CONTINUED FROM THE LAST PART

With a shake of my head, I decide to go check on the girls. Their voices filter through the door, mostly Charlie complaining about men and their uselessness and Madison agreeing. I knock and they stop talking.

"Everything good in there? You ladies need anything?"

"A time machine would be nice," I think I hear Charlie say.

"Sorry, I unfortunately can't provide that."

"How about a clean shirt?" Madison asks.

"Now that I can do." Before I can think too deeply about what I'm about to do, I push open the door and enter the bathroom.

They're at one of the three sinks, the water rushing and their attention on getting the vomit that was apparently sliding down Charlie's back. When they hear me step inside, they turn their attention toward me.

Madison covers Charlie's exposed back with her body and turns to look at me with a scowl. "Excuse you? What do you think you're doing he-" Her words dry up as I slide my shirt off.

"Here, she can wear this." I offer her the black shirt with a knowing smile as her eyes slide down my chest to my stomach.

"Why the hell aren't you wearing a wife beater?" she asks with annoyance as she snatches the shirt from me.

"Is it a requirement?" I wonder, crossing my arms because I know it emphasizes my muscles.

"Well, it should be," she snaps and turns around, placing my shirt on the counter and fussing at Charlie once more.

I can't help myself, my eyes trail down her body. She's wearing a tight off-the-shoulder black top, blue jean shorts that hug her ass spectacularly, and those adorable white socks and converse.

I wonder what she'd look like bent over my bed, naked and trembling while I drink her in. Just the fantasy already tastes delicious.

In the mirror, she catches my attentive eye and scowls. "You can go now." Then quite reluctantly, she adds a sincere, "And . . . thank you, Evan."

A wave of awareness, scalding hot and compelling, tingles down my spine. I shiver, but thankfully, she's already back to scrubbing vomit off of Charlie, my existence forgotten and the fact that she nearly killed me with a simple thank you something she's not even aware of.

If I had any self-preservation skills, I would haul my sleeping roommate, somehow make it downstairs, and drag us both back to our apartment. It's only a five minute walk, one that we made quite easily on our way here, but will undoubtedly be a battle on the way back.

Still, I could get us back home in ten minutes max. It would be a gamble not getting vomited on, but one that I should be willing to take given the current situation.

Because here's the truth: Madison is dangerous for me. Maybe it's the fact that she clearly dislikes me, but mostly, it's that I can't help but want to stare at her until she graces me with a smile. And maybe, another quiet, reluctant thank you.

So while I should go home, when I plop down on the couch by a heavily snoring Tobi, I know that I won't be going anywhere. Not until I can get to her to at least thank me again.

"Fuck." I slide a hand through my hair, watching the side of the room where the women's bathroom is hidden, waiting for them to come out.

A week has not even passed since I moved from Texas to North Carolina, and I've already gotten myself in some shit. Yes, nothing has really happened yet, but it doesn't feel that way. Right now, it feels as though everything has already happened. Something that, while I can't fully see right now, is bound to change my life forever.

"Fuck." I pull my phone out of the pocket of my jeans, sliding through my contacts with no idea what exactly I'm looking for, until my thumb presses on Jacob's number.

I would usually call him, but because I know he won't answer a call at this time of night, I decide to text him. He's been moved into his apartment at Duke for almost two weeks now, nestled in with his girl and texting us-me, Gage, and Fin-selfies of him and Amara as if we give a damn about what they look like when watching a movie or cooking dinner.

Usually, we all reply in exaggerated tones, or we focus on the most useless things. Like a plant in the background, or the color of the wall behind them, or the fact that the shirt he's wearing is a shade of blue that does not suit his jeans.

But Jacob doesn't care. The man is happy, and because we're his friends, he needs to rub it in our faces until we're happy for him too.

Evan: How do you make someone not hate you?

Jacob: Hello to you, too, my friend.

I roll my eyes. Jacob is the last person who should be complaining about pleasantries. He's the driest and most to-the-point guy I know. He must be in a good mood for wanting to play games, and though I'd usually play along, I feel turned inside out right now.

Evan: Sorry, hi. But can you answer my question? It's serious.

Jacob: Someone hates you?

Evan: Maybe not hate per se. But dislike...

Jacob: You're the most likable person I know. If someone dislikes you, it's a problem with them. Fuck them.

Jacob Withers might come off as cold and indifferent to those who don't know him, and for good reason. The guy only has two settings: neutral and furious. But, underneath the frosty exterior, my friend is warmer than it seems.

Evan: Thanks, man. But if you had to make someone not hate you, what would you do?

