Page 15 of The Way I Hate Him
I must reek of desperation because as I stare into his cold, dead eyes, I know he knows this. I know he can see my moment of despair.
Because of that, I take a deep breath and hold my hand out to him, connecting our palms with a shake.
“Deal,” I say, a shiver passing through me.
That shiver . . . that’s the telltale sign of hell burning up through me.
A slow, maniacal smile creeps over his mouth from my concession, and I know I just made a deal with Satan himself.
When he releases my hand, he brings his mug up to his lips, eyes set on me, and he sips. I hate to admit it, because I can genuinely say I despise this man, but he’s ungodly attractive. His tanned skin makes his eyes seem endlessly light, framed by long dark lashes. His morning scruff is dark, deliciously coating his strong jaw, and his backward hat covers up his nearly black hair that women have a conniption over when he styles it—which is rare. And then there’s his body. He’s easily six foot three or taller, with long limbs and a toned torso, which only seems attainable for those who spend forty hours in the gym—yet here he is, standing in front of me with a six-pack that I could lose my finger in. His pecs are the main feature of his body, lined with sinew that connects in the middle of his chest. It’s probably the most famous part of his body besides his eyes because he shows it off during his concerts. The many collages I’ve seen of just that part of his chest is frankly disturbing—yet I’ve watched every one of them. Even though I think he’s a horrible human, I can’t deny the fact that he’s the hottest man I’ve ever laid eyes on.
“Do you need a place to stay?” he asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“What?”
“Weren’t you going to stay with Matt?”
“Oh, yeah,” I say.
“So do you need a place to stay? It’ll knock a few hundred off your payment, but I have a few guest rooms to choose from.”
“Ew, you think I’d stay here? No, thank you.”
“Why ew?” He glances around his house. “It’s pretty nice here.”
“Yes, your house is nice. You, on the other hand, just popped out of Satan’s asshole, and I’d rather not share a living space with a fiery anus. Thank you very much.”
“That’s a lot of ass talk.” He smirks. “Have a fixation with that? Because I can show you a good time if you do.”
The fucking audacity of this man.
“In your dreams, Hayes,” I say even though I bet he could show me a good time. A time to remember. I grab my puzzles and shirts and hold them close to my chest. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go scream into a pillow while I come to terms with the deal I just shook on.”
He smirks, the corner of his mouth pulling to the side, and it’s both hideously annoying...and seductively attractive. “Happy screaming. See you bright and early tomorrow morning.”
“Fuck off,” I mumble as I push through the door to his house and out to my car.
I toss my items on the passenger side and grip my steering wheel. Looking up toward his house, I see him standing on his porch, mug of coffee in hand, watching over me.
Ugh, he’s infuriating.
I start my car and drive away. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me distressed over my current predicament, no way—he’ll just take pleasure in it, the sadist.
When I’m driving down the road, I reach for my phone and call Maggie. When the Bluetooth connects to my car, her voice sounds through the speakers.
“Why are you calling me? Shouldn’t you be with Matt? Oh my God, did he cheat on you? Did you go there and find him with someone else?”
“Why would you assume that?” I ask, leaning my head back against the headrest while still keeping my eyes trained on the road.
“Because, I told you, he gives me the ick.”
“Well, he didn’t cheat on me, but he did break up with me for being boring.”
“What?” she yells.
I give her the entire rundown from what he said to telling me to grab my things, and then how I found the Grammy and decided to be a good freaking Samaritan and drop it off at Hayes’s house.
“So you went to his house to give him his Grammy back? You’re a saint.”
