Revenge Love Read online

  Revenge Love

  Copyright © 2018 by Kata Čuić

  All Rights Reserved.

  This novel may not be reproduced in whole or in part without express written permission by the author. This includes, but is not limited to, the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. And yes, that includes the internet and social media. Especially those. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Art in any form is created from the blood, sweat, and tears of the artist. In this case, the writer. Please do not engage in piracy or plagiarism. Purchase from valid vendors. Create your own art!

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and goings on are the product of the author’s ridiculous imagination and/or life experiences and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead or otherwise, is coincidental. Kind of. Mostly.

  Cover by Erica Alexander at Serendipity Formats

  Proofreading by Alison Evans-Maxwell at Red Leaf Proofing

  Formatting by Stacey Blake at Champagne Book Design

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Epilogue

  Other Books by Kata

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Revenge Love Playlist

  “What we expected never came to pass,

  What we did not expect the gods brought to bear;

  So have things gone, this whole experience through!”

  —Euripides

  Truth: You find what you’re looking for when you least expect it.

  He’s so dreamy. Tall, dark, and handsome, with a side of smokin’ hot intellect. The individual concern he gives each student is commendable. He really cares whether we pass his class.

  Sure, most students consider fall seminar a snooze fest, but I know better. These mandatory semester symposia are our gateways to success. What we glean from these weekly lectures can make or break us during our college careers. With so much helpful information at our disposal, it’s impossible to fail. So far, we’ve covered tutoring resources, anti-hazing policies, Title IX procedures, how to maximize our relationship with our student advisor, and navigating the potential pitfalls of social media as prospective grad student/job applicants.

  Spoiler alert: medical schools and hospitals will not consider me a front-runner if they find Instagram photos of my drunken debauchery at a frat party.

  It’s not like I attend those, anyway. Keggers are beneath Sigma Sigma Theta standards for member conduct.

  I glance down at my green and white tie-dyed t-shirt. The Greek letters emblazoned across my chest feel like an invisible hug from my sisters, reminding me to be the best I can be.

  The best version of myself would definitely not take Professor Lyttle up on his offer to see him during office hours for a more in-depth approach to using social media as a tool for curating content best suited for our post-undergraduate lives.

  He glances around the room, pausing his lecture to await any potential questions. When his gaze lands on me, a soothing blanket of happiness caresses my body. His eyes are the most fascinating shade of green. They seem so sharp, so all-knowing.

  Up close, I’ll bet they’d be flecked with a kaleidoscope of color. Having those windows of such a warm soul trained on you behind closed doors would make even the most virginal girls reconsider their purity. He probably smells like mint and coffee. Of course, only a tiny taste would confirm…

  “Are you even paying attention?” Damp, hot breath dances across the skin of my neck, instantly quelling my chills.

  “Yes.” I sigh out my fantasy, rejoining reality. “Why?”

  “Because the guy two seats over has been fighting for it for twenty minutes. I think he’s starting to feel rejected.”

  I glance to where Jason gestures. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. A good-looking guy goes about his day, paying attention and taking notes. He seems too somber for this bright New Hampshire day. It’s almost as if the sunlight streaming in through the windows physically pains him. Everything about him is dark—his hair, his eyes, his expression, even his clothes. Who pairs a black shirt with dark-rinse blue jeans?

  My friend, and SST sister, Rosie, would have my head for such a fashion infraction.

  “I think you’re mistaken,” I whisper back, not wanting to interrupt the lesson. “He must have been looking at you.”

  Jason arches an eyebrow. “I’ve been getting stared at long enough to know when it’s me someone is focused on. This guy was checking you out like he was estimating your bra size.”

  I roll my eyes. Trust Jason to make the lewdest possible analogy. My bra size is the only decent feature working in my favor. A 36D really helps offset the mousy brown hair, hazel eyes, and otherwise average looks I have to offer. Too bad my girls have never been enough to attract a man. This guy is no different.

  “Believe me or don’t,” Jason huffs, slouching in his seat to stretch his long legs in front of him. “I know what I saw.”

  “Someone’s particularly grouchy today,” I snicker.

  “I’m never taking a class with you again.”

  “You will, and you’ll love it.”

  “I won’t, and I wouldn’t.”

  I snort. He’s one of the few who hasn’t been able to resist my charms since the first day of freshman year. Sure, our friendship is strictly platonic, but he didn’t have to agree to be my friend at all. He certainly never had any friends before me that I know of. He’ll never admit it, but I’ve wormed my way into his heart. Or, at the very least, his schedule.

  I used to fantasize maybe we could be more, but he shut down my only bumbling attempt at seduction quickly enough for me to realize my mistake. Jason Gould and I will never be anything more than friends. And that’s okay. I have plenty of other fantasies to tide me over until my Prince Charming arrives on his white horse.

