Page 195 of The Way I Hate Him
Maggie:I’d let him strip me down if I was suffering from food poisoning. Nothing would stop me.
Hattie:What did I say about your creepy narrative about my boyfriend?
Maggie:I’m a lost soul. There’s no fixing me.
Hattie:You know, your vacation could always consist of visiting me.
Maggie:And watch you be all lovey-dovey with your hot-as-shit, famous boyfriend who has the voice of a god? Yeah, I think I’ll pass. Let me have my island fling, and then I’ll come visit you. Can’t promise if I visit you first, I won’t accidentally have my boob fall out right into Hayes’s hand, and I think that would be uncomfortable for all of us.
Hattie:Fine, but after you have your fling, you come visit.
Maggie:Deal. So have you figured out what you’re doing with your job and everything?
Hattie:Not really. Aubree and Ryland want to talk with me soon, though. They want to go over some things.
Maggie:Are you still working for Hayes?
Hattie:Yes, sort of. The last two days since I’ve had my period have been very productive. I’ve cleaned up all of my piles, and I’ve been able to get through a lot and even straighten up his office. But obviously, I don’t want to do this forever.
Maggie:I wouldn’t be mad if you came back to San Francisco in the fall.
Hattie:I know, but I just don’t want to do it, Mags. I think going for my master’s was a mistake. I should have just stayed in Almond Bay with Cassidy. I keep wondering what my life would be like if I hadn’t gone on to earn my master’s degree.
Maggie:You wouldn’t be with Hayes, that’s for sure. You’d probably still be with Matt. Yuck.
Hattie:He wasn’t THAT bad.
Maggie:All I have to say is clit. He didn’t know where your clit was.
Hattie:Hayes sure does.
Maggie:Ugh, I hate you. Think he would know where my clit is?
Hattie:MAGGIE!
Maggie:I know, sorry. Jesus, I really need to book that trip.
Hattie:Please! For the sake of both of us.
Maggie:On it. Let me know what Aubree and Ryland want. I want to hear all about it.
Hattie:Okay. Talk to you later.
* * *
“You okay?”Hayes asks as I’m curled on his couch.
He’s been in his studio all day, finessing one of the songs he wrote about me. It’s calledElectric Sunshine. He played a little for me, and let’s just say, it ended with me on his lap, naked. It was so good. Heartfelt, sexy, edgy. Everything a Hayes Farrow song is.
I have no doubt it’ll be a number-one hit for him, especially the chorus with the rasp in his voice. Ugh, it’s so good.
I grip one of his throw pillows and say, “Just breathing through some cramps. I’ll be fine shortly.”
His brow creases. “How long have you been like this?”
“Twenty minutes? The Ibuprofen should kick in soon.”
“Hattie,” he says softly as he comes up behind me and curls his chest to my back, pulling me in tight. “You need to tell me when you’re hurting.”
