Frenemies Page 2

  I'd been a couple years ahead of her at the school we both attended, and each time she turned me down, it only made me more interested. I was convinced I’d begun wearing her down—until the day I beat her at the spelling bee.

  I gathered my papers up and began readying myself for another class as I recalled the day. I'd been in fifth grade, Layla had been in third. We were both finalists in the spelling bee and even though she was a couple years younger, I'd been drawn to her. Back then it was because she also liked to read comics. Later, I learned it was because she liked the art, but I'd been a kid and knowing a girl who liked comics was out of the realm cool at the time. I only joined the damn spelling bee because I wanted to impress her. When she royally shot me down to share comics the day before, I figured if I couldn't have her, then I'd enjoy pissing her off.

  After the spelling bee, there was the honor society elections, then student government, and class ranks. I'd been valedictorian of my graduating class. She made salutatorian. Nothing cheered up my day quite like pissing her off.

  Except now she was my student, and there were just some lines I couldn't cross, but damn if I didn't want to toe the fuck out of them.

  I made it through my subsequent classes on autopilot and headed straight to the gym to work the thought of Layla Tate out of my mind. Much as I wanted her beneath me, there wasn't anything I could do about it while she was my student. And wasn't that a fucking shame?

  She was the type of woman who held everything together, who had her shit together. She didn't care, for the most part, about stuff like status, or money, like most of the women I knew. She cared about books, her art, her future. Stupid as it sounded, she inspired me to be a better person at a time in my life when I had no direction, no positive influence. If it hadn't been for her, who knows what the hell would have happened?

  But I knew underneath that carefully buttoned and tightly wound exterior there was an absolute wildcat to be found. She may think we just had a rivalry, but it was so much more than that. She wanted to shove her foot up my ass and I wanted to shove my cock in her mouth.

  An hour in the gym did little to help my dilemma, and I knew the past years of antagonization would have nothing on the upcoming months. I just had to keep it together long enough to finish the semester.

  Should be easy enough.

  THREE WEEKS later and I was losing my mind.

  No amount of lifting weights in the gym or throwing myself in my grad work could erase her from my mind as easily as I’d forgotten other women. It’s almost as bad as it had been in high school. I get a twenty-four-hour reprieve, forty-eight at the most, and then she was back in my class with those blue eyes on me, and I’d have to start all over again.

  She was making me lose my fucking mind.

  I'd pulled every trick in my arsenal to get her to see me as anything other than an enemy, but nothing worked. Now that I was her teacher? I might as well kiss any chance with her goodbye.

  Women always came easy for me. That was never the problem. It was their motivation and scheming that always bit me in the ass. They were the ones who were only interested in my looks or my bank account. As cliché as it sounded, I wanted someone who didn't give a damn about those things. Someone who saw me for me and not for what they could get from me.

  With Layla, it was never that easy. She didn't swoon at my looks and she wasn't impressed by my father or my trust fund. When I got a brand-new Camaro for my sixteenth birthday and came to school thinking I was God's gift, she rolled her eyes and disappeared to the library. I'll admit, it could be a little irritating. She thought I was shallow, vain, and an idiot. If I were a smart man, I'd forget her and focus on finishing my MBA without the distractions.

  She'd agree, and I was starting to; I was not a smart man.

  "People are inherently altruistic," she stated in an argument with another student. "According to research, the human race is a stronger one if we work together to our mutual benefit. Therefore, most businesses are essentially naturally ethical because it's in their best interests to be so."

  I turned to her and said, "Then you don't agree with economist, Adam Smith, who stated everyone should pursue their own selfish interests as it works out to the benefit of all as though guided by an invisible hand, Ms. Tate?"

  Definitely not a smart man.

  She leaned back in her seat, the thrust of her back emphasizing the perfect upturn of her sweet breasts. I was going to hell.

  "I do agree with him,” she said, her eyes flashing, “because it was also Adam Smith who said human behavior is guided by self-interest as well as empathy. In fact, he believed self-interest was an engine of an economic system, but he also said it was a danger. Therefore, I still believe empathy and ethical behavior are the cornerstones of any economic system or business."

