Page 48 of The Cruelest Kind of Hate
He hooks his finger in the collar of his shirt and pulls. “Yes, ma’am.”
“So you’re gonna give every one of your teammates one of these baskets?” I pry, standing up on my tiptoes to look him dead in the eyes and gain as much intimidating leverage as my five-foot-seven body can manage.
He snorts. “Everyone except for Dilbert.”
“You know, I’m starting to think you and Dilbert have a love-hate relationship going on,” I tease.
Gage grabs my jaw, forcing me to lower to my heels as his gaze broods with a darkness that frightens me as much as it turns me on. “What did I say about having another man’s name in your mouth?”
I call his bluff. “What are you going to do, Gage? You gonna fuck it out of me in a disgusting janitor’s closet?”
His fingers release my jaw, and although darkness still clouds his eyes, his voice has lost the envious compulsion it wasunder. “No, Cali. Because you deserve so much more than a quickie in a closet.”
My mouth seems to fall open, which is funny because I have nothing to say. See? Just friends isn’t a concept that exists in Gage’s brain. You’re telling me that he’s this friendly with every person in his life?
He sets the basket on the ground, rubbing his hands together and preparing for what looks to be a big speech. I hope it’s not the speech I think it is.
“What Ireallycame over here to ask you is if you’d go to a Halloween party with me,” he finally confesses.
Oh.
“That’s it?” I ask.
“That’s it.”
“Wouldn’t a text have sufficed?”
“Would you have answered?”
Good point, Gage.
I must not be concealing my skepticism well enough because Gage continues with his proposition, looking sweatier and more nervous as he goes on. “We’re throwing a party at the house, and I’d really like for you to come. With me.”
I contemplate my answer, weighing the very unbalanced scales of consequences in my head. Go to the party with Gage, get blackout drunk—or maybe just drunk—and have fun after a shitty and depressing week. Or stay at home with Teague while harrowing images of my hospitalized mother circulate in my mind. Seems like the answer should be obvious.
“Just as friends, though. Right?” I caution.
“Just as friends,” he echoes rather convincingly.
He’s acting…suspicious. I don’t want to regret going, but I also don’t want to regretnotgoing. It’s going to be an unsupervised party with an overflow of alcohol and maybe a handful of illegal substances. What’s the worst that could go wrong?
I slide my hands a bit self-consciously down my dance attire. “I don’t have a costume.”
Gage slaps on an award-winning smirk, catalyzing that unshakable desire in my belly.
“Don’t worry. I’ve already taken care of it.”
17
ANNOYANCE AT ITS FINEST
October 15th, Tuesday, 3:47 p.m.
GAGE:I called you.
CALISTA:Yep. It rang.
GAGE:Why didn’t you answer?
