♡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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As soon as the front door clicks shut, I dejectedly drag my feet to my room. I'd rather Tara stayed at home, and she didn't look excited about her father's party either. It was as if visiting him was a chore, or maybe it's just me trying to convince myself she wants nothing to do with him because then I'd feel less of a dick for fucking the girl I'm supposed to stay away from.
I made sure Elena never spent the night, and on the very few occasions she did, she needed to be out first thing in the morning. Waking up without Tara filled me with hurt and dread that I sucked, and she regretted having sex with me. One thing is clear — I can't leave her alone.
She asked why last night was different. Of course, saying I didn't know was a lie. We always know. But telling her she made me feel so much would equal walking into a crowded lecture hall buck naked. Different circumstances, the same level of embarrassment.
I sit at the desk and pluck a pencil from the holder. The reference photo of the family of three I need to draw is in my phone. Thank God it's nothing overly complicated or weird. If I finish fast enough, I'll have time to work on Tara's sketch. I've avoided looking at what I drew, not to get caught in memories of Tara in my bed, but my fingers itch to finish the drawing.
I open the chat with the client and locate the picture to print it. The gadget vibrates in my hand, and guilt overtakes me when Mom’s face pops up on the screen. I should've called her, should've asked her about the new job.
I put the pencil down and accept the call. “Hey, Mom.”
“Basti. How are you?”
Basti. Even the nickname reminds me of Tara now. I run my palm over my eyes. “Good. How's the new job?”
“The job’s why I'm calling you, among other things. I love it. Having experience helps. It’d be challenging otherwise, and there's too much to do.”
“What about the kids?”
“Here comes the curious thing. One of them, Mason, was talking about Tara, a girl who volunteers there. It's your Tara. I saw her picture with the kids. Did you know?”
Do I know her? Each new day gives me proof I don't. If she volunteers on top of her course load, the blog, and the job—or jobs—no wonder there are no free spots in her agenda.
“Had no clue,” I mutter. “Wait, do you think that's how they got in touch with you? Because of her?”
“I’m positive.” Mom sighs. “Jobs like this one are few and hard to find unless someone recommends you. And now I feel bad because she helped me so much, and I didn't even thank her. Would she let me buy her lunch? Or maybe I could give her something. I don't know, Basti. You'll see her tomorrow in class, right? Ask her if she's okay with you giving me her number.”
Dad didn't tell Mom Tara and I were roommates. I don't know how to feel about it. Either he didn't want to involve Mom, or his request about me keeping my distance extends to her. The latter assumption sucks infinitely more.