  Class is dismissed two minutes late. As I’m packing my bag, a shadow falls over my desk.

  “Hey, gorgeous.”

  Only an elbow to my chest makes me look up from my task.

  The guy Jason pointed out earlier is standing a few feet away, staring at me. He’s not smiling. I look over my shoulder, but no one’s there except Jason.

  “Do you have a minute?”

  I look around again. Unless he thinks Jason is gorgeous—highly unlikely scenario—he must be talking to me.

  Jason shoulders his backpack. “See ya later, Emma.”

  “What?” I panic. There’s no other explanation for my increased respiration rate, heartbeat, and undoubtedly dilated pupils. “We’re going to lunch. That’s our routine. You
can’t abandon me!”

  He shakes his head, then leans close enough to not be overheard. “Calm down, tiger. You’ll be fine.”

  “Fine?” I hiss. “Do I seem fine to you? What does he want?”

  Jason looks at me like I’m insane. “Let me put it you in layman’s terms: have dick, will work for pussy. You got this.”

  With a pat delivered to my ass like we’re football players, Jason turns to carve a path through the stream of other students exiting the lecture hall.

  The guy couldn’t blend in if he tried, but honestly…I don’t think he wants to.

  I straighten up, hoping the brooding guy from class has abandoned me in favor of easier, more sophisticated prey.

  He’s still here, waiting.

  “So, are you doing anything later?”

  Truth: Coffee is proof God loves us and wants us to be happy.

  “I won’t take second place to someone who will have your heart for all eternity. I can’t compete with a ghost.” My ultimatum hangs in the air, as thick as the scent of roasted beans which surrounds us.

  The expression on Kieran’s face almost matches the surprise I felt when he asked me to meet him here this afternoon. We don’t typically do dates. Or anything in public, really.

  After a few seconds of strained silence, he nods slowly but holds my gaze. “You’re being weirdly calm…for you. I didn’t expect this to go over so well.”

  In spite of his usual cold demeanor, he’s undoubtedly attractive. Hair so dark brown it’s nearly black, eyes to match. I’ve never seen it firsthand, but the way his cheeks dip ever so slightly leads me to believe if he ever did use his mouth for something other than frowning, he’d have dimples. As a member of Wellbridge University’s lacrosse team, he’s well-built without being bulky, and a respected guy on campus. The fact that he’s one of the youngest brothers of Phi Kappa Rho to hold an officer’s position is proof of that. He’s smart, classy…aloof.

  I glance around the nearly empty coffee shop to buy myself some time before responding. The warm brown walls, intimate seating areas with comfortable if not well-worn couches and chairs, and the familiar scent of pastries and coffee calm me a little. It helps there aren’t too many witnesses to watch my embarrassment. When classes start next week, The Beanery will be packed from open to close since it’s one of the most popular spots on campus that doesn’t involve alcohol. Just as my nerves stop firing on all cylinders, I catch the eye of a girl who looks vaguely familiar. It would seem at least one person has seen, if not heard, my ordeal. She actually gives me a sad smile like I’ve just been inducted into a sorority I never intended to pledge.

  Lonely hearts club, table for two, please.

  By the way she keeps glancing at the barista, I’m guessing she wants to buy me a few shots of espresso, so we can drown our sorrows together.

  Suddenly, Kieran’s previous statement hits me in the chest. The only reason he did this in public was so there would be witnesses. He knows damn well I wouldn’t act in a manner which would disgrace my actual sorority in public.

  A simmering fury beneath the surface of my skin competes with the sip of steaming latte I take in an attempt to keep a cool exterior comparable to his. “How did you expect me to take it?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Honesty would be a nice change of pace.” Not that Kieran’s ever lied to me, per se. It’s simply that we’ve mostly communicated with our bodies rather than with words.

  “I thought you’d cry, feel bad for me, then convince yourself you could eventually take her place.” He doesn’t deliver the words with a malicious tone. His eyes remain clear without a hint of mockery.

  Oh my God, he’s serious.

  “I do have sympathy for you. Please don’t think my response implies my heart doesn’t hurt for yours.” I chew on my lip, debating how much honesty is the best policy in this instance. “Maybe I’m not fighting this because, deep down, I never saw any future for us.”

  That’s not entirely true. In the beginning, I absolutely had those fantasies about eventual engagement, marriage, babies, and the whole white-picket-fence scenario. Over time, that daydream lost its luster when our relationship failed to progress past anything more than sex. Not that I’m going to admit that to him in light of his revelation.

  “I never led you on,” Kieran defends himself. “I never promised anything I wasn’t willing to give.”

