old but I’m not stupid.”

Halfway home after bidding her goodbye in the brisk breeze, my phone buzzes against my butt cheek, and I pull it out of my pocket to figure out who’s bugging me so late when rarely anybody does these days.

Unknown: Hey

I falter on the sidewalk only for a moment at the number. Another text comes through.

Unknown: It’s me

“That’s helpful,” I mutter to myself, tempted to text the person back. But the few contacts I do have are the only ones I need, so I turn it on silent, deposit it back into my pocket, and go home to a surprisingly quiet house.

Knowing it won’t last, I take a quick shower in the downstairs bathroom, change into my pajamas, and start my study guide. DJ’s offer still comes as a surprise considering we’ve barely exchanged any conversations until today and I have no intention of getting into drama if he thinks he can mess with Aiden by having me around. If I’m going to prove to anybody that I can make it through college, I need the grades to back me up. Drama is a distraction, yet I can’t ignore the temptation to show back up at that house no matter what greets me.

There are some people I don’t want to mess with for a lot of reasons and I already crossed that line with Aiden once. He doesn’t need me crossing it again.

Chapter Five

Aiden

I’m beat when I walk in the front door, ready to raid whatever is in the fridge before going downstairs and hopping in the shower. I have homework piled up, two exams to study for, and a paper to finish writing for Econ, but I have no intention of doing any of it until I get a stomach full of food and at least an hour nap.

I slap my best friend’s hand as I pass by the couch. Caleb is a chill dude—quiet like me. More reserved than the others. He’s not into going out every weekend like some of the other guys on the team, mostly because he’s hung up on the girl he’s been with for years and spends a lot of time at Anders Hardware, his father’s hardware store in town. He’s being groomed to take it over one day, so unlike my aspirations to train and utilize my football skills, he’ll be graduating with a business degree and keeping the family business up and running.

“Another long day?” he asks, pausing the TV on the ESPN coverage they’re playing. A guy I recognize from Wilson Reed University is on the screen, his Raiders jersey on full display during their power play in last week’s game against the Lions. I have to peel my eyes away before the glowering starts from remembering the bullshit I was put through there my freshman year.

Because you were reckless. Desperate.

I rub the back of my neck, not wanting to think about how I was willing to trust anyone if it meant having a friend again. Someone to rely on like I could Ivy. Except I trusted too easily and got fucked in the end twice over. I didn’t have Ivy or Wilson Reed. “Something like that. Barely passed one of my papers and the professor won’t let me do extra credit to make up the grade.”

“Mercer?” he guesses.

I frown. “Yeah.”

He shakes his head. “Told you not to take her class. She was, like, burned by some bigtime baller in the past. Hates everyone who plays the game now. And I know you, man. You won’t report her for misconduct even if she deserves it for grading poorly.”

“I—” My words are cut off by a loud pitched laugh that I know all too well coming from the kitchen. “What the hell?”

Caleb opens his mouth, but before he can comment, I’m stalking to the kitchen with clenched fists. As soon as I walk in, I see two people sitting a little too closely at the table. The tiredness deep in my bones is long forgotten when those annoying honey fucking eyes glance up and meet mine.

It’s the dipshit I live with that says, “Hey, dude. You remember Ivy, right?” The grin