Morgan

Twelve and a Half Years Ago

You can try to ignore something…someone…your own feelings. But you’re not really ignoring them; you’re just pretending you are.

And I’ve gotten really good at pretending.

Pretending that I can’t stand Wilder Cross. Pretending that my heart doesn’t beat a little faster every time I see him. Pretending that my heart doesn’t sink when I see him with a girl.

Pretending that my crush hasn’t turned into real feelings for him. Because how can I have feelings for a jackass like him? It doesn’t make sense. So, therefore, the feelings can’t be real. Right?

See, I’m damn good at pretending. And I figure, if I keep on like this, one day, my pretense will just stick. It’ll become reality.

Avoidance is a great tool. If I don’t see him much, then I don’t have to fake it at all.

So, wouldn’t you just know that Wilder and I have been paired together to do an assignment for our Economics class?

We only need to do one study session together, so we can figure out which part each of us will do. But the thought of one session—just me and him, one-on-one—feels like the best and worst kind of torture.

I’m great at pretending to myself and everyone else, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to pretend if it’s just Wilder and me. And he can’t ever know that I have feelings for him.

God, could you imagine the fun he and his buddies would have with that?

Stick-Up-Her-Ass-Ford has a thing for Wilder Cross.

Yeah, that’s the nickname that Wilder has for me. Not the most original. He doesn’t say it to my face, but I have ears. And I can’t say that it doesn’t bother me because it does.

Not that Wilder cares about my feelings.

The only thing he cares about is sleeping with as many girls as possible.

He screws just about anything with a vagina. And, of course, they’re all slim, gorgeous girls because Wilder Cross doesn’t do anything over a size four.

At the remembrance of what he said that night, I breathe through the ache in my chest that I still get, even now.

So, I guess you could say that I’m not looking forward to this study session with him.

And, when my boss asked me if I could stay a few more hours, as one of the girls had called in sick, I said yes. Not only would the extra cash come in handy, but it also delayed the inevitable a little longer.

And, now, straight from work, I’m on my way to Wilder’s frat house, which is where we’re meeting. I did try to book a room at the library, but they were all full, and I definitely didn’t want Wilder in my dorm room. The dorm room that I no longer share with Tori.

She left a month ago. She got knocked up. Not by Wilder. By one of the guys on the football team. She went back home, wherever that is.

So, I have the room to myself. But the last time Wilder was in my room, it didn’t end so well for me, so, yeah, not happening.

The only option left was his frat house. We can work in the kitchen or whatever.

As I walk toward the address he gave me, I hear thumping music coming from inside. As I get closer, I see people out front, on the porch, drinks in their hands.

He’s having a party?

He knew I was coming. Granted, I’m two hours later than I originally said I would be, but I emailed him to let him know I had to change the time. And it’s only eight thirty now, and this party looks like it’s been going on for a while.

I hesitate, not sure what to do. Do I go in and find him? For what reason? We can’t exactly work while there’s a party happening.

But, now, I’m pissed. Because, if he was having a party, then he should’ve let me know, and we could’ve rearranged. But he definitely didn’t let me know because I quickly checked my email at work before I left, and there was nothing from him. I haven’t received a text or phone call from him either.

God, does he not ever take anything seriously?

My annoyance quickly turns to anger.

And that’s what has me marching up the front lawn and up the steps to the porch and through the open front door.

The house is full of people, drinking, dancing, and making out. Girls are wearing skimpy dresses, and I’m standing here in my work uniform.

I feel a stab of envy. I don’t party often…well, ever. I’m too busy with school and work to have a social life. And I’m not exactly rolling with the popular crowd, so my party invites are pretty rare…well, nonexistent.

I glance around, looking for Wilder. I see a few people I know from classes but no Wilder.

I walk through the living room and to the kitchen. Still no sign of him.

By this point, I’m pissed off and ready to go home, but I want to find him, so I can yell at him.

I grab a random guy and ask if he knows where Wilder is.

