Page 8 of Sweet Hate
White knuckling the shelf, I use all my strength to pull myself up as high as I can—thank you, trapeze class.I finally manage to get my fingertips around the jar just as a hand swoops in out of nowhere, right by my nose, and scares the shit out of me.
With a squeal, I fly backwards along with my sauce and land squarely on my ass.
Again.
And because this week is the gift that keeps on giving, the jar smashes beside me, showering me, and the stealthy assassin standing behind me, in sauce.
Fuck my fucking life.
I look like an elephant orgy’s happy ending.
Maybe if I just sit here and keep my eyes closed, they’ll ignore me and walk away.
Far, far away.
Unfortunately, the not-so-subtle cough behind me says otherwise.
Dammit. I should probably apologize.
Way to make new friends in town, Haven.
I tilt my head back slowly and make eye contact with upside-down piercing blue eyes.
Very familiar,hostile, piercing blue eyes.
Jesus, not again.
Spinning on my butt to face him, I take in the white splatters covering his black jeans and steel-toe boots. There’s even a large splodge right on his trouser snake. Oops.
He looks like a virgin after his first go round with a dirty mag.
Oops.
Well…at least I’ve not alienated another person in town. So, there’s that.
This one already hates me.
I’m really trying to ignore the cold, slimy sauce dripping down my cleavage as I scramble to stand up. But since my luck is trash, I manage to cut my finger on a shard of glass when my hand slips in a puddle of Alfredo.
A heavy sigh from above me is all the warning I get before I’m unceremoniously hoisted up by the waist for the second time this week.
“Hurricane.”
That’s it.
One word.
His growly tone immediately pisses me off. His hands flex on my hips, and I grip his palms, making sure to dig the tips of my nails in just a little as I pull them away from me.
I wish I knew what I did to deserve his wrath. No way in hell I’m asking though. This man is a wildly different beast from the boy I grew up with.
Two can play this game, Mr. Verona. He wants to be a dick, I can be one right back.
A prettierone too.
“Verona.”
His eyes flash at my use of his surname—he hates me doing that, always has.