  “I know.” His words don’t sting as they might have if he’d been upfront with me years ago. Though I’m accepting this much easier than I would have before, something still niggles the back of my brain. “Why are you telling me any of this now? We haven’t spoken to each other all summer. Why not let whatever we,” I fling my finger between us, “had follow a more natural course of simply evaporating?”

  The smug hint of a smile spread across his kissable lips only makes me slightly annoyed. “It’s your senior year. If you still want to keep this strictly physical, then I’m obviously okay with that. But, I didn’t want you to cling to any misplaced hope I’d be faithful to you after you leave campus. If you think you’re finally ready to make a clean break from me, then you have the rest of this year to explore your…options.”

  A lovely black and white movie plays in my head. Me standing, enraged at his suggestion. Throwing my cup of piping hot coffee in his face. The few patrons in the shop gasping in surprise, then erupting into applause when I expose the guy trying in vain to blot his white polo as the heartless excuse for a man he is. And me and my new friend in solidarity riding off into the singlehood sunset.

  “Explain something to me, Kieran.”

  He takes a drink from his own mug, his Adam’s apple bobbing with his swallow. As is more usual, his demeanor shows no lingering trace of humor. “I think I’ve done enough explaining for one day. Can’t you be grateful I’ve given you this much?”

  Strangely, a part of me is thankful for our discussion today. Though we’ve been sleeping together for the past two years, I know virtually nothing about the man seated across from me. He’s a junior, majoring in business. He pledged Phi Kappa his freshman year. His preference for sex is vanilla, with only slight variations on the missionary position. Sometimes, he likes me on top when he’s so drunk he can barely get it up.

  That’s it. That’s all I know.

  Until today. I’m not sure why his disclosure now bothers me more than his lack of previous engagement.

  “If you love her so much, then why have sex with anyone else at all? Doesn’t physical intimacy feel as much like cheating as an emotional relationship would?”

  His gaze darts to a point over my shoulder as he shifts in his seat. The obvious display of discomfort rattles me further.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not judging,” I backtrack. “I genuinely want to understand. I can’t imagine loving someone who’s gone as much as you still do. It’s admirable, don’t get me wrong. But, I simply can’t put myself in your shoes. I wouldn’t be able to do what…we’ve been doing.”

  I’m not sure I’ve ever felt that kind of love for someone. I love my parents, my siblings, and my friends, sure. Once upon a time, I thought I might be in love with Kieran. On the other hand, there’s no denying I’m prone to daydreams and rose-colored lenses. The idea of love seems ethereal as much as it is appealing. What must it be like to be so faithful to another person, even after their time in this life has expired?

  “We’re all animals at the end of the day, Emma. With needs we can’t repress, no matter how much we might want to. No amount of love or supposed ethics changes that.”

  His answer shocks me. It’s so raw, unfiltered, and brutally honest.

  And it completely crushes every idea of love I’ve ever had.

  “I have to go. I’ll see you around.” Kieran pushes his chair back and exits the coffee shop before I’ve recovered enough to speak.

  I stare at the cup of java in front of me, desperate for a reprieve from my selfish wallowing. It’s not like I’m in love with a de
ad person. Besides, Kieran’s right. He never promised me anything; those fantasies were all mine, and I certainly never gave voice to them.

  “He’s lying.”

  I jerk my gaze up to the new voice in the recently vacated seat.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Jason shrugs, then wrinkles his nose at the half-eaten pastry on Kieran’s abandoned plate. “I had to talk to Andy about the schedule next week.”

  As much as my heart’s still reeling from the past half hour, my suspicion fires on all cylinders. “You work a steady shift; why would you need to know the schedule? Were you spying on me?”

  Amusement dances in his ironically coffee-colored irises. “Someone thinks very highly of herself. But, to answer your question, no.”

  I don’t have the patience for these games today. “No, what? No, you weren’t spying on me? No, you weren’t actually checking your schedule?”

  “No, I wasn’t spying on you,” he clarifies, but doesn’t elaborate on the rest.

  My earlier strength not to be a doormat crumbles like the overly dry scone on my plate. My need for validation trumps the desire to bust Jason for eavesdropping. “Which part do you think he was lying about?”

  “He doesn’t have a dead ex. He’s playing you.”

  My fantasies of romance further turn to ash. “Why would he do that when he’s already getting what he wants from me?”

  “I dunno. Maybe he wants to have his pussy and eat it, too.”

  I throw my pastry at him, not caring if I’m making a scene. “Can you be serious for once in your life?”

  I have no intention of telling him he got the quote wrong, let alone the fact Kieran has never eaten anything of mine.

  “I am being serious. Before you go and get all depressed and mope for the rest of the semester, I thought you’d want to know he’s lying.”

  The insinuation I’m about to mourn something that’s been dead since it started pricks my skin. “Well, aren’t you just the best friend a girl could have?”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Try harder.”