Jacob: Be nice to them? Buy them shit? Fuck, I don't know. Compliment them? This might be bad advice, but it sounds good. I can ask Amara, maybe?

Evan: Thanks, that'd be good.

His girlfriend is sweet, and I know she'll have good advice. I should have probably texted her to begin with.

Jacob: Amara says to be yourself, but also knowing how you can be, she says to tone it down. Let them know you're listening. If they already hate you, they might have the wrong impression of you, so make them see who you actually are.

"Make her see who I actually am?" I scrunch my face at the idea of doing that. Who I actually am. I mean, it makes sense, but also, that sounds a bit drastic.

I'm not like I'm trying to get her to fall in love with me, I just want to make her like me. Or at least make her smile at me. Then, if she wants to do other things, I wouldn't be opposed to it. Namely, I'd very much like to see her lose that combative spirit, bent over my bed, black eyes blinking back at me.

I rub at the hair on my jaw, thinking over the vision she makes in my mind. Yes, I'd very much like to see her like that, too.

"It's fine, I'll just go get it and come get you when I find it."

I get up as Charlie comes out of the room, my T-shirt tucked into her shorts awkwardly. Her eyes slide down my chest, but she doesn't seem impressed, instead she nods at me knowingly, before leaving the room. Okay.

I'm about to go check on Madison when she exits the bathroom, drying her hands with a towel and looking exhausted. Looking up from her hands, she squints her eyes at me, whether she's surprised to still see me here or annoyed, I can't tell.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine." She walks over, and for a moment, I foolishly think she's about to touch me, but she only peers down at Tobi and smiles at his slobbering form.

Oh, so he gets her smiles, huh?

"Why are you smiling at him?" My voice comes out grumpier than I intend, but what the hell? I'm standing here shirtless in front of her, and not to toot my own horn, but I should definitely be receiving more than a squint.

"He's so drunk," she says, "it's adorable."

Something in me hardens. "Is it?"

She turns to look at me, probably noting the tone of my voice. "Yes, it is. Especially for someone like Tobi."

The confusion must be clear on my face because she rolls her eyes and turns fully toward me. "I met him yesterday. Or, not really met, but I saw him. At the African student freshmen mixer."

"Oh." Tobi did tell me he was going to that, but he'd come back when I was busy dealing with my parents and I hadn't had the time to ask him how it was.

"He didn't seem to remember you in the kitchen," I say dumbly because that feels like an impossibility. Not to remember Madison, with her sharp tongue and attack-you-in-the-head beauty feels like something that cannot happen.

"He didn't see me." She seems annoyed by my statement, which makes sense because it's really none of my business. "The girls I was with were pointing out good looking guys, so I saw him. He was standing in the corner, just eating."

"Sounds about right." Does she think he's good looking?

She watches me in silence, and I feel like squirming. It's unsettling how much she unsettles me. I've always been comfortable enough in my skin to not feel uncomfortable with eyes on me. Hell, the limelight has always felt right because I can control the way people see me if I know they are watching.

With Madison, though, I feel out of sorts. Like she's weaving threads of who I am, connecting dots, and placing puzzles together without my knowledge.

"Anyways, I didn't imagine his roommate would be someone . . . like you."

My brows raise in question and I cross my arms. "Someone like me?"

"I guess I expected someone more like him. Cool, quiet, shy." She shrugs.

I don't tell her that we're neither roommates but suitemates, nor do I tell her that a system mishap is the only reason we ended up in our current living situation.

Like Gage and Jacob, I was supposed to be at Duke, living the Ivy lifestyle that my parents have always wanted for me. But in a moment of rebellion, I declared to Culver and changed my plans last minute, finding myself on the other side of the state from my parents' dream.

Culver is a good school, competitive and rigorous enough without being pretentious, as such, my parents hate it.

"Who says I'm not cool, quiet, and shy?"

My innocent look must not work, because she inclines her head at me, her face blank.

"You know what I think, Madison? I think you're judging me before even knowing who I am."

While most people would give a start and immediately deny my allegations, she just stares up at me for a moment, then shrugs before plopping her pretty ass on the couch. "What if I am?"

I watch her cross one leg over the other, her gaze sweeping around the room, coasting over the sleek but messy room with its large TV and scratched pool table. She seems unimpressed by what she sees, but intrigued.

"If you are judging me, I'd say you should get to know me first." I take a few steps toward her, smile, then toss myself next to her. "Because if you actually knew me, you'd know how great of a guy I am."

"I don't know how much I trust your good guy status when you say it like that." She shuffles to the left, putting some space between us, scowling at me.

Fuck. She's even more beautiful up close. "How did I say it, Madison?"

