Insta-Hate (Instant Gratification #1) Read online

  All my life I’d seen people say they were in love, only to later leave the ones they supposedly couldn’t live without. I saw healthy relationships fade to husks. I saw heartbreak and divorce. If that was love, I wanted no part of it. I believed in attraction, in lust, and in hate. Those were real. Love? Love was as real as a unicorn, and much less pretty.

  “No, I just want to find myself.” It was the answer she wanted, the one that wouldn’t hurt her feelings. It was easier than having to explain and defend.

  “You need to call Doc.”

  “I know.” Ava knew I wouldn’t call. Not yet. Just like she knew Meg was pestering me to call Mom. And I hadn’t…wouldn’t.

  SEVEN

  Frat Party

  Arsen

  Cody loved all things technology. When hover boards became all the rage, he bought four of them in various styles. So it was no surprise that when I knocked on his door, he answered standing on one of them. It had one large wheel and his feet were positioned on either side.

  “Hey,” I laughed.

  “Hey! It’s Saturday night!” When he raised his arm to wave me in, I finally looked up from the contraption at the horrendous burgundy robe he was wearing. It was trimmed in gold and…what in the hell?

  “And just where are you going dressed like that?” I asked.

  “To a party, duh. There’s a frat party at Columbia and Mike called to invite us. We’re crashing.” Mike was Cody’s younger brother. He pledged to the same fraternity Cody and I rushed for at NC State. Cody couldn’t be more proud.

  “You can’t crash a party you’re invited to.”

  “I can if I’m wearing this,” he replied with a wink. His hair had grown in and he’d finally stopped digging at his scalp. Now it was starting to curl again and all the college chicks would dig his locks. They always did.

  “What does Tracey think about this trip down memory lane?”

  The smile dropped from his face. “Doesn’t matter. Tracey’s out of the picture.”

  Tracey and Cody had dated on and off for the past year. Their break-ups were almost as loud as the make-up sex they had everywhere when they inevitably got back together. “What happened?”

  “Ronald,” he said disgustedly.

  “Ronald?”

  “Yes. She left me for a guy named Ronald.”

  Internally wincing, I clapped him on the shoulder. “Sorry man.” What did you say to someone who experienced a break-up? It was awkward. If I said he was better off, he might agree or he might tell me to fuck completely off. So, sorry was it.

  “Never mind her. I’ll have my pick of some fresh meat tonight.”

  Ugh. I hated Cody on the rebound. He was an arrogant asshole...and a drunk. I’d stay sober to make sure he didn’t do something he’d regret on Monday when he showed up at the office to apologize.

  “This party’s gonna be off the hook,” he said, parking his hover board near the door. He grabbed his wallet and keys and stuffed them into the pockets of his jeans. I eyeballed him. Was he really going to wear the robe? “What?” he asked, looking down at his clothing. “Oh.” He smiled. “I’ll just leave this here.”

  Maybe he did have some sense of dignity. Cody slid the robe off and threw it over one shoulder. Rubbing his hands together briskly, he smiled. “Let’s roll.”

  Why did I have a bad feeling about this?

  ***

  Alexandria

  Saturday nights were meant for fighting. Elton John taught me that. They most certainly were not meant for fake college kids to go to parties. “I’m not even a student yet. Classes haven’t started,” I whined.

  “They start in a week. You’re in the database, so you’re definitely official,” Ava chirped, dragging me to my bathroom. She grabbed my shoulders, positioned me in front of the mirror, and dared me to move. She didn’t say the words aloud, but she was wielding a torture device and I wasn’t about to cross her in that moment. “Now hold still,” she said, punctuating each word as she eased the contraption toward my eyeball. “This won’t hurt a bit.”

  Liar. Last time she ‘curled’ my eyelashes, she clamped the meat of my upper lid in that thing. “You’re moving,” she warned.

  “I’m not,” I said, not even moving my lips.

  She worked on one set of lashes and then the other. No pain. Whew. But then she took the mascara wand, swirled it around in the tube, and accidentally jabbed me in the eyeball when she tried to apply it. I screamed, clamped my palm over my eyes, and removed the mascara from her death grip. Blinking rapidly, I let the tears flush away the dark glob. She pursed her lips together, huffed, and stalked to my bedroom. “Fine! But I’m picking your clothes out!”

