Page 50 of The Way I Hate Him
“Aubree,” I say softly and reach for her hand, but she moves out of the way.
“It’s fine.” She takes a deep breath. “You know, I might take my pizza to go. I have to go through the books and write some checks.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you. You don’t have to leave,” I say.
“I never should have agreed to this in the first place. I have too much going on.”
“But it’s me,” I say. “Your sister. Don’t you think it’s important to have dinner together?”
“You’re supposed to be in school, not having pizza dates with me,” she says harshly before rising from the table and walking over to the takeout part of the restaurant.What the hell? Why did you push, Hattie? Why?
My shoulders sag as I stare down at my pizza. Well, there goes my attempt to get closer to my sister.
* * *
Not wantingto go back to my small studio above The Almond Store, I decide to take the Almond Staircase to the beach. Located behind the drive-in theater, they’re quite steep and sometimes rickety. The Peach Society has discussed tearing them down and not letting anyone down to the beach, but so far, they haven’t implemented those plans. But a giant caution sign next to the stairs says to use at your own risk.
I have no problem risking it.
I sit on the last stair and pull off my shoes and socks. I put them on a rock next to the stairs, something I’ve done too many times to count, and with my phone in hand, I let my toes sink into the sand as I walk along the beach toward the water.
About five minutes into my walk, someone says, “Out here by yourself?”
Startled—again—I look to my right to find Hayes sitting on a rock, staring out at the ocean.
“What the hell are you doing there?” I ask.
“Waiting to scare you.”
“I wouldn’t put it past you.” His hair has been tugged on, almost as if he’s been sitting there, trying to come up with a solution. “Seriously, why are you here by yourself?”
“Probably the same reason you’re here by yourself,” he says.
“I don’t think we should be comparing ourselves. Our lives are completely different.” I don’t stick around but keep walking on my way. The last thing I need is some sarcastic ramble with Hayes Farrow.
“Don’t want to walk with me?” he asks, not letting me find my peace. I should have known.
“I’m surprised you’d even make the suggestion, given how my breath curls your toes.”
“Not what I said.” He hops off the rock and joins me, his strides falling in line with mine, his shoes and socks are off as well. Weird, I didn’t see them over by the stairs. “You were the one who implied I was rolling into town with a stench. I was following your lead.”
“Well, congratulations. Job well done.”
“Not in a good mood, I see.”
It’s so easy to gauge this man. He has two versions of himself—asshole and sarcastic asshole. The sarcastic asshole usually comes out when he’s trying to shield himself from any feelings. So he projects his assholery to others.
“And that mood is getting better with you here now,” I reply.
“It’s funny how much disdain you have for me when I’ve done absolutely nothing to you.”
“Blackmailing me to work for you . . . umm, I’d consider that something.”
“You were rude before that,” he says.
“Family loyalty rises above all,” I say.
“I can see that. It wouldn’t hurt you to chill for a second, though, because no one is around us. They won’t see that you’re being civil around me.”