“Out back,” he tells me.

I make my way through the kitchen and let myself out back. There are some people out here, but I can’t see Wilder.

Then, I hear a female giggle to my left. I turn my head to find a pretty brunette pressed up against the house with Wilder leaning into her.

A flash of jealousy lances across my chest.

Almost as if he hears my pain, his head turns, and his eyes focus on me.

A smile creeps onto his lips. But it’s not a nice smile.

“A little late, aren’t you?”

“Late?” My brows furrow.

He steps away from the girl and turns to me. “Yeah, about two hours too late for our study session.”

“I emailed you to let you know I couldn’t make it and that I’d be coming now.”

His head tips to the side. “I didn’t get an email, Stickford. And, FYI, people generally text each other now. You know, cell phones.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and waves it at me.

The brunette giggles, which just pisses me off even more.

“I know, asshole. But I didn’t have access to my phone at the time, so I emailed.”

My phone is in my bag, but I’m not going to tell him that I couldn’t text or call him because I’m out of credits on my prepay phone, and I don’t have any spare cash to put some credits on it until I get paid in a few days.

It was minutes for my phone or food. Crazy gal that I am, I opted for food.

Wilder takes a step closer to me and away from the brunette he was just pressed up against. “So, what was so important that you had to miss our meeting then? Wait, let me guess.” He clicks his fingers and then points at me. “I know. You were with Professor Weller, getting your nose surgically removed from her ass because it’d been stuck up there so long that hemorrhoids started to grow out your nostrils.”

The girl bursts out laughing. And I can feel my face heating with embarrassment.

“Surely, you couldn’t have been doing something fun, like getting laid, because you don’t know how to have fun, Stickford.”

“You’re an ass. And I’m done here.”

I push past him, ignoring the laughing brunette, and I all but run down the steps off the back porch. I’m speed walking down the side of the house when a hand catches my arm.

I whirl around to see Wilder.

His eyes are lit in a way I’ve never seen before. It makes both my legs tremble and my heart beat faster.

“You could have called to let me know you’d be late, Morgan.”

He rarely calls me Morgan. It throws me off balance for a moment.

I pull my arm from his hand, needing him to stop touching me because I can feel my mask starting to fade.

I hate that he has this effect on me.

How can I want such a mean, jumped-up asshole, whose sole aim in life is to screw as many girls as possible? It makes no sense to me. He makes no sense to me.

“I couldn’t call you,” I tell him through thin lips. “I was at work. My boss offered me extra hours, as one of the other girls had called in sick, and I couldn’t not take them because I need the money. We’re not all born with a rich mommy and daddy who can pay our bills for us.”

His eyes narrow on me, but he doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

Then, he just turns and starts to head back to the party.

“We need to rearrange our study session,” I call to his back. “I’m not failing this class because of you.”

He stops and turns back to me. His eyes look dark. “I did the work. Well, my half of it. Because you didn’t turn up, I made the decision of who should do what. I’ll email my part to you tomorrow, so there’s no need for us to meet again.”

I should be relieved. But I’m not.

“What if I don’t want to do the part that you’re giving me?”

He laughs, but it’s a hollow sound. “Then, complain to Professor Weller. I know you have no problem doing that because she pulled me aside the other day to ask me what the issue was between you and me. Said that you’d been to see her and asked to be reassigned to a different partner. And you know what I told her?” He takes long strides back toward me until he’s so close that I have to tip my head back to look into his face, which looks clouded with anger. “I told her that I don’t have a fucking clue what I ever did to make you dislike me.” His voice is a harsh sound in my ear.

I swallow roughly, and he takes a step back and runs his hand through his hair.

“But you know what else I told her?”

Dumbly, I shake my head.

“I told her that I don’t care. Whatever your problem with me is, well, it’s your problem and not mine.” And then he’s gone, striding off back to the party. Back to his brunette.

“But that’s the problem,” I whisper to his back. “You didn’t care. You hurt my feelings, and you just didn’t care.”