  I pushed off my desk at the front of the room. "Can you give me an example from last week’s readings of another economist or philosopher with similar ideas?"

  Her blue eyes narrowed in my direction, scenting the challenge. Knowing she couldn't resist it, I could only try to hide my smile of satisfaction. "Chinese philosopher Mencius, for example, posited the innate human capacity for altruism in the child in danger scenario. He said, ‘Suppose you're walking down the street and you come across the child about to fall into a hole. A human wouldn't worry about the cost of altering their plans for saving the child, they'd just do it automatically.’" Layla eyed me up and down. "Well, most humans."

  We locked eyes for a moment, before she lowered hers down to her textbook. She couldn't have made that clearer, and I made it a point to focus on the other students for the remainder of the class. When it was over, I pinned her with my gaze. "Ms. Tate, a word."

  The rest of the students filed out as Layla began to stuff her things into her bag. She stalked to my desk at the front.

  "What?" she asked.

  "I think you mean 'What, Mr. Hampton?'" I corrected.

  She scoffed, "Is there something else? I've been on time every day and I haven't missed an assignment, clearly."

  "Look, I don't want each class to be like a battlefield. We both have a job to do here, and I don't want this animosity between us to affect your grade." I wasn’t thinking of how good she looked, or how much I wished I could bend her over the desk between us.

  Layla shifted from foot to foot and tried to look innocent, but her smirk gave her away. "What animosity?"

  "Cut the shit," I said, while imagining her ass pink and splotchy from a good spanking. She’d like it. She’d look over her shoulder at me as I spanked her raw and she’d be spitting mad, but she’d egg me on until she was so sensitive, she couldn’t sit without the accompanying sting.

  Christ. I had to get her to leave my class before I did something stupid.

  "All I want to do is finish this class so I can graduate in the spring. As long as you don't give me any trouble, I won't have a problem with my grade."

  "Believe it or not, I'm not here to sabotage your grade. No matter what you may think of me, I do want you to pass this class,” I said between gritted teeth. If I didn’t have her splayed across my lap by the end of this semester, it’d be a miracle.

  "Yeah, right. You've had it out for me ever since the fifth grade."

  Unable to resist, I said, "Millennium," and watched her face flush with indignation. Of course, I'd rather it flushed for other reasons, but I'd take what I could get...for now.

  "I hate you."

  "You know what they say about love and hate."

  "That it's a thin line between accidental death and premeditated murder,” she retorted over her shoulder as she walked away.

  I didn’t watch her ass, and my mind didn’t wander.

  Much.

  CHAPTER THREE

  LAYLA

  IT HAD ONLY BEEN a month and senior year was ruined.

  My resting bitch face game was strong as I pulled into the parking lot of my apartment complex. Before I got out of the car, I was inundated with a wave of
loneliness. I hadn’t even gotten inside, and it already felt too empty. And it wasn’t even because it was the weekend. No, it felt empty because the three amigas were down a number. I was happy for Charlie. She’d snagged a great place across town and closer to work, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a punch in the chest each time I thought of running upstairs to the old place she used to rent before it was ruined, and she moved in with Liam.

  Sometimes you just needed a shoulder.

  I didn’t like to show it, but I needed a shoulder today.

  Rocky Road ice cream was in order, I decided. Maybe even a full pint instead of the half serving I normally allowed myself. I wasn’t overweight, but my body seemed to pack on the pounds at the slightest indulgence. I didn’t have a problem with being extra curvy, but in addition to my mother’s padded bank account, she also boasted extra padding everywhere else. No amount of money could make that woman say no to extra servings. Finance wasn’t the only aspect of her I didn’t want to emulate.

  I should really stop accepting her calls. They never helped and always left me feeling worse.

  The three-story apartment building Charlie, Ember—my other best friend—and I shared was located just off-campus. It had been the perfect place for the three of us during our years at Florida State University, for the first time, it didn’t feel like home. I attributed it to lingering discontent from another bad phone call with my mom—certainly not from the constant clashing with Dash—and went straight for the freezer as soon as I got to my apartment.

