Page 24 of Love to Hate You

Have I mentioned that while Olivia is majoring in oceanography, she’s minoring in psychology?

The girl takes a few psych classes and suddenly she’s Sigmund-freaking-Freud?

I don’t think so. Under normal circumstances, I’m willing to placate her. I’ll even let her dissect my parents’ divorce and my mother’s harebrained behavior. But this?

Uh-uh.

The subject of Carter Prescott is not on the table for discussion. And she can read into that whatever she likes. We can just sit here and silently stare at one another until she realizes that I’m not going to fold under her psychological warfare tactics.

Please.

I’ve been to therapy. My aunt thought it would be a good idea to help me process some of my feelings after both of my parents took off. She was afraid I would have abandonment issues. Honestly, my parents did me a favor by leaving.

So, using silence to get me talking?

Yeah—it’s not going to work.

Huffing in exasperation, Olivia asks, “Are you sure about that?”

“Yup, pretty sure.”

She drums her fingers on the counter and narrows her eyes at me. “Would you like my professional opinion on the matter?”

I snort. “You are in no way a professional.”

“I’m close enough.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t think you are.”

She steamrolls me by saying, “Well, I’m going to give you my two cents whether you want it or not.”

This is one of those situations where I need to nod my head while pretending to agree with her sage advice before steering us into a new conversation that has nothing to do with Carter.

“I think the reason Carter’s behavior bothers you is because deep down, you like him. In fact, I suspect that you’ve liked him since freshman year.” After dropping that bomb, Olivia sits back and studies me. “Otherwise you would ignore him and his antics, and you don’t. Everything he says and does drives you nuts. It’s so classic.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, B.F. Skinner, but you couldn’t be more wrong.” A sick knot settles in the pit of my belly.

A smile spreads across her face that makes me grit my teeth.

I shake my head. “I don’t like him, Olivia.” Now she’s just pissing me off. “He’s the last person I would ever look at.”

“Uh-huh. Go on.”

I really hate when she tries to shrink-wrap me. “Why would I like someone whose sole purpose in life is to annoy me? Does that make any sense? Do you know how masochistic that would be?”

When she says nothing, perspiration breaks out across my brow as I shift with unease. “Plus, he hates me.” It feels like I’m grasping at straws. “You see the way he treats me.”

“Actually, I don’t think he hates you at all.”

I moisten my lips, wishing we could just drop the subject. “Yes, he does,” I insist.

He’s proven it a hundred different times. I’d have to be an idiot not to realize it. Olivia doesn’t pay attention to all the little digs he gets in or the way he constantly baits me into reacting.

I open my mouth to tick off the first dozen instances that pop into my head when she says, “He watches you.”

All the words on the cusp of exploding from my lips are replaced with, “Huh?”

“He watches you,” she repeats more slowly. “When you’re not looking.”