Page 115 of The Way I Hate Him
Hattie:OMG OMG OMG!!! He just looked at me and dedicated the song he’s singing to me.
Maggie:He said your name?
Hattie:No, but he said it’s dedicated to a girl he can’t get out of his head, and even though he spent his morning groping perfect boobs, I know he’s talking about me.
Maggie:Dear . . . God . . .
His fingers play along the guitar strings and then a familiar melody starts forming. The back of my neck tingles as I realize exactly what he’s playing. I set my drink down and turn toward the stage, my eyes fixated on him as he begins singing the acoustic version ofMore Than a Feeling. The acoustic version I told him I was absolutely in love with.
Hattie:He’s . . . he’s playing More Than a Feeling.
Maggie:Uh-oh.
Hattie:Uh-oh, is right.
I place my phone in my lap and focus all my attention on him, watching as his throat contracts while he sings, his eyes close when he hits the higher notes, and how his fingers so effortlessly slide along the guitar strings.
I feel myself fall into this transfixed state where there is no one else in the room, just me and him, and he’s singing to me, his voice feeling like a warm blanket wrapping me up into a gentle hug.
My phone buzzes in my lap, but I ignore it. Nothing could tear me away from this moment, from listening to him.
Not my brain telling me to pay him no attention.
Not the audience around me, probably noticing just how enamored I am.
Not even the texts from Maggie.
Because he’s singing to me.
“Here’s another one, Hattie,” Joe says next to me, and I take it without looking, bringing the drink to my lips. The alcohol’s starting to cloud my brain.Just like I wanted.
While he plays the instrumental section, my eyes zero in on his fingers, how they expertly press against the strings of the guitar, on the concentration on his face, the way his teeth pull on the corner of his lip, the muscles flexing in his forearms. He’s everything I want, and it hurts my very longing and desperate soul that I can’t have him.
That he’s off limits.
That he won’t give in to temptation like I so easily have.
He finishes the song, and the crowd around him claps and cheers as he sets down the guitar and thanks the room. His eyes on me, he says, “I appreciate it. But I know you’re really here to listen to Jacob Latter. So put your hands together for him.” The crowd cheers as Jacob . . . Dee Dee Coleman’s son—the owner of the general store—walks out onto the stage and shakes Hayes’s hand.
“Thank you, Hayes,” he says into the microphone. “Couldn’t have asked for a better opening act.” The crowd chuckles and then Jacob goes into what he’ll be playing, but I block him out as I watch Hayes work his way through the crowd and straight to the end of the bar.
He glances over in my direction and that’s when I take a moment to give him a long once-over.
Worn jeans that aren’t too tight but not too loose, accompanied by a pair of stylish dark brown Timberlands. He’s wearing a heather-gray T-shirt tight around his chest but loose around his waist and a faded backward hat. His heavy, dark five o’clock shadow makes his steely eyes seem much more dangerous. And in the back pocket of his jeans is a piece of paper, barely hanging out the back. I wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for the contrast against his jeans. When my eyes draw back up to his face, I also catch him looking in my direction.
When I got home after he dropped me off, I took a shower and changed into a simple navy-blue sundress sans bra because when you have little boobs like me, you can get away with it. I also let my hair dry naturally, which has led to soft waves framing my face.
His eyes remain on mine from across the bar as he licks his lips.
“You doing okay?” Joe asks.
“Yes,” I practically shout. Good God, Joe startled me from my need to walk up to Hayes. But the problem with a small town is everyone is watching everything you’re doing, so I turn toward the bar and glance down at my phone to read Maggie’s text.
Maggie:Is it weird that I’m playing the acoustic version on my phone while you hear it in person? Have to admit, I’m hard for you.
I chuckle and text her back.
Hattie:I thought we weren’t saying women can be hard.
