Page 22 of The Cruelest Kind of Hate
I know I literally just saw her a few hours ago, but she’ssomehow gotten even more beautiful—if it’s even possible. The darkness of the night brings out the vibrancy of her autumn hair, and the electric blue of her eyes pulls me in like an unforgiving tide, bringing my attention to the subtle brush of mascara on her lashes and the neighboring smatter of freckles.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s fall. It’s cold as balls, and people wear coats when it’s cold out.”
“Not inside their house.”
Cali taps her bare foot impatiently against the hardwood floor, staring down at the imaginary watch on her wrist. “You’ve just wasted a full minute of our hour-long session. Want to make it two?”
“No,” I hiss through my teeth.
She makes a littlehmphsound—one that makes my dick twitch in my sweatpants—and then she begrudgingly angles her body to let me in.
When I stagger through the door, I see that she’s transformed her living room into a makeshift dance space, with her coffee table, couch, and various potted plants pushed up against the wall. It looks like a Halloween bomb went off in her house.
Tones of orange and brown encompass the quaint area as patchwork pillows and a checkered quilt decorate her otherwise plain couch. Bat decals scale her wall, including the occasional glittery spiderweb strewn in the corner. Pumpkins varying in size and color border her ivory hearth, and old-fashioned candles stay propped up on the mantle, along with twine-wrapped bundles of artificial wheat stalks. And if I didn’t think her cinnamon smell was addicting enough, it’s everywhere. Walking into her house is the equivalent of voluntarily sticking my foot in a bear trap.
“Very festive,” I observe, keeping my arms glued to my sides to disguise how painfully obvious my nerves are.
She hums to herself, picking a piece of candy corn from themetallic bowl on her coffee table and throwing it into her mouth. “Halloween’s the best time of year. Scary movies, pumpkin patches, haunted houses, family-sized bags of candy.”
I want to taste the residual sugar coating her lips when I kiss her, want to drag my tongue over hers as I fist her hair and pull it hard enough to subdue her, to finally force her to look me in the eyes and tell me that she doesn’t feel the chemistry between us. I want her so fucking badly. Every part of her—the good, the bad, the messy. I don’t care what hoops I have to jump through for her.
She slinks closer to me, runs her chrome fingernail over the ledge of my shoulder, then stuns me with a stare made from sin.
“Will I get a trick tonight, Gage? Just like that stunt you pulled at the rink earlier?” she purrs, dousing me in her spice-spiked aroma and batting her lashes. “Or will you be a good boy and let me give you a treat?”
I—dear God. I’m not going to last the full hour. I’m not going to last just being her friend. Fuck, I don’t even think she considers us friends. We’re more like business associates. My self-control is at an all-time low, and I’m positive that if she continues touching me, I’m going to blow a load in my pants. And that’sdefinitelynot dance appropriate.
My brain’s currently undergoing a system failure. “You—I?—”
Her index finger immediately smushes against my lips, shushing me. “Admit it, Gage. The only reason you called this ‘emergency’ dance lesson was because you didn’t want me going on a date tonight.”
Duh.
My cheeks thaw with a warm blush, and my eyes zero in on the most unsexy—yet somehow sexy—part of her body pressing into me. I mean, it’s pretty obvious that I didn’t want her going on that date. Am I man enough to admit it?
I wait a few beats, seeing what she might do, then I make thedumbest, most unsound decision and decide not to own up to the truth. I panicked, okay? And maybe I was too proud to admit that I was wrong—or more likely, that Cali was right. It would’ve given her more reason to resist the attraction between us.
I nip at her finger, and she pulls her arm back with a growl.
“My hip’s been flaring up today. I cashed in on our arrangement. That’s all,” I insist, praying that she doesn’t touch me again…or that she does. Or, fuck, I don’t know! I have no idea what’s going on with me. My belly’s full of goddamn butterflies whenever she’s around.
“Liar,” she spits. “You pretended we were a couple.”
“Because Dilbert’s a creep!”
Not true. He’s one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met, and therefore I hate him.
“Why do you care who I potentially date or not? It’s none of your business.”
My heart, now bruised from each punch of her words, plummets to the soles of my shoes. “Maybe because I’m trying to be a good friend and look out for you. Why do you feel the need to fight me every step of the way?”
An angry notch appears between her brows, and she ignores my question. “Fine. If you’re not going to play fair, then neither will I.”
I heave a sigh, irritation beginning to override the lust operating my senses. “What are you talking about?”
And in that moment, as ridiculous as it sounds, I see my life flash before my eyes. Real, cold, gripping fear engulfs me, pumping a tranquilizer through my bloodstream and holding my once-applauded arrogance hostage. I don’t know how or why, but I think I just made the biggest mistake of my life.
“If we’re suchgoodfriends, then you won’t mind me getting into something more comfortable for our dance lesson today,”she retaliates, her long, slender fingers settling over the strip of fabric around her waist.
