[18+] ENEMIES TO LOVERS SPORTS ROMANCE.
*REWRITTEN*
°•°•°•°
Hannah Walker doesn't trust anyone, especially men.
They're manipulative and toxic - her lousy ex taught her that lesson well.
Enter Tristan Beckett, the embodiment of everything she despis...
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Tristan
That was probably the wrong thing to say, given the seething glare I could feel burning into my profile, but I was too frustrated to think clearly. I should have put her down and walked away, and yet, here we were.
"I hate you."
"No, you don't," I countered, stepping around my car to the passenger door. Realizing I needed to grab my keys and open the door, I quickly maneuvered her over my shoulder. She gasped in outrage, using my shoulders to steady and hold herself upright.
"This is kidnapping! You can't just—just—get away with this!"
Unlocking the car, I pulled open the door and deposited her wiggling body into the seat. "Look around us, babe. Do you see anyone rushing to your rescue?"
"I know you think you can get away with anything, but this is pushing it. Again, why are you doing this and where are you taking me?"
I didn't answer her because I was still in the middle of an internal battle with myself. Was I seriously about to take her to my place? There was no way this was a good idea.
It was official — I've lost my mind.
Making sure all parts of her were inside, I slammed the door shut, locking it as she lunged for the door handle. "Tristan, stop this! You're being crazy right now!"
Yeah, well, she drove me crazy. This was all her fault and has been since the beginning. She should have just kept her mouth shut and stayed facing the front of the classroom that day, or else we wouldn't be in this fucking situation.
Walking around the car to the driver's side, I unlocked the door and climbed in. Sitting back in my seat, I took a deep breath. "Put your seatbelt on."
"Fuck you."
I finally looked at her, jaw clenched. Her hands were fisting the material of her bag as she glared at me.
Taking another deep, calming breath, I explained, "I'm taking us somewhere private — where we can just talk. I don't know what that was back there, but I'm not about to hash it out with you in front of an audience. Now," I leaned closer, "put on your seatbelt. Please. Or I will put it on you myself."
"Stop talking to me like I'm a child." But she reached for the strap and pulled it over her body, clipping it in.
I shrugged as I started the car. "It worked, didn't it?"
Feeling another scowl directed at me, I sighed again. I wasn't exactly helping matters by antagonizing her. "I'm sorry — let's start over, okay? Why don't we begin with you explaining why you're upset? What exactly happened back there?"
I was met with silence, and after pulling out of the parking lot and onto the road, I glanced back at her. She was staring out of the window, arms crossed. Sensing my gaze, she replied, "I meant it when I said we weren't compatible."