  “Nothing slutty!”

  “O-ho-ho, don’t tempt me, lady! Do not tempt me.”

  I owned no miniskirts or slutty things. Right? I mentally searched my closet. There was that one red shirt… But she wouldn’t.

  “Aha!” she yelled. In my mind the words, ‘she wouldn’t,’ played on repeat. It became a mantra, a plea, my only hope. “And it’s RED!”

  Damn it. She crushed my hope. I marched to the bedroom and stared at the monstrosity laying on my bed. It wasn’t ugly, but it was low-cut and my girls were still peeling. That was it! A get out of slutty jail free card! “I can’t wear it, Ava.”

  She put a tiny fist on her hip, spreading her skinny jean-clad legs. The necklaces, all different lengths, draped across her chest and stomach. She looked like an angry supermodel. “And just why not?” she demanded.

  “The tops of the ladies are still peeling. It would skeeve any hot piece of college man meat.”

  She pursed her lips, clearly contemplating whether I was really peeling or interested in said meat. “Let me see.”

  “What? No!” Ugh. I had no poker face.

  “Let. Me. See,” she called my bluff, standing her ground while mine crumbled underfoot. They weren’t that bad, really. Barely peeling. Mostly peeled. Almost normal. Ninety-nine point nine percent normal. Shit. I was wearing the shirt. She saw me glance at it laying on the bed and scented victory. “Oh, you’ll need these.” I caught the dark wash skinnies mid-air. “I’ll find shoes!”

  “Don’t throw them at me,” I deadpanned.

  “I’m tempted to! Spike first!”

  ***

  The subway was excruciating, but mostly for my feet. However, walking was a no-go and so were crazy cabbies. We took the train because A) Ava was out for revenge and wanted to force me into public, and B) She was trying to teach me a lesson. “You’re desirable!” she said, handing me a pair of six-inch heels. They were painful but pretty; black satin with a glittery toe that matched. The train held the normal mix of indifferent and crazy. One man, who’d painted his mostly-naked self bright green, sang in my face as I prayed for the train to speed up. His version of ‘Hit Me with Your Best Shot’ by Pat Benatar? Worst ever. Most people texted and tweeted, read newspapers and watched the underground pass by through the windows. So I gave him a fiver. At least he wasn’t lazy or shy about his body. He had moxie.

  At 116th Street, we exited with the masses and made our way topside. It was dark. They called Vegas the city that never sleeps, but the same could be said of New York City. I think it thrived more under the stars than the sun, and in the middle of it all was the campus of the university I would attend. Columbia was beautiful. Because of my connection with Ava and the convenience of an online application process, I’d never stepped foot on campus until tonight. Tasteful spotlights illuminated the buildings. The grounds were immaculately groomed. But right alongside the polished exteriors, there was an undercurrent that screamed ‘Saturday night’ and ‘party’. And did Columbia ever know how to party.

  “Where exactly are we going?”

  Ava smiled. Her make-up was perfect: smoldery eyes, red lips, and smooth skin. She looked like she fit in here, whereas I felt like an imposter. I didn’t belong.

  “We are going to frat row. And before you decide not to have fun and me
et some of my sorority sisters, you have to calm the internal introvert struggle.”

  Sigh. She knew me too well. My palms were already clammy. “Fine, but I’m getting a drink and hiding in the least conspicuous place I can find.”

  “Kill joy,” she teased with a smile, lacing her arm through mine. She stopped walking and turned me to face her. “Sweetie, enjoy this. You didn’t get to go to college, but that doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t get to experience it. Tonight is your chance to taste Greek life.”

  She was right. I could be Greek. “You’re right.”

  “See?” she said, her face lighting up like a redneck’s porch at Christmas.

  I just hoped I could fit in. Somehow.

