Page 114 of The Way I Hate Him
Maggie:I feel like knitting gives you more confidence because you’re using two sticks instead of one.
Hattie:Hmm. . .how about needlepoint? What does that do to you?
Maggie:Make you lose your eyesight.
Hattie:Maybe that’s the way to go then. If I lose my eyesight, I won’t ever have to look at Hayes again.
Maggie:Frankly, it’s a solid plan. What about his songs, though?
Hattie:I can escape those easily.
I lift my glass just as a chord strikes through the speakers.
What the . . .
I glance over at the stage, and sure enough, Hayes sits on a stool, a spotlight highlighting him in that stupid backward hat of his, holding a guitar.
“What the fuck?” I mutter to myself as people in the bar start cheering and growing closer to the stage. What happened to this town not liking him?
Not quite seeing that.
Hattie:Dear God, Mags . . . he’s here.
Maggie:Who? Hayes?
Hattie:YES! And he’s on stage, about to sing a freaking song.
Maggie:What are the odds? Just when you claim you can escape his music. It’s almost as if an author is fucking around with your life, pulling all the strings.
Hattie:What do I do?
Maggie:Well, depends. You can show him how much you hate him by taking your shoe off and throwing it at him.
Hattie:Tempting.
Maggie:You can boo him off the stage, but that might get you kicked out of the bar, and from what I’ve been able to gather, our goal tonight is to stay as close to alcohol as possible.
Hattie:Correct.
Maggie:So then, the shoe seems promising, or you can just listen to him . . .
Hattie:And think about the fact that he’s turned me down like three times at this point? That seems like fun.
Maggie:Three times? Okay, I think we need to have a different goal when it comes to this man. He’s clearly not helping.
Hattie:No, he’s not, and why is he even playing music at the bar? He always says no one likes him, so what’s he doing?
Maggie:Maybe trying to spark some creative juices. Isn’t he struggling with writing?
Hattie:Can you not defend him? I know you have a hard-on for him, but come on, Mags.
Maggie:Stop saying women have hard-ons! And I wasn’t defending him, just trying to state the facts.
“Thanks for having me tonight,” Hayes says into the microphone as he strums his guitar. “This song is dedicated to a girl I can’t seem to get out of my head.”
My stomach drops, and I watch as he glances in my direction before dipping his head and focusing all his attention to his guitar.
No fucking way.