"Don't roll my name in your tongue like that," she snaps.

"How exactly am I rolling your name in my tongue, Madison?" I know exactly how I'm saying her name. I also know that there's no way of me not saying it the way I'm saying it.

"You know exactly how your tongue is twisting my name, Evan."

"I'm innocent, I swear." I raise my hands, trying to hold the smile back. "But, there is something else I know my tongue can do . . ."

"Cool, quiet, and shy, huh?" She leans back on the couch, legs still crossed, and glares at me. "I'll twist your tongue right out of your mouth," she mumbles, but I hear her quite well.

I laugh. "Okay, seriously. Why do you not like me? Did I do something to you I don't remember? Bump into you in the dining hall? Step on your foot in the quad?"

"Please, you would have known if you had stepped on my foot, I assure you."

"Alright, then. What is it? Come on, hit me with it." I grin. "I promise I won't be hurt." I don't know how true that is at the moment, something tells me that her words would cut deep, but I just need her to tell me.

"I don't . . . not like you," she says.

"Well, that's reassuring. Especially given the enthusiasm with which you say that you don't not like me."

"I don't know you," she says in defense.

"Yet, you don't like me," I point out.

"Once again, I don't not like you."

"Which is to say, you don't like me."

She frowns. "That's not the same thing."

"Isn't it?"

"It's not."

She's even beautiful when she's being impossible. Her forehead scrunches up and her eyes narrow to slits. It's incredibly bewitching. "Okay, then. Do you like me?"

"You're hard headed, aren't you?"

"And you aren't?" She must know she's as difficult as I am. Even twice as difficult.

"I'm not hard headed, I'm just . . . particular."

Another word for hard headed.

"Yeah, I think that's just to say that you are quite hard headed as you claim-" I stop when she grabs her temples, leaning her head back. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She shakes her head then winces and stops, the pain flaring up.

"Nothing?"

"It's just a headache. A wave."

"A wave?" Her eyes are closed and her hand is placed on her forehead. I have the urge to touch her, to check her temperature to see how bad this sudden headache is. I keep my hands to myself.

"I get headache waves. It'll pass soon." She grows quiet, then, "You don't have to stare at me, Evan. I'm not going to die."

"What can I do?"

"Nothing. It will pass in, like, two minutes. Maybe three."

"I can't just sit here and watch you in pain," I say, my words hard. "Maybe I should just-"

Her hand settles on my arm and . . . fuck. Goosebumps break all over my body, and I freeze.

"Just sit back. Sit back and relax." Her hand drifts up to my shoulder, and she pushes me back. "Not everything is about doing and solving, Mister America. Sometimes you just have to sit back and let it pass."

Who the hell is this girl?

I'm still struck by her hand on my skin, but I'm doing my best to play it off. Thankfully, her eyes are closed, and after I lean back and stare at the ceiling, her hand drops from my shoulder. I let out a breath of relief.

"See? You need to relax. I can tell you're someone who thinks they can solve everybody's problems but never thinks about theirs."

Her voice sounds like sandpaper and feels like the sea at night: sweet, calming, and as wide as the entire world.

Once again, when did I become so fucking pathetic?

"Why do you get headache waves?" I ask her, because I don't want to focus on her statement. It's a scary thought that she can see me so well in just a few hours, so I put the thought out of my head.

"Who knows," she says. "Doctors don't know. But at least they don't last too long and come about three times a week."

I turn to look at her. "What doctors have you seen? I know some specialists who might be able to give you a more detailed result and help find a cure. It's definitely not something you should have to-"

"Evan?" Her eyes are still closed, but I think I see a smile on her lips. "I am not your problem to solve."

I frown, staring at her lips. "I'm not trying to solve you." I just want you to smile at me, Madison. Why won't you just smile at me?

"Good."

"But you should consider specialists because it might help."

She turns to look at me, her head on the couch, and opens her eyes. "No need, I feel better already."

"You do?" I want to call bullshit, but I also don't want her to dislike me more than she already does.

She nods slowly and I keep biting my tongue. "It's nothing, really. Just a little wave. I've been getting them since I was a kid."

I make a mental nit to make some calls to the specialists I know, just to check in about possible causes. She might not be worried, but this shit is not normal.

"So what next?" I wonder after a moment of silence.

She looks genuinely confused, looking at me with those dark eyes of hers. "So what next what?"

She really doesn't know, does she? "Here, Madison." I wave between us. "What's next here?"

"Here?" She tries to hide it, but I catch the slight tremor in the one word.

I keep my eyes on hers while nodding. "Yes. Here."

