Insta-Hate (Instant Gratification #1) Page 6

  Outside, the green monster of guilt hovered. We’d only been there an hour and she didn’t get to see everyone. “Are you sure you want to go home? I can take the train myself.”

  Ava’s left brow shot straight up. “On Saturday night at one in the morning? Hell no, you won’t and neither will I. We’re taking a cab and I’m sleeping on your couch. Do you have an extra toothbrush?”

  I giggled. “Just for you, Ava-cakes. I even have hand sanitizer.”

  Her eyeballs bugged out. She reached into her bag and pulled out a bottle, applying liberally and rubbing away the germs. “You do love me.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Let’s hail a ride.”

  NINE

  First Day of Class

  Arsen

  Mondays were hell. Today was Monday. Ergo: Today was hell. I buried my face in my hands, trying to smother the memory of Saturday night. Was that girl really Lexie / Alexandria, or could she be Trin? Was I losing it?

  While his team fielded applications that were pouring in thanks to a spot on The Today Show, Cody was busy working on the site and a match for a new client that we readily accepted. He wasn’t a freak, looking for a quick lay or anything else. He was a fifty-something socialite who wanted companionship and a long-term commitment. His background check was spotless. So was his driving record. You could tell a lot about someone based on their driving history. It was especially telling of latent anger issues and bad habits. Where did they wreck? How fast were they going? Were they drinking? Texting? How much over the limit were they speeding?

  I thought our system could easily match him with another person in our database. I could think of three off-hand that would likely be an eighty percent match, but I couldn’t focus. Not at all. The last time I saw Trinity was on her eighteenth birthday, and that was years ago. So this Lexie girl looked like her, had a similar eye color. Trinity could look like anything now. She could be built differently, or have hair that wasn’t dyed blonde, lips that weren’t shaped like a bow. She could have a husband. Kids, even.

  I pushed my chair away from my desk and stared at the clock on the wall. Shit. When those hands came into focus, I scrambled. I had an hour before class started, but I still had to get across town.

  And Lexie or Alexandria? I’d apologize to her. After class. That was what I’d do. Because I acted like an asshole and I really wasn’t one, for the most part.

  ***

  I made it with twenty minutes to spare, by some miracle. Slowly, the door to the classroom swung open and students poured in—some individually, some in pairs, others in clusters. As I tried to calm myself, I realized that was exactly what this was: a cluster. Not only was I not a teacher, or instructor or whatever they called me, I was royally fucked. Because sooner or later, Alexandria would swing that same painted-blue door open and walk through.

  As if I’d conjured her with my thoughts, there she was; long honey-colored hair draped over her shoulders. She wore a long dress and sandals that slapped the steps as she descended to the third row, walking to the first empty seat she could find. I watched as she unzipped her bag, took her laptop out, and fired it up. She watched her desk or her computer, anything but me. Or was I only imagining her avoidance? This was bad.

  The clock on the back wall read six o’clock and the rays of the sinking sun were trapped outside the windows. Normally this class would be taught in one of the smaller classrooms in the psychology department, but so many students showed interest that they had to move it to a larger auditorium-style room. When Josh called and asked this favor, I imagined twenty students...not forty-two, which was the number of names listed in alphabetical order on my current roster.

  The students laughed and talked and gestured toward me. I walked to the front of the room and on the whiteboard, wrote four letters. They weren’t the four that kept screaming through my mind. They were L-O-V-E.

  ***

  Alexandria

  The class was full. There were five long rows of seats and normally I’d have found the corner seat in the back but it was taken, as was the entire fourth row. So the third was the next best option. I could feel his stare. His dark eyes never left me and I wanted to yell down to him, tell him to take a picture, it would last longer, but drawing attention to myself was a major no-no. Besides, that entire phrase seemed too middle school to say out loud.

  I busied myself, turning my laptop on and getting a fresh Word doc ready. I considered hand-writing my notes like the guy next to me seemed to be doing. He had a spiral notebook and a pen, long cargo shorts and a white tee and... He was staring at me, too. “Hey, I’m Dave.”

