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Flustered, I stop in my tracks. Just to stare at the asshole and make him uneasy.
It seems to work, as his icy blue eyes meet mine.
Why do they have to be so striking?
Why must he be so hot and sexy in general?
I can’t help it. My traitorous eyes move over his muscular quads, defined even under the dark denim fabric of his jeans. And then I’m taking in his broad shoulders and wide chest.
Mmm, he’s looking good in that pale blue polo shirt.
Oooh, and his mussed-up chestnut-brown hair looks like it needs someone to run their fingers through it.
Maybe it should be me?
No, wait, what am I thinking?
Never would I do such a thing, not in this lifetime.
His fine attributes, that some lunatic part of me likes, angers me further.
I narrow my eyes at him.
See, I hate you, dude.
Huffing, I hustle my ass to my row in the back of first class.
Thank God I’m not seated next to Hayden, I think as I stow my carry-on in the compartment above me.
With one more huff, I settle my butt into the aisle seat.
But my mind is still on the man I love to hate.
Hayden Harrington drives me nuts.
There, I said it.
Not only did he mess around with the coach’s daughter, Kristi—a friend of mine who is tall and thin and always wears her long blonde hair in a high ponytail—but he freaking broke her heart.
Worse yet, I don’t think the jackass even realized it.
Although, in his defense, she never let him know she was all that upset.
Wait, why am I defending him?
He should have realized something was up.
The girl just looked so sad.
How clueless could he be?
I guess a lot clueless since he actively avoided her once it was all over, as quickly as it had begun.
What a cad.
What a cocky ass.
She told me once that he was a player, as in a ladies’ man.