"I have no idea what you mean."

"Really?"

"Really."

I stare at her and she stares back. "This is interesting. I thought it would be quite clear that I want to fuck you, Madison."

"What?" She sounds disbelieving and shocked, her voice almost a shriek.

I nod. "I said, I want to fuck y-"

She pushes a hand against my mouth and hisses, "Don't say that again!"

We stare at each other, both of us breathing deeply until she drops her hand and crosses her arms across her chest.

"Come on, Madison," I start, low and smooth, "you feel it, too. I know you do."

"I-I do not know what you are talking about."

"The tension between us."

"There is no tension."

I move closer to her and she shivers. I place my hand on her back and she tenses. "Oh, so if I were to slide my hand inside those cute shorts of yours and let my fingers find your pussy, they wouldn't be drenched?"

She gasps, seemingly scandalized by my words. "I-I'm dating someone."

I look around. "I don't see him."

"He's . . . not here yet. He's coming next month."

Slowly, I lean closer to her. Lips against her ear, I say, "He doesn't have to know, Madison. It'll only be one time. One time to get each other out of our systems. One time so I don't lose my fucking mind."

I should be the last person to condone cheating, but here I am, being just like the one man I despise enough to never want to be like him. And if the similarities were not already too many, this thing with Madison has the potential to look like my parents' shit show of a marriage.

While my father is obsessed with my mother, she found herself locked in a marriage that her parents approved of but her heart never desired.

I should be repulsed by even the idea of cheating, and I've always been, but fuck, the need to have Madison is much stronger than my need not to be like my father.

"I . . . won't cheat, Evan."

Something rebels within me, and I wrap my arms tighter around her. She looks up at me with widened eyes and her pretty mouth slightly opened.

"Is this guy you're supposedly dating even real?" Fuck, I sound like a stage five clinger, but I just can't help it. "Because you know what I think? I think that you came up with him just to have an excuse for why we can't do what we both want to do."

She narrows her eyes at me and sucks her teeth. "I did not do that."

I don't think she did because something about her tells me she's honest and doesn't waste time lying to herself. Still, there's this weird frustration within my chest, right next to my heart, that makes me want to be irrational until I can convince her to at least kiss me.

"Whoever he is, Madison, this has nothing to do with him," I say slowly, trying to make sure she understands, "We have nothing to do with him."

"Evan." It sounds like a plea, which shouldn't be a good thing, but on her tongue, it sounds delicious.

"One time, Madison," I whisper, watching her lips. "Give me one night. One hour. Only one."

"You really are hard-headed, aren't you?" she whispers back, biting her bottom lip.

I smile. "We're the same in that way."

"We're nothing alike."

"We're the same, Madison. Me and you."

"Evan." Her lips are almost against mine, and I swear I can taste her already. Sweet, sharp, and scorching. And holy fuck if I don't want to drown in it. "Why are you doing this? We're supposed to be enemies. We're supposed to hate each other."

My arms around her waist tighten. "We can fuck and still be enemies if you want, Madison. I'll be anything you want me to be, beautiful."

Her brows quirk. "Anything?"

"Anything." We're almost there, almost kissing like we should have been doing since the beginning. From the moment we met, our lips have belonged together. "Just let me know, and I will be whatever it is you want me to be-"

The door bursts open, cutting off my words and the kiss that was always meant to be.

Charlie walks in, not even look a bit surprised at seeing us so close. She only look dejected and ready to go. She tosses my shirt at me, and I notice that she's wearing a Culver tee that is closer to her size.

"Are you okay, Mads?"

As if suddenly waking up, Madison pushes against me and stands up, fixing her clothes while talking to Charlie about leaving the party and other shit I don't catch because her ass is way more interesting.

"Okay, yeah. Let's go."

Only when that perfect ass of hers is walking away do I jump up and shake my head. "Where are you going?" Fuck, when did I start sounding so desperate?

"The dorm." She glances back at me, pauses, then clears her throat and shocks my system with a smile. "It was nice talking to you, Mister America."

Then she's gone and I'm left with a snoring suitemate and a naked torso. Oh, and a dick that refuses to forget about the way she is beautiful in a way that is painful.

I let out a breath. Fucking hell. I don't know what this shit is, but it's bad. Not only because she clearly doesn't like me, but because the idea of being stripped of control and liking someone feels like dying a slow death.

Thankfully, Culver University is a big school and though we share the same major, it's quite plausible that we won't be sharing any classes this semester. Which means, I won't have to see her ever again.

I ignore the pit in my stomach at that though and rub my palm down my face, resorting to thanking the good Lord for small mercies instead.