Page 27 of The Love You Hate
CHAPTER SEVEN
Presley
My head is pounding when sunlight streams across my face. I turn away from the window and see Nate standing over me. A glass of water in one hand and the other a closed fist, extending toward me. “Take these, rock ‘n’ roll queen. You have to feel like garbage.”
Last night is hazy, but I do remember Nate bringing me home. I take the white pills from him and chug the glass of water down like a camel in the desert. “More,” I growl, shoving the glass back at him. He quirks one perfect brow. “Please,” I add. “If you would be so kind.” He goes into the bathroom and refills the glass. I take it and slurp half without taking a breath.
“Do you even remember any of the concert? We weren’t there long, but you really took it upon yourself to clean the bar of booze.”
Groaning, I set the cup on the plastic, makeshift nightstand and lean back into my pillows. “What time is it?” A brief moment of panic rises because I know we should be at the bakery, but it’s fleeting, because without confirmation I know Nate has already taken care of it.
He sits at the end of the bed and his massive weight pins my feet under my comforter. “Don’t worry. I called Ryan. I told him you needed the morning to shake this one off and I was going to help you.” Nate clears his throat. “I bought us the day off. Rather, your hangover did.”
I let another groan slip. I’m never this unreliable. It’s embarrassing. It wouldn’t have been until Nate Sullivan, though. I care what he thinks of me and I’m trying to figure out how to live with that. “From what I remember of the concert, I think I had a great time.” Pausing, I try to gauge how mad he is at me. “Did you have an okay time?” Men like Nate don’t have fun often. The concert was probably a drag for him and I ruined it by drinking too many Long Island’s.
“Yeah, it was okay.” His neck works as he swallows.
“You didn’t have to stay here last night. I would have been fine.”
He smirks. “If you were to choke and die on your vomit, I never would have forgiven myself.”
“Listen, my stomach is a steel trap. I can down a fifth and hold it all night.” I can’t, but I’m trying to test his humor meter because of what I have to ask next. “Did I say anything…I don’t know…mean or embarrassing? Or things that didn’t make sense? Dumb, meaningless statements?” My fear is that I blew my cover to this man and he’s going to be a huge liability. Especially when we’re not getting along which seems to be back and forth by the day. His lips curl into an amused grin. “Oh, God,” I say. “I’m sorry is probably in order?”
He nods. “You called me bi because I didn’t want to take advantage of you. That was after you accused me of only wanting women who were taken. Because I’m an alpha male.” He air quotes the word alpha and I think I might die of embarrassment.
“Can we shoot straight for a couple minutes?” I sit up quickly, a mistake, and lay a hand on my pounding head. “I’m sorry, to start with, though. Alcohol removes my verbal filter and I become Ratchet Ryleigh. She’s my drunk alter ego who I was introduced to in college.” I amend, “Well, the world was introduced to her. I rarely remember the things she does and says.”
For the most part, Nate seems interested, though he’s looking at me like he’s trying to figure me out. “Sure,” he finally says. “Though I always shoot straight.” Somehow, I don’t doubt that.
“Men, for the most part have always been easy for me. My old best friend for example. I took what I wanted, and moved on. I get what I want is what I’m trying to say without sounding like an entitled bitch.”
“And I don’t want you, so it makes you angry,” he deadpans.
I wince. “Ouch. Way to let me down easy. Not.” More water. That’s what I need. My head swims and the possibility that I’m still drunk rises. I swallow the rest and heave a sigh. “Why don’t you want me? Ratchet Ryleigh was trying to form her own opinions, how about you just tell lucid me so I don’t have to wonder? The old girlfriend still? Because I know how that feels and moving on is the best way to erase the past.”
“Erase the past. That sounds pretty desperate. I’m not desperate. I’m just not a relationship guy.”
“Or a fuck buddy kind of guy?” I ask. “To be clear, I’m not asking you for that because it’s offensive, I’m trying to understand.”
Nate closes his eyes. “Females and their fragile self-worth, I swear.” He sucks in a breath. “It has nothing to do with the way you look. You are…attractive.”
I smile wide, and he turns away. “That’s the first nice thing you’ve ever said to me. Except it was following a very chauvinistic stereotype. Go on.” He’s getting irritated with me, but I can’t help it.
“I already told you I’m not the fuck buddy kind of guy. Even with you. We are friends and I don’t intend to ruin it that way. Maybe by being a dick in some other way, but not that way. Do you understand? Can we put this behind us and just…move on?”
“Fine, if you cook me breakfast, take me roller skating, and help me start a garden at your house today.” If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under. “What? It’s a day off! I want to take full advantage of it even if I feel like a gutter troll.” Less than a gutter troll. Maybe a garbage rat.
He sighs and stands from the bed. Almost as if he feels defeated. It doesn’t make any sense. I’m the defeated one. He turns me down every chance he can, and yet underneath the bravado and muscle, I know he’s a good man, a reliable man. He would never lie or cheat. His brash personality makes it so I know I’m getting the truth. I make the decision here and now, I need to either give up and cherish whatever friendship he’s going to give me, or I need to add another item to my redo bucket list. It’s an easy choice for a human who isn’t as good as Nate Sullivan. I grab my notebook and pen from the clear plastic drawer, and scribble it down.Make the good guy fall in love with me.
He made me eggs and bacon, helped me plant seedlings in a garden box he bought for his back yard, and now he’s currently jogging behind me as I roller skate in the only cement parking lot in town. For as shitty as I feel, today has been the best day I’ve had yet in Gold Hawke. While he’s still broody and mildly ornery, Nate seems different today. I can’t pinpoint how, but there’s something about the way he holds eye contact with me. Or the way he reacted when he accidentally touched my hand while passing me a trowel. There’s something there. I glance over my shoulder to see how far behind he is and the tip of my skate catches the lip of a crack and I go down hard. Ugly hard, legs flailing, arms all over the place, and face scraping across the pavement.
I see stars. Probably from being hungover and dehydrated, but according to Nate’s face, I belong in the ER lying on a stretcher. “Why did you look back?” he shouts, tone acidic. “Jesus, your face. It’s bleeding. What hurts?”He says more, but he’s talking so rapidly I can’t make out words in between. He is so panicked that it makes me panicked for a moment, until I realize that he is overreacting. He just…cares about me?
“I’m fine. It’s a scratch,” I say, smirking as I sit up and meet his gaze. “Just a scratch.” I rub my finger along my bottom lip and it comes away crimson red. Nate is watching me, gaze flicking between my finger, my lips and my face. “You okay?” I ask, drawing his eyes to mine. “I know you aren’t afraid of blood. You had it all over you with the dog incident.”
“I’m fine.” Nate seems to regain his composure. “That is not a scratch. Does anything else hurt?”
Sighing, I gesture to my knees, elbows, and wrists. “You made me wear all of these stupid pads covering all my gangly limbs, of course nothing else hurts. Just my face.” I lick the blood and he watches my lips.