  EIGHT

  Ghosts from the Past

  Arsen

  The stereotypes were right. Frat guys were loud and Cody and Mike were the loudest of them all. Alpha Something-or-other had a house on frat row, which was what they called the long row of buildings smashed together on a tiny street that might be among the busiest in the city on a Saturday night. Another observation: Frat guys hugged. Almost as often as they filled their cups and drained a keg, they hugged. Never saw that coming. Cody felt no pain. We’d been hanging out for two hours as he pounded back red Solo cups full of beer that must have tasted like the nectar of the gods, because the bottom of his cup barely saw the fluorescent lights of the kitchen before it was drowned again, along with Tracey’s memory.

  I nursed water hidden behind the red plastic and laughed along with Cody and his buddies. How long could he hang with them? We weren’t old but we weren’t eighteen, either. A blonde with breasts popping out of her tank top sidled up to me, raking her manicured nail down my sleeve. “I’ve never seen you at one of these parties before.” She sat on the arm of the recliner I was in, her barely-there skirt riding up to her hip. She obviously didn’t care what my answer was, because she kept talking. “My name’s Brittany. I’m a junior now.”

  “Congratulations,” I said, tipping my cup toward her.

  “You’re hot. Want to go hook up?” Brittany was pretty. She was young and apparently willing, but she wasn’t my type.

  I stood up and smiled. “Nah. I need to take him home.” I gestured toward Cody by way of explanation, but she was already moving across the room to someone else who might help relieve her itch. The recliner rocked to and fro for a moment.

  “Cody!”

  “Yeah, man,” he answered, crashing through his brothers and stumbling to a stop in front of me. “Ready to roll?”

  “Yeah.” It was midnight and I was having trouble staying awake despite the music, smoke, and laughter.

  He hugged Mikey, told him to behave, and carved a path toward the door, hugging his friends as he told them we were bailing. I stepped outside to get away from the noise and into the fresh air and almost knocked two ladies down in the process. “God, I’m so....sorry.” It can’t be her.

  My chest tightened. Those eyes. It was her. Her eyes were not blue or green, they were both, with speckles of brown and a tiny gray ring around the center. It was Trinity. I stood in the porch light, holding her elbows, taking her in. The smell of Jasmine clung to her skin. She stared back, mouth agape, looking just as surprised as I felt. “Where the hell have you been?” I snapped.

  What the hell? She’d fucking disappeared. Just...disappeared, took everything from me. But she was never far, because she lived and breathed in my mind as though she never left. She tormented me every single day from wherever the hell she ran off to. And here she was at Columbia, getting ready to go to a party at a fucking frat house. Maybe she was like Brittany, looking for an easy lay.

  “I’m sorry. Do I know you?” she asked, squinting at me and then looking to her friend for help. She tried to pull her arm away from me, but I tightened my grip on it.

  Her friend stepped up beside her and said, “Look dude, let her... Oh, shit! You’re her instructor!”

  “What?” I looked at her dark-haired friend. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re the guest instructor for ‘Psychology of Love’, right? Arsen Daniel?”

  “I am.” Panic washed over Trinity’s face.

  “Lexie’s in your class!” chirped her friend.

  “Lexie?” My head jerked back. Did she change her name?

  “Yeah. I mean,” she swatted the air dismissively. “Her name is Alexandria Ray. But I call her Lexie. Most of the world knows her as New York Times, USA Today, Wall Street Journal and any other damn thing you can think of bestselling author. She signed up for your class! Wait.” Her friend’s face dropped. “How’d you know she was in it?”

  I let go of Lexie’s arm, which she quickly rubbed while giving me a mean look. Shit. Did I hurt her? I didn’t mean to hurt her. It’s just… I thought she was Trinity and I wasn’t about to let her go without an explanation. Staring at her, I searched her face. It was like she and Trin were twins. But she wasn’t Trinity. “You aren’t Trinity McGregor?”

  “No, I’m not.” She eased something out of her clutch and held it out toward me. A cell phone? A loud buzzing zap followed the electricity pinging from probe to probe. “Touch me again and I’ll light you up like the fucking Fourth of July, asshole. I don’t care if you’re an instructor here or not. You don’t put your hands on me. Ever.” Her lips were thinned and she bared her teeth defiantly as her hand shook the torture device at me.