  My place wasn’t much to speak of. Two sparse rooms, a bathroom, kitchen and meager living room. The whole square footage didn’t amount to much, but it was enough for me, and Mom had offered to cover the rent since I was only working part time. What it lacked in amenities, the location sure made up for. That and the fact for the past couple years, my two best friends had been a couple steps or an elevator ride away.

  The reminder of Charlie not being there anymore had me digging into the chocolate-y goodness with renewed vigor. I still had Ember. I was making a bigger deal out of Charlie leaving than I needed to. Everything was just changing, and I didn’t do well with changes. I liked consistency. Plans. Outlines. Lists. I still hadn’t recovered from learning Dash was my T.A. That was absolutely something I hadn’t anticipated.

  Then again, Dash always pushed my buttons and disrupted my carefully laid plans.

  After I finished with my ice cream, my plan was to go to my favorite place—the library—and figure out my next move. I needed to research the finance firm Mom was so adamant about and figure out if it was even something I was interested in. God knew I loved her, but I didn’t want to spend my life in finance. Even though I’d turned her down weeks ago, she wasn’t letting up. Maybe if I worked at the firm for a few years, I could use the time to allow my art to get off the ground. Then, I could explain to Mom in concrete examples how I could be successful in such a “useless profession.”

  With my goal in mind, and as I scooped another spoonful into my mouth, I began writing down a list. By the time I finished, I also polished off the ice cream. Considering that, I added GO TO THE GYM at the bottom and then went to throw out the trash and grab a bottle of water. I changed into a pair of gym sweats, a ratty T-shirt, and some old sneakers. Even if I could afford the tricked-out gym gear, I didn’t get the point of dressing up in new clothes if I was just going to be soaked in sweat anyway.

  Mood buoyed by the sugar and a loose plan, I practically skipped out into the hallway, where I ran smack dab into the last person in the world I wanted to see.

  The world was conspiring against me. That was the only explanation.

  Either that or he was stalking me, which had to be against university ethics on some level.

  “Hey there, Ms. Tate.” His voice was like warm caramel and was as satisfying as slipping into a warm bubble bath.

  My eyes narrowed. “Dash.”

  He smirked. It had only been a month and I was already over being in his class. I couldn’t wait until he was no longer my T.A. and I could wipe that smirk off his face. “I thought we agreed you’d call me Mr. Hampton?”

  Through gritted teeth, I said, “The only way you’ll ever hear me call you, Mr. Hampton, is if I suffer from a stroke,” then turned and stalked away. I had to put up with him during class. I didn’t have to put up with him outside of it. Then it occurred to me…he didn’t live here. I stopped, turned. “What are you doing here?”

  He lifts a hand to his chest. “Layla, I’m hurt. You sound disappointed to see me.”

  “I’m always disappointed to see you.” Damn, what a waste of ice cream. My sugar high was already disappearing at the mere sight of him. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Dash, Mr. I’ll-Never-Call-Him-Hampton, couldn’t look smugger. “You didn’t ask nicely, but I’m in a charitable mood.” Then he said the words that had my previously buoyed mood plummeting from put-on-big-girl-panties to set-panties-on-fire. “I live here.”

  My mouth became temporarily glued shut. I might have choked on my own tongue. Some unladylike sounds later, I squawked, “Live here. Live where?”

  “A room opened up upstairs. New renovation, too. I moved in at the start of the semester. Frankly, I’m hurt you didn’t notice. And after we’ve had such a good time in class.”

  “You’ve got to be joking,” I blurted. Why hadn’t Charlie thought to tell me the bane of my existence was moving into her old place?

  “‘Fraid not, sweet cheeks.”

  My confusion was obliterated by rage and I saw a mist of red. “Don’t call me sweet cheeks. I’m pretty sure that’s against code of conduct, Dash.”

