Page 1 of Hate You Later
prologue: georgia
“Alexa, Play theLit LoversPodcast.”
I listen while I prep the Celestial Pets Boutique for the day.
“Welcome to episode twenty-seven ofLit Lovers,” a male voice announces. “We’re your hosts, and this week, we’re talking about friction in the fiction. You know what we mean—enemies to lovers, cats and dogs. It’s a classic trope, and there are almost too many books and movies to talk about with this one.”
“Pride and Prejudice,” chimes in one of the other hosts.
“You’ve Got Mail,” says another.
“Ooh … ooh …The Hating Game!” shouts the fourth.
“That’s right. We’re talking about love/hate relationships today,” the first host speaks again. “This week’s episode is sponsored by The Grumpy Stump Ax Lodge, whereLit Lovers’listeners enjoy 20 percent off all lanes on Saturday night. That’s less than a buck per chuck. Drink and throw responsibly! Now let’s get lit after the jump.”
The show’s theme music comes on. I put away my old sewing machine that I use to finish my custom pet costumes, and sweep up the fabric remnants and stray threads. Then I make my rounds, filling a hand thrown, ceramic pet bowl with gourmet dog treats to sample. I fluff the clothing on the round rack and straighten the selection of dog booties on the shoe shelf.
Above the shoe shelves are two ledges holding miniature hat and wig stands. I smooth the peacock feathers sticking out of a green, velvet top hat and bite my lower lip to contain the dopey smile that’s threatening to bust out. Is there anything better than pet headwear? Probably not. Tiny hats and wiglets for pets are one of the few things truly right with the world. Anyone who’s seen an iguana in a toupee will surely back me on this.
“So, enlighten us, Jackson,” a woman’s voice teases from the podcast. “Why are so many people turned on by people who piss them off?”
“It’s elemental, sis,” the host replies. “Ones and zeros. Some of us are just programmed that way.”
“Not me!” I talk back at the podcast.
I would describe my love life to date as tepid. At the ripe old age of twenty-seven, the one long-term relationship I’ve had was with one of my braided leather leash vendors. It had ended perfectly amicably. We’d fist-bumped over our mutual breakup. And we’re still Facebook friends. He’s engaged now to a nice girl who breeds collies.
The last thing I want in my life is drama.
My phone vibrates, and I check the screen. It’s a message from Oliver, my Petfluencer Challenge buddy.
Don’t forget to play around with portrait mode when shooting the lighting prompt today. Can’t wait to see your photos!
Suddenly, my Boxer mutt, Cookie, darts to the front of the shop, her hackles raised and ears twitching. It has to be a cat. Probably the stray that frequents the nearby alley. I stuff the phone in my back pocket and walk toward the windows.
“Poor Cookie … don’t worry. I’ll protect you,” I say.
I may only be five foot two, but I’m scrappy. Some people might think I got a dog for protection, but with a black belt in Krav Maga, I’m perfectly capable of defending myself.
As I stand by the door, I stretch and gather my tousled, black hair into a topknot. I push up my sleeves, exposing the tattoos twining up my left arm. Of all the designs, the tiny paw print made up of stars that decorates the inside of my wrist is my favorite. It’s my own original design and also the logo for Celestial Pets.
Cookie lets out a small, nervous whine as she paces from the glass door to the shop window. Then she freezes by the door, staring out into the street. Creamy autumn morning light is streaming through the glass. It bathes her in the kind of warm, golden glow that Instagram dreams are made of.
I slide my phone from my back pocket. Quickly, I tap the screen, firing off a number of shots, zooming in and then pulling back.
The moment doesn’t last long. Perhaps the cat has moved on, or perhaps I’ve distracted her with the photos, but a few seconds later, Cookie’s tension abruptly falls away and she relaxes. She glances back at me, tail pumping when we make eye contact.
“C’mere, good girl!” I pat my legs, calling her over.
With her tongue hanging out, and the entire back end of her body wagging, Cookie dashes to my side, gazing at me with pure and utter devotion. Her hind leg jerkily thumps the floor as I scratch her, and then she rolls over onto her back for belly rubs. I shoot a few more pics, capturing her, belly up, in a delicious slice of sunshine.
Dogs are so much better than people, I tell myself for the billionth time.
georgia
Because my handis curled into the perfect fist—thumb outside, fingers straight—it really doesn’t hurt too bad when my knuckles slam into Bryce Holm’s jaw. Actually, it feels good, really good. Cathartic even. He picked the wrong day and the wrong girl. That motherfucker had it coming.
Let me back up about twenty-five minutes.
