Page 55 of The Cruelest Kind of Hate
Gage, however, is too focused on caging me with his gaze like some lovesick fool. “You’re really beautiful, Cali. Not just right now. Like, all the time. Every day I’m in awe of you. You deserve someone who’ll always tell you how beautiful you are, and I feel like I don’t tell you enough. I’m thinking it, though,” he murmurs, tapping his head. “Up here.”
Oh, Gage.
I set Gage’s cup down on the nearest flat surface I can find. The truth is, even though Gage does have an affinity for getting on my nerves, he’s always made me feel wanted, seen. He tells me I’m beautiful in every breath he can, so if that’s any indication of what he’s thinking, it must be a recurring thought.
“You don’t need to say anything, Gage?—”
He shushes me by jamming his finger into my lips. “I do. You’re literally”—hiccup—“the most gorgeous girl”—hiccup—“in this entire universe.”
“And you smell sooo good,” he adds drunkenly. “Like a Cinnabon store.”
My mouth opens to stop him, but he just keeps going, and the tingling sensation his touch imprints on my lips leaves me comatose.
“I love your hair. It’s the prettiest color I’ve ever seen. I didn’t know this shade of orange even existed before you. It’s like a sorbet orange crossed with a sunset orange. It’s my favorite color. It wasn’t always my favorite color, but after you came along, itbecamemy favorite color,” he blathers, tangling his fingers in my hair like a newborn. “Fuck. Sometimes it hurts to look at you and remember that you aren’t mine.”
He’s drunk. He doesn’t mean this stuff…right?
My stomach sinks. “Gage…”
“I have to tell you something, Spitfire. And it’s important.”
Uh, uh, uh. What do I do? WHAT DO I DO? That sounds super serious, and I know we said one night of pretend, but once you say something serious, it never really goes away. And the worst part is he probably won’t remember any of this after tonight, so I’ll be left with the agonizing truth for as long as I live, and it’ll weigh me down until I implode from the pressure.
“Gage, please don’t say?—”
“Come closer,” he whispers, beckoning me like he’s on his goddamn death bed.
Run away, Cali. That’s a perfectly appropriate response. Or maybe don’t leave him alone because he’s inebriated and bound to do something reckless.
I shamble an inch closer.
“Closer.”
Another inch.
“Closerrr.”
With a suspended breath, I finally get as close to him as I can, trepidation setting up camp in my chest and pistoling through every part of my body with dead set determination. I think I stop breathing for a full minute. I think my sweat is deteriorating the copious amounts of hot glue on my costume.
Here it goes: the sentence that’ll change everything. The farewell to our friendship. The death to our dynamic. The bon voyage to our banter.
And when Gage leans in slightly, he belches loudly and blows it in my face.
“Gage! Oh my God!” I instantly cover my nose before all my nose hairs get singed off, and I flap my hand to air out his sulfuric breath cloud. “That’s so fucking disgusting. It smells like something died in there.”
He laughs like a maniac. “Hey! You have to be nice to me tonight. Thems the rules.”
“Um, no. That was never a part of the agreement.”
“Yuh-huh.”
“The day I stop being mean to you is the day I’ve kicked the bucket,” I growl, pinching his earlobe between my fingers and dragging him toward the living room.
I need a drink. Or like twenty.
19
NEVER HAVE I EVER
