[18+] ENEMIES TO LOVERS SPORTS ROMANCE
She can't stand the school's golden boy, but when fate keeps throwing them together, their rivalry starts to look a lot like chemistry-and suddenly they're not playing the game they thought they were.
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Hannah
I formed a makeshift bowl with my hands and splashed water onto my face, desperately needing it to shock me back to my senses. However, the cool water did nothing to calm the storm of emotions raging through me.
There was still this distinct pang in my stomach, and it felt suspiciously like jealousy.
Was I seriously jealous? The very possibility of that being true filled me with anger. Mostly at myself, but also, irrationally, at him. This was all his fucking fault.
"What is wrong with me?" I whispered to my reflection.
The mirror offered no answers—just the sight of a hot mess. My face was flushed, damp strands of hair plastered to my cheeks and temples. I looked unhinged.
"Get it together," I muttered. "Before you embarrass yourself even more."
Suddenly, the bathroom door slammed open, making me jump. A girl rushed past me and barely made it into a stall before the sound of violent retching echoed through the room. She didn't even have time to close the door, so I could see everything.
I watched through the mirror as her body folded in on itself, convulsing as she emptied her stomach into the toilet. She stayed there, bent over and shaking, long after there was nothing left to come up. When it finally stopped, she flushed and slowly straightened, breathing hard. She avoided eye contact as she came to the sink.
Now that I could see her face, I noticed how pale and frail she looked. She was a small girl with thin dark hair that hung just past her shoulders. Her pink long-sleeve shirt draped over her slender form loosely, and her wrists were so thin I could probably circle them completely with my thumb and forefinger.
She rinsed her mouth and washed her hands, leaning over the sink. When she bent, the sharp lines of her shoulders and shoulder blades stood out beneath her shirt, bone pressing close to skin.
I tried not to make it obvious that I was watching her as I grabbed some paper towels to dry myself off. I suppose it was a good thing she wasn't looking at me—I looked wild. I caught the water before it could drip down my neck and soak into my hoodie anymore, already uncomfortably warm and damp against my chest. I'd have to take it off.
She straightened a little, eyes closed as she breathed through the lingering nausea. That's when I noticed it—her fringe, longer on the sides, still damp. And... uh... there were bits of something caught in it.
"You, um—" I winced. "You've got a little something."
She opened her eyes. They were hazel. Pretty. And they met mine in the mirror.
She froze.
I figured it was embarrassment. Or the fear of being judged. I definitely wasn't going to judge her—not when I wasn't looking my best either. Besides, throwing up in a library bathroom had to be a pretty low point in one's life. Still, I wondered why. The flu? Too much drinking?