  I swallowed, easing my hands up, palms out. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I...have to go.”

  “She’ll see you in class!” her friend called out, trying to salvage the situation.

  “I will not. There’s no way I’m going near that asshole again. Can you swap classes for me?”

  I stopped at the sidewalk, mentally willing Cody to hurry his drunk ass up. Lexie’s friend shook her head. “No, sweetie. I can’t. I had to pull a ton of strings to get you in at all. At this point, it’s all or nothing.” She whispered loudly, “He’s probably drunk.”

  Lexie snarled. “No excuse. And I hate drunks.” Her friend gasped, covering her heart. “Not you. I love Drunk Ava. I just hate drunk everyone else.”

  My heart wouldn’t stop thundering.

  ***

  Alexandria

  I couldn’t breathe. The intensity of his stare as it searched mine, his steely grip on my arm. It was too much and not enough. I hated men like him who felt the world and women in general owed him something because of his pretty face. Whoever Trinity was must have done a number on him. What did she do? I wondered.

  Tara, a friend of Ava’s stopped her on the landing, and while we hovered there trapped in small talk, my instructor watched us from the sidewalk. It wasn’t just watching, glancing. He stared like it was impossible to tear his eyes away. I stared back, having nothing to hide. It wasn’t like I was Trinity, like I’d done anything to him in the past. I didn’t even know him. And yet I’d be sitting in his classroom for the next few months. Ava said there was no way to get out of the class, but maybe that was just Drunk Ava. Maybe Sober Ava knew of a way to transfer. Regardless, I had my stun gun in my hand, Stanley the Stunner. One wrong move and Stan would zap him like a bug. The door in front of us swung open and a hot guy with short red hair that curled at the ends stepped onto the landing, giving Tara and then Ava a huge hug. Ava squeaked in surprise, but patted his back awkwardly.

  “Have a good night, ladies,” he slurred, walking sloppily down the steps.

  “You aren’t driving, right?” I asked.

  From the sidewalk came that voice, the sexy one that made me want to stab all men in the eyeballs with a spork. “I’m taking him.”

  “Well, thank goodness one of you has a brain.”

  Red winked at me and started toward me for a hug too, but I held the stun gun up and wiggled it back and forth. “Whoa,” he said, backing away. “Not the hugging type, eh?”

  “Nope.” Ava giggled at his shocked expression.

  He grinned. “Fair enough.” Red looked over at my worst nigh
tmare. “I should’ve brought my hover board.”

  “Hover board?” Ava mouthed from behind his back.

  I shrugged and motioned toward the house. It was the first time that being among a bunch of loud drunks was preferable to the quiet outside. Because he was outside, and something about him scared me. Something in his eyes shook me to my core. I steeled my shoulders. It was time for college shenanigans and a quiet corner with my Kindle app.

  The party was crazy loud. Everyone was drunk, hooking up, or almost hooking up. Ava-cakes went straight for the keg, laughing and giggling with everyone on the way. Her sorority sisters had co-sponsored the party. As promised, I found the darkest, least inhabited corner of the living room and hid away beside a couple who were going for the Guinness Record for sloppiest, wettest, and loudest drunk kiss in history. The Kindle app was my friend. It looked out for me. It always knew where I left off and told me how much more I would be reading. It was comfortable. The frat party? Not so much.

  Despite my best attempts to avoid everyone in the building, the guys were digging the red shirt. Ava grinned as she introduced me as her bestie to every guy who inquired about me. She knew the crowd and unfortunately, I was fresh meat.

  “Oh. My. Gawd,” squealed a girl from the corner. “Lexie…as in Alexandria Ray, is your best friend? Shut. The. Front. Door! I love her books!” The girl hurtled the coffee table in heels to tackle me as I stood up to say hi, knocking us both into the chair and our heads into the drywall at the corner. That was going to bruise.

  “Are you okay?” Ava screeched, pulling me from the wreckage.

  I winced, grabbing my head. “Yeah.”

  “We should go,” she announced before shouting goodbye to her friends. They shouted back and some ran to give her a quick hug before we eased our way through the sea of bodies to the front door.