Page 97 of The Way I Hate Him
She glances over at me. “Huh?”
“Alphabet game, haven’t you ever played it on road trips before?”
“Oh . . . yeah, but say that. Don’t just say the actor’s name.”
“Go ahead. Your turn. And don’t worry about repeating the previous answers. I just like hearing answers.”
“Okay,” she says, slightly skeptical. “Do we have to play?”
“Yes,” I answer. “I’m bored out of my mind. And stewing in silence isn’t going to help anything.”
“Says the guy who let me stew in silence all day.”
“That was your choice. You blocked me out with headphones.”
“Because you were a jerk to me the night before.”
I sigh. “Hattie, I wasn’t a jerk. I was protecting you.”
“I don’t need you to protect me, Hayes. I’m a big girl. I know what I’m doing.”
I grip the steering wheel tighter. “You have no idea what you’d be getting yourself into if I didn’t hold back last night or the night before. When I said I’m trouble, I meant it.”
“Yet you have no problem being confusing by holding my hand and trying to play a game to get my mind off things. I mean, what is it, Hayes? You’re constantly giving off different signals.”
“I’m just trying to be nice. Would you prefer it if I laughed in your face while you cried?”
“Don’t be an asshole. You know what I mean.”
“And you know what I mean when I say I’m trouble. You’re better off moving on to something else. Someone else.”
“Done,” she says, her chin held high. I don’t like the sound of that. “When we get back, I’ll ask Abel out.”
“Abel?” I ask. “My best friend Abel?”
“Yup. He’s hot. He’s a doctor. He’s best friends with Ryland. Bet he would approve of our love affair.”
“Don’t say shit, Hattie, just to piss me off.”
“But when you say things to piss me off . . . it’s okay?”
“Jesus,” I mutter. “What happened to playing the alphabet game?”
“What happened is that I’m calling you out on your bullshit. You’re a dick to me, then you’re nice. Pick a lane, Hayes, and stay in it.”
“Is that what you really want?”
“Yes,” she nearly shouts. “That’s what I want. I want something, anything, to just be normal in my life. If you don’t want me, then be a dick to me, make me hate every second I’m with you. Don’t let me cling to hope that maybe there’s a chance.”
“Don’t ask for something you can’t handle.”
“I can handle it,” she says. “Trust me, at this point, I can handle pretty much anything.”
“Fine,” I say.
If she wants me to be a dick . . . I can be a dick.
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