Page 31 of The Love You Hate
CHAPTER EIGHT
Nate
Unpredictable. Difficult. Maddening. Presley is going to set a record on how quickly our cover is blown. I fire the gunshot into the air from inside the woods—undetectable in location. Rayleen cringes, like I suspected she would. She doesn’t have the gumption to shoot someone unless it’s her husband Frank’s balls. He’s a serial cheater, and everyone knows it. Presley is off like a shot toward her house. I watch her scurry inside, and I approach Rayleen, tucking my gun in the back of my jeans.
The gun is shaking in her hands next to her side, like a leaf in the tree. “What are you doing out here alone in the dark?” I ask.
“Someone is trying to kill me,” she says, the scent of alcohol and halitosis hitting me like a punch. “They shot at me.”
I jut my chin toward her piece of shit shotgun. “You sure? You’re the one holding the gun. You shot the gun. I watched you.” Gaslighting is a specialty when you need to convince someone of something, and they happen to be skunk drunk. It was a part of my lie detection training. “I was coming down here to see my friend.” I nod at Presley’s trailer. “And I saw you let a shot off in the air.” I pause, wondering how much is too much. “Why are you out here to begin with?”
She breathes out a long, stinky breath, and her rotten teeth are visible when the light post flickers on. “Frank was banging some bitch, and I chased her out of the house, and down the road.”
I’d love to ask why she didn’t chase Frank out of the house instead, but I’m not trying to create more drama, I’m trying to make her believe the drama I’m spoon-feeding her. “Where did she go?” I ask.
“It was that Presley Cohen girl.” Her gaze glints evil, and I reassess whether she could shoot a person. I’ve been wrong before. “That slut was banging my Frank. Bouncing up and down on him. I ain’t got the good knees anymore,so he misses it and gets it elsewhere.”
I swallow a laugh, but can’t help a small grin. “You actually think my friend Presley would bang your husband? I can assure you it was not her.” The thought is endlessly amusing though.
“She was running away! Took off like amadwoman!” Rayleen screeches, showing all the empty gaps in her mouth. Oh, the irony of her words. “Why else would she run from me?”
“Presley was at my house. We’re the new people here. We stick together. The locals aren’t very welcoming, and Rayleen, you are holding a gun. I think most people would run from you.” Except the cops.
Her face is muddled with confusion. “It could have been Verna now that I’m thinking ‘bout it. Same color hair.” Verna is middle-aged and completely busted. She looks nothing like Presley, but Rayleen is right, they do have the same color hair.
I nod. “It has to be Verna,” I reply. “Not just because Presley was with me, because I heard Verna was hoping to move in on Frank…permanently. That’s what’s going around anyway.” I can’t resist stirring the pot. If Gold Hawke wants gossip, who am I to deny it? This gets one crazy bitch off our backs, too. “Go ask Frank,” I suggest.
“You know what city slicker? You’re right. I’m gonna march my fine ass back home and demand he tell me the truth. I might not have knees like I used to, but I can bounce some thick ass from the bottom.”
There’s nothing to reply to that with. Nothing I can think of except a blank stare and pursed lips. Rayleen doesn’t care. She doesn’t care about much, obviously, but right now she spins without saying another word and wanders back into the woods. This place really is something. I’m not sure they prepared me properly for the world’s most difficult Principal in what must be the world’s most…rural, town. When I’m sure she’s gone, I shake my head, replaying the conversation and walk toward Presley’s. The lights are on in every room, and I know she must be scared, but I need some space from her after being with her all day. My stomach tightens at the thought of being near her, and for that reason alone, I make the decision not to go inside right now. Sighing, I sink down in the trees behind her house and run my hands down my face.
Tonight’s report took longer than it should have. Because I had tosugarcoatthe truth. The slope I’m precariously balancing on gets a little more slippery with every passing moment. I’m sexually attracted to her. More, I think it’s beyond just attraction. It makes me feel physically ill trying to decipher what it means and if it’s going away anytime soon. They took all this bullshit away. That was the point in the deprogramming training—so I wouldn’t have to deal with this. It wasn’t my intention to leave her alone for so long tonight, but I never thought she would leave my house, on foot, without saying a word. Of course, I knew the second she left and followed her by foot, keeping a watch from a distance. Writing up the fucking report only made me more confused. While I was detailing her day, it read like some romantic date you see on the movie screen. My boss wouldn’t think that, of course, because that isn’t even a flicker in the brain of a Charge Man. Especially for my Principal. It’sthatscandalous.