  “Hi.” I smiled. Humaning was going to be difficult today. I hadn’t had nearly enough coffee. I turned my attention back to my computer screen, anything to keep from looking at the instructor. Arsen Daniel, Ava said, adding that his name was criminal in the best of ways. His looks were, too. From the tittering female giggles that surrounded me, every single girl in this room agreed. While I avoided eye contact with him, they giggled loudly and gestured over-dramatically. They wanted his eyes on them. Why couldn’t he just comply?

  Why? Because he was an asshole. He was one of those guys who made great book boyfriends. He wanted the unknown, the one girl who wouldn’t fall for his advances or throw herself at his feet. I was that girl, and I didn’t care what he wanted. It wasn’t happening. I glanced up and he was still staring. He nodded his head when he caught my eye. Behind him, he’d scrawled one word: Love.

  If only it existed, I snorted internally.

  TEN

  Karma

  Alexandria

  First classes are the most fun, Ava said. They just give you a syllabus and let you go home, she said. They never last long and there won’t be a lecture on the first night, she swore. Ava was wrong, because Mr. Daniel had a different idea about how first classes should go. Where was a real professor when you needed one?

  “Someone define ‘love’ for me.”

  He leaned back against the desk, one leg crossed over the other and palms gripping the wooden edge. Hands shot into the air from too-eager females in the front row, making him smile. “Okay,” he said, pointing toward a girl with dark hair streaked with baby pink highlights. “You. Can you introduce yourself and tell me what you think love means?”

  “My name is Candy,” she began. Of course your name is Candy, because like, you are so totally sweet. “And love is when you find a connection with someone that’s too strong to ever, ever break.”

  I vomited a little in my mouth.

  Daniel pointed to the girl beside Candy. “I’m Hope.” Hopeless, maybe. “And love is a feeling of overwhelming, unconditional, indescribable...” She put her head down. “Emotion. It’s just hard to describe. It’s everything.”

  He smiled at her and chose another, and another and another. Each answer was more pathetic than the last. After twenty or so similar dumb-blonde answers, he focused on me and I remembered that I, too, was blonde. Sure, it came from the salon, but I liked it. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but we have another authority on love attending this class.”

  My eyes went wide and if I were a vampire, I’d have bared my fangs, sprang off my desk, and embedded those pointy fuckers in his neck. “Bestselling romance author, Alexandria Ray, is here with us.” He gestured to me and I slapped the lid of my laptop down, drawing even more attention to my not-so-silent freak out. A few girls squealed. The guys raked their eyes over me. To men, romance author meant sex. Writing about sex equaled authority about sex and BDSM. Automatically.

  A tiny girl behind me to the left was bouncing in her seat. She bent forward. Whispering, but barely moving her lips, she told me about her crush on Jaron, the last book boyfriend she would ever need and was he divined or inspired from real life and could I tell her how I came up with my ideas and what I’m writing next and could we meet for coffee? Coffee?

  “Maybe,” I answered her last question.

  Arsen Daniel—the asshole—crossed his arms. His eyes te
ased me and dared me at the same time. “How do you define love, Ms. Ray?”

  He wanted the truth? I bet he couldn’t handle the truth. Yeah, I liked Tom Cruise.

  “A physiological reaction to attractive stimuli.”

  Snickers from my peers, pursed lips from my instructor, and the fangirl behind me gasping. “That’s a joke, right?” she asked.

  “Yeah. A joke.”

  She smiled and exhaled loudly. “Thank goodness. I can’t imagine a romance author who didn’t believe in love being absolutely magical.”

  Magical. Right. Because of all the bullshit about it never failing, changing, or dying? That shit? Absolute magic.

  Mr. Daniel didn’t call on me again. I felt his eyes latch onto me occasionally over the course of the evening as he explained the syllabus and what seventy percent of our grade would depend on: a paper. I smiled as I read the assignment. “You must write a twenty-five page paper, double-spaced, with appropriate citations of scientific data that proves whether love truly exists or not.”

