♡AN ENEMIES-TO-LOVERS ROMANCE♡
Attending the same college is the only thing Sebastian Hutches and Tara Van Doren have in common.
To Sebastian, Tara is a rich, spoiled girl, obsessed with her looks and status.
To Tara, Sebastian is a rude, arrogant...
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I examine the smudge of charcoal on my index finger and absent-mindedly rub it with my thumb. “For real?”
“Yes." Excitement drips from Mom's voice. “I don't remember sending a resume to the Hill Cottage group home, but who cares, right? What matters is that I'll be working again.”
“When do you start?”
“Tomorrow.”
“That’s fast.”
“I know, but the woman whose place I'll take has retired already, and they need me to start as soon as possible."
“Cool. I'm happy for you.”
“Me too, Basti. Well, I've got to run. Too much to do. I'll tell you how it goes tomorrow."
"Please do."
Mom cuts the call. I put my phone on the desk, slam the sketchbook shut, and lean back in the chair, staring at the ceiling instead of getting ready for Brian's birthday party. I wouldn't mind going there with Tara, but she said she'd go to Pasta Maniac after work. Too bad I can read between the lines. What she meant was that she'd rather not go with me.
It's been weeks of awkward, tense silence and dinners on my own. For someone who has a roommate, I sure as hell seem to be living alone. Not that I can blame Tara after I stood her up and apologized in a note. Or sketch. Whatever.
I rise to my feet with a frustrated groan and pad to the closet. Another evening, another party, another failed attempt at convincing myself listening to my father was the right choice.
Regret. Rinse. Repeat.
***
The air in Pasta Maniac is rich with scents of herbs and roast garlic. My stomach reacts with a growl but shrinks instantly, and it's not from hunger— Tara's whispering something in Evans's ear. Her skin glistens in the warm amber light trickling from the lamps that hang above our table. She toys with the thin golden chain she's wearing around her neck and flips her hair over her shoulder, pink lips stretching in a smile.
A smile meant for Drew, who's been acting weird since he took me home when I got drunk. Evans is no saint, and being the star of the Bartley University football team doesn't mean he's never got smashed. I don't think he's ever missed a party, so what's his fucking deal? Unless it's not what but who. Tara. I crumple a linen napkin in my fist and avert my eyes.
By the time two servers bring our order, my stomach has turned into a giant knot. I grab a fork to try my pasta carbonara but push the dish aside.
"What's wrong?" Brian asks. "If it's not okay, we can ask them to bring something else."
"Fuck, no. I'm sure it's great. I just got distracted," I say.
Whatever this is, I need to rein it in. Being the center of everyone's attention is the last thing I want.