  His gaze lingered on my bared skin, which I had to be imagining. The thought of Dash, of all people, ogling me was laughable. He was probably searching for weak spots. “What do I have to do to get you to call me Mr. Hampton, just once?” he asked, and my thoughts were wrenched from his eyes on my skin.

  “Drop dead?” I replied with exaggerated sweetness. I resorted to imagining him in various stages of embarrassment and ruin, which always used to cheer me up. Except now that he was in my personal space, my sanctuary, I felt even more exposed and I wished I was wearing something more substantial…like a parka. The way he was looking at me, it was almost like I was naked. Which is absurd. Dash liked to torture me—and not in any pleasurable sort of way.

  My brain—probably high on chocolate and his cologne—connected the thought of pleasure with Dash, who was standing way too close for comfort. First, I imagined him running naked through the quad, with the whole campus laughing at him. It would serve him right, the bastard. Except, the image shifted, and then he was naked, and we were alone.

  And no one was laughing, least of all me.

  As though he could read my mind, Dash chuckled, those clear green eyes crinkling at the corners. His parents must have made a deal with the devil, because there was no way someone could be so perfect and so evil at the same time.

  As I was unable to speak, from rage, I assured myself, not the flush of desire, he continued, “First my class, now the same building. I guess we’ll be seeing each other a lot.”

  I was right, I was in hell.

  He made a point of scanning my body up and down, which didn’t help the tingling sensation I had going on. My breath caught in my throat. What the hell was happening to me?

  “I’ve got to say,” he kept going, “in a purely platonic way, I dig the librarian thing you do normally, but this hobo vibe you’ve got going works, too.”

  Rage burned away any remnants from whatever stroke I was having. Dash. Desire. Honestly, maybe I shouldn’t ever have chocolate again. Clearly it was the devil’s work. “Have you ever heard of sexual harassment?” I asked with faux sweetness.

  “Trust me, sweet cheeks, no one is harassing you, sexually or otherwise.” He walked backward with that damn smirk and winked at me before turning and saying over his shoulder, “I’ll see you Monday in class, Lay.”

&n
bsp; If I wasn’t certain there was a rule against maiming a T.A. I would have beaned him with my cell phone right in the center of his big, fat head. Instead, I dialed and put it up to my ear.

  “Code Red,” I said. “Can you meet in an hour?”

  “HERE YOU GO,” the waitress said, as she placed a big glass of wine in front of me. If I couldn’t have chocolate, at least there was wine. “Can I get you ladies anything else?”

  Ember smiled and lifted her margarita. “We’re good, thanks.”

  “Put hers on my tab,” Charlie added as she gestured to me, then sent me an apologetic look. To me, she said, “It’s the least I could do.”

  Damn right. She owed me a lifetime of wine to make up for this egregious lapse in girl code. I took a deep gulp of wine, then another. “It’s a good thing I love you because this is a betrayal of the worst kind. If this didn’t taste so good, it would be dumped over your head right about now.”

  Charlie slumped and gestured to the waitress for another round. Ember giggled, then licked the rim of her glass. “You can’t blame her,” Ember said after a drink. “She’s had her hands full with Liam and starting her new job.”

  Another gulp. “No excuse.” I wondered if I could mainline wine. I would have asked Charlie if there were any wine-IV protocols, but she was on my shit list.

  As though her urge to apologize overcame her self-flagellation, Charlie burst out, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I had gotten off two twelve-hour doubles and could barely keep my eyes open, let alone process what Liam was yammering on about. Especially when he comes to bed without a shirt on, talking about the cute little animals he’s been working on.” Her eyes went misty and Ember began to fan herself. “You know how I like it when he is all swoony and half-naked.”

  “Please, continue,” Ember said, leaning in. “I’ve been on a six-month hiatus since Chris went back to Miami. I need any form of swoony and half-naked I can get.”

  “Men are scum,” I said firmly before Charlie could go off on a Liam tangent. It was imperative I didn’t let any intrusive thoughts of Dash half-naked or otherwise take root or I’d be like Ember, practically panting again. “I hate them all.” There, hate was easy. Hate would abolish the image of Dash naked.