  Easy Peasy.

  “Same time next week. Be careful,” Daniel said with a smile, watching as everyone packed up their things and began to file out of the rows and up the steps to the door above. I crammed everything in my bag, but still wasn’t quick enough to avoid another look from him, or another word.

  “Alexandria, can I speak with you for a moment?”

  Fudge nuggets.

  I took a cleansing breath and squared my shoulders. “Sure.”

  My cell phone began to buzz in my pocket, so I took a peek and then declined the call from Meg. Undeterred, she pinged with a text immediately. HAVE YOU CALLED MOM? SHE NEEDS TO SEE YOU OR AT LEAST SPEAK WITH YOU.

  Shouty caps. She knew I hated shouty caps.

  With a quick reply in shouty caps, I told her: I WILL LATER. RIGHT NOW I’M BUSY.

  And she snipped back: YOU’RE ALWAYS TOO BUSY

  I threw my phone in my purse and slung it over my shoulder, along with my laptop bag. Then I clomped my way down the stairs toward Mr. Daniel, who was grinning at me. “What’s so funny?”

  “Your shoes are loud.”

  “Ha-ha. Yep. Awesome. Did you need something?”

  The grin drifted off his face, making me smile. “I hope you didn’t mind me calling you out like that.”

  “Actually I did. I don’t like attention.”

  “You’re a teen idol. How can you not like attention?”

  Sigh. “I just like to write. That’s it. I’m more of an introvert than most think, and twice the bitch most expect.”

  He nodded, probably agreeing with both assessments. Clearing his throat, he grabbed his bag. “I was going to ask you to speak in the class and help with a few things, but if you’d be uncomfortable...”

  “I would.”

  “Okay, then. Thank you,” he said, staring at me.

  I growled. His stupid untucked button-up and dark blue jeans. His hipster-y wire-rimmed glasses. The hair? Longer on top and shorter on the sides and mussed the fuck up. He was infuriating. “Why do you stare at me all the time?”

  “I don’t.” Even he didn’t believe himself. He swallowed, looking at the floor. “Okay, I do. You just remind me of someone.”

  “Trinity. Yeah, I kind of got that from your growly accusation the other night.”

  He wiped his hand down his face. “I’m sorry about that, too.”

  “You know what you are? You are one of those people who just do whatever they want. They would rather beg forgiveness than ask permission. Well listen up, buddy! Most people appreciate it when they’re asked permission for something, and I’m one of those in the majority.”

  He nodded.

  “I’m not Trinity. I’m barely a student and this is my first college class, so I’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t make it miserable. I might consider taking another in the spring if this experience isn’t entirely ruined by—”

  “This is your first class? Ever? You didn’t go to college?”

  “No. Not everyone does.” Not everyone has to or can afford it. Not everyone needs a degree to be successful.

  He studied me. “You’re right. I’m just surprised. But, yeah. I’ll stop looking at you. Unless I’m speaking to you, or that would be awkward for both of us.”

  I nodded. “Fine. Now if you don’t need anything else, I have to go,” I said dismissively. Meg would keep harassing the hell out of me until I texted her back. I didn’t want to call Mom. I didn’t want to see her. I’d been actively avoiding her for years, with no idea why.

  Thank goodness my appointment with the good doctor is tomorrow.

  The soles of my sandals slapped each step as I made my way out of the abyss. That was exactly how it felt when I was in the presence of Arsen Daniel; like I’d been sucked into a dark hole and couldn’t find my way out. The man had his own gravitational field.

  When I pushed the door open, I was shocked. Waiting in the blue of the evening were about ten people from my class. Fangirl was at the helm. “Can we have your autograph? SQUEEEE!”

  I laughed and told them of course. Then I listened while they told me about their favorite characters, books, and plot lines. I signed college-ruled notebook paper shredded along the left edge for each of them.

  Fangirl waited for the crowd to dissipate and then she introduced herself. “I’m Jillian, with a J. Because some people spell it with a G.”