Laying a hand on my stomach I take in a breath, and punch the dirt with the other, forgetting about my bad arm, and the disgusting, itching, bite wounds. I curse under my breath.Pain.I’ll take pain over whatever the fuck it is that Presley is making me feel. Love is forbidden. Not that I think I’m in love, but it has to be something in the same category to have me twisted up, and confused in this sort of way. She’s not my type at all. Then it hits me. Maybe Raya never really was my type. I couldn’t say for sure if I ever was actually in love with her. They used her likeness in my training because she was my first semi-real relationship. What if it didn’t work, not all the way at least? I just hadn’t encountered someone who makes me feel this way, until now.
How can it be when most things about Presley infuriate me? I catch my breath and watch her shadow move across her bedroom window. Sometimes you have to do things not because you want to, but because they’re right. I know she’s upset. Beyond upset if I had to guess based on what I know about her. Standing, I begrudgingly move around to her door and knock a few times. I’m drained from this day. From her. When she opens the door, eyes round and shoulders square, I catch a second wind.
“Presley,” I say, voice low. “Why did you leave? I would have taken you home.”
“Too late for that!” She shrieks, moving out of the way so I can come inside. “There’s a crazy bitch with a gun down the street after me. She thinks I’m having sex with her husband, Frank. This place. I can’t believe this place.” She is pulling at her hair while pacing between the kitchen and living room. “Why would I want to have sex with her nasty degenerate husband?” Her words aren’t directed at me. “A shotgun!” She spins to face me as her hands shake by her sides. “I need to call the police. This is too dangerous. What if she comes back?”
Calling the authorities is the last thing she needs to do. I grab her by the wrists, and hate that it gives me a warm sensation. This is a frightening sensation. I have never known this feeling in someone else’s presence. “I just talked to Rayleen. You’re safe. She knows it wasn’t you.”
“That was Rayleen? I didn’t recognize her. That crazy bitch! How did you run into her? I was just outside and didn’t see you.”
I clear my throat. “You weren’t quiet when you left and I ran after you. I was…worried. Because it’s dark out.” What else can I add to make it more convincing? “You were scared about that car.” That seems to work.
Presley pulls out of my grasp and runs her hands up my arms to stop on my biceps. I don’t breathe. I can’t move, I’m paralyzed by her touch. Her gaze locks on my arm, my chest, my other arm, and then seeks out my eyes. “I don’t get it. You were so mad at me. You act like you hate me one second, and then this. You came after me so you must care about me. Which is it?”
My stomach flips and I feel dizzy. How do I answer her when she’s turned my Charge Man mojo off? I feel stripped of my defenses by a mere touch. Terror forces my heart rate to accelerate. I lick my lips after I watch her wet her own. They’re pink, perfectly shaped and the urge to lean over and press mine against hers is warring with common sense. Presley must see the struggle because she pulls her body closer, tightly against mine. My arms are motionless by my side, and I’m thankful they seem to obey logic, because other body parts have a mind of their own. I nearly choke on my words.“A little of both,” I finally reply, shocking myself with blatant honesty. Lying to Rayleen was easy, but looking into Presley’s eyes makes it near impossible to right now.
“Why were you so mad at me?”she asks, blinking her long lashes once before leaning in and up, closer, closer.
I can’t catch my breath, and feeling this out of control makes me angry. “Because I don’t want men touching you, Presley. Men like Frank. The gene pool in Gold Hawke isn’t exactly heavy on quality.”
Her grin is victorious, and self-loathing slips in. I want to say something biting to knock her down from her perch, but I can’t find it in me to lie. “Because you want to touch me?” A simple question with a complicated answer. Her hands move up my arms and land on each side of my neck. A hand on my neck should prompt some sort of fight response, but all her hands do is make my fucking dick even harder than it just was. “And maybe you can’t touch me for whatever reason, but you don’t want other men touching me either. Am I close?”
I let my eyes flutter closed because I’m not sure how much longer I can look at her face without kissing her senseless. Kissing will lead to more. It has to. That’s the only way it will end if I cross the last, threadbare line. Even if I can barely see it, it’s still there. She’s the aggressor. I’ve yet to break code ofethics. “Presley,” I say her name, hoping she knows the word I actually meant wasstop, but I’m too weak. I feel like a measuring cup. I’ve been close to her all day long, and I’m overflowing with weakness. I need distance from her to clear my mind.
