The one guy I can't stand on campus is now my roommate for senior year. Carter Prescott is one of those guys who has it all. Wealthy family…check. Good looks…check. Brains to match all that brawn…check. And let’s not even talk about all those sculpted muscles (no—seriously, I don’t want to talk about them). The guy works out like it’s his job. Did I mention that he’s one of this year’s top NFL draft picks? Sure, maybe in the beginning I was taken in by his pretty face and gorgeous body. What girl with a beating pulse wouldn’t be? But his obnoxious presence killed any attraction I might have felt a long time ago. All right, fine…that’s not altogether true. The guy is smoking hot, okay? There, I admitted it. Sheesh. But that doesn’t mean he’s not a conceited jerk. Carter is my cousin’s best friend, and thanks to the fugue state I must have been in when I agreed to this living arrangement, he’s my roommate for senior year. Everything would be fine if he would just stop messing with me. But he’s incapable of restraining himself. So, when he takes his antics too far, who can blame me for retaliating in kind? Carter wants to bring a hookup back to the apartment for the night? Fine by me. Is there any real harm done if I ambush them in the morning and introduce myself as his baby mama? Am I taking things too far if I whip up a batch of laxative laced brownies so he’ll crap himself all over the field? Nope, I don’t think so… The real question is how I’m going to make it through eight more months without slowly wrapping my fingers around his... throat and squeezing tight. I’m sorry, did you think I was going to say something else? Please, as if that would happen…