  “Hey Jillian.”

  “So, coffee?”

  I was tired and wanted to go home, but she said the magic word and the door opened just like that. “Sounds great. Lead the way.”

  “Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

  ***

  Jillian Ogsten was a spitfire. In her words, she was half-Cajun, half-Jamaican, and a whole lot of sass rolled up into one tiny package. As an infant, she was abandoned on the back steps of a church. I never knew that happened in real life, but Jillian proved that sometimes it did. Her adoptive parents, whom she’d been with since she was almost a year old, were everything to her. She loved puppies and books and was a freshman at Columbia. Oh, and she lived in the dormitories. Her Major? Undeclared, but the possibilities were endless and that was what excited her. That and books.

  “So there’s some lava-hot chemistry between you and Mr. Sexy Daniel, right?”

  “Definitely wrong. He’s a dick.”

  “All men are dicks, or they think with them.” She paused, sipping her coffee. Her dark hair curled naturally and was beautifully piled on top of her head like she had tiny forest animals that helped her dress each morning. She looked like a Disney princess who loved Macchiato and her Kindle. “But seriously, he’s digging the Alexandria vibe. He couldn’t stop staring at you!”

  “He wanted to embarrass the hell out of me. I hate crowds, and public-speaking makes me break out in hives.” I had a pretty white and green pill to help with most of the anxiety slash depressive issues that Doctor Cantor said I had and needed to deal with. But if I did manage to get nervous enough, I didn’t break out in hives… I got a massive case of the hiccups. Adults should never get the hiccups. EVER. It should be against the law and physiologically impossible.

  “I thought it was sweet that he told everyone you were in the class.” Of course she did. She liked me. Most people couldn’t care less.

  “Anyway, I’m sure he won’t stare anymore. It’s nothing.” I tipped my cup toward a couple of campus hotties who were asking for coffee in their milk. “Milk does a body good,” I whispered conspiratorially.

  Jillian giggled and sipped her coffee. She was crazy sweet. “Look, sometimes I meet my friend for drinks and to hang out. It’s a girl date thing. Would you want to join us for booze and shenanigans sometimes?”

  The words poured out before I could choke them down. Damn filter was broken.

  “Ohmigod, yes!” I handed my phone to her and she added herself to my contact list.

  Sighing, I looked around. She might know what fans wanted to read. I decided to ask
her. “Jillian, if I wrote something different—like paranormal or fantasy—would you read it?”

  She lifted her head, green-gray eyes wide. “Hell. Yes. I would consume it.”

  I smiled. Fangirl for the win.

  ELEVEN

  Head Cases

  Arsen

  We finally finished our analysis and made a recommendation to two clients based on their compatibility and the fact that they were well matched in eighty-seven point two percent of all variables tested. It was time for me to contact the pair and see if they would like to meet up. If they chose to, the second half of their deposit would be due before the meeting would be arranged and the other person’s basic profile was revealed.

  I rubbed my hands together. Since Monday night, I’d had a hell of a lot of pent up energy. I couldn’t sit still. I couldn’t stop fidgeting. Even Cody noticed at lunch. When he popped in with two turkey and provolone subs, I could’ve kissed him.

  Chewing his sub, he squinted at me from across the table. “You’re a mess.”

  “I’m fine,” I lied.

  “Are not.”

  “Am too.” I laughed. “I’m fine. Just glad that this pair is almost a done deal.”

  “They’ll make a good couple. Hopefully there’s a spark.”

  Ah, the elusive spark. Ninety-nine percent of our matches felt it. And the one pair who didn’t? They became wonderful friends, and to my knowledge, still are.

  “When the second deposits come in, you have to pay Doc.”

  “Yeah. I’ll run a check over. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him in person.”

  Cody grinned, chewing his food. “Got to foster the rapport, brother.”

  I threw a piece of turkey at him—which he dodged. The meat smacked the window, flopping into the floor. A greasy blob stared at me from behind his head.