Page 21 of Hate Game

He flicks his gaze up and down my body, lingering on the places I’m insecure about. My hair. There is so much of it. Mom complained about having to comb through the tangles. My unremarkable eyes. They are the color of mud rather than sparkling amber like Riley’s. Then there are my lips. Why are they top-heavy? It’s like a bee stung my top lip, and it stayed that way. Malice stares at them and bites down on his.

Is he thinking of our first kiss and the many that followed? His lips were pillowy, soft, and toasty warm. Will my heart thump against my rib cage and butterflies flutter in my belly the next time we kiss? But what happens after a kiss?

The memory of the anger on his face after I dropped news of the baby overshadows my better memories of our times together. Nothing good will come of starting anything with Malice.

The way he looks at me is for show. He’s attempting to get me under his thumb and sabotage my chance of proving everyone wrong. Prove that I can be something other than my mother’s biggest regret.

“How do you see me?” I ask, bringing us back to our hate game.

“A good-for-nothing tease,Regret.”

An invisible knife twists in my gut. My chest aches with hurt. “You go too far, Malice.”

“Whatcha gonna do about it?” A hard glint sparks in his eyes. “You gonna make me pay, Regret?”

I understand this game well. My uncle’s girlfriend played it. Malice is taunting me, expecting I’ll give in to my temper. My temper got me into trouble and running with the wrong crowd when I was a lost thirteen-year-old girl looking for guidance from her mother. The only thing I received for my effort was rejection.

“No, I’m not. I am going to take a shower and go to bed. Good night, Malice.”

Without looking at him, I pivot and head up the stairs. His next words stop me. Or more like the noises he is making. He’s clucking. I turn and glare.

“Are you accusing me of being a chicken?”

He clucks louder.

I march over and smack my palms on his chest. He’s an immovable mass of muscles. I dig my heels into the floor and shove him hard. He mocks stumbling. That butt! I swing my leg behind his and trip him. He falls backward. I lurch back, putting distance between us. Malice snatches me around the waist, turns onto the couch, and flips us. I land with an “oomph.”

He lands on top of me, and our legs tangle. My fingers find their way into his hair. My face nestles in the crook of his neck. Malice keeps his weight above me but off me. I inhale, grateful he isn’t smothering me with his large body. Bad move. I catch a whiff of his scent. Earthy with a hint of spice.

My imagination wanders down a path it normally takes at night while I’m lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling of wherever I am crashing for the night or the week. I play a game of what-ifs. What if I press my mouth on his skin or flick my tongue out to take a taste? His skin would be hot and salty, just like how it was that night, though we were out in the open beneath the moon and the stars.

Do I dare stick my tongue out and taste his skin? Or can I rest my lips there instead? How about I do both? I smooth my mouth on his skin. His skin is hot. I flick my tongue out and have a taste. Salty.Yum. I hum in the back of my throat.

He groans. “Rue.Baby. You’re killing me.”

Good. I brush my nose against his neck and inhale before smoothing my lips on his flesh and tasting him. He smells and tastes so good that I could eat him up right now.

He rests his weight on my lower body. A wave of heat sweeps over me, and I fist my fingers in his hair, wrap my legs around his waist, and lift my hips to meet the demands of his.

“Rue. Jesus.”

I love the weight of his lower body pressed into mine. I like how he said my name without anger in his voice. He likes how we are at this moment, and so do I, with my legs wrapped around his waist and my hips tipped as he grinds his pelvis on mine.

“Malice, please.” I am panting and begging.

What am I doing?

I don’t want to be one of Malice’s hookups. When I let a guy make love to me again, it will be because he wants me and only me.

I want a guy who will see me for me.

I want a boyfriend and not a friend who is a boy.

Malice isn’t it.

He is not boyfriend material.

He can never be my friend.

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