Page 39 of The Way I Hate Him
God, he’s cranky in the morning . . . or every hour for that matter.
Looks like the momentary lapse of pickle niceness has subsided, and I’m entirely okay with that.
Okay, so we just hold the key card up to the door because that makes sense. Doors drive cars after all . . . right.
I press the key card up to the door and the screen lights up.
Would you look at that?
Fascinating. I put the car into drive and press down on the pedal to go, only to fly forward at a speed I wasn’t expecting, shooting me nearly across the small ravine in front of me.
With a death grip on the steering wheel, the hair on the back of my neck standing to attention, I breathe out heavily, “Good fucking God.”
That...that could have been very bad. If I drove Hayes’s car into a ravine, I could only imagine the caustic mood that would put him in.
Not the pickle-buying mood, that’s for damn sure.
Okay, let’s try this again. I reverse the SUV and then slowly—and I mean slowly—pull away from the ravine and then put it back into drive where I maneuver my way out onto the road.
Ah, there we go, just takes a second to get used to. And even though I feel this vehicle could take me to another planet if I press on the pedal hard enough, I have to admit, it drives smoothly. I feel fancy driving something that isn’t rumbling beneath me, on its last leg, coughing and sputtering down the road.
I smooth my hand over the steering wheel. Oh yeah, a girl could get used to this.
The drive to his house is too short. I’ve just started getting used to the car when I pull into his driveway, but since I’m three minutes late, I hop out of the car quickly, type in the code to his house, and let myself in.
I decide to make his coffee first and skip the protein shake for after the first delivery. Maybe he’ll be grateful for the coffee first.
Because I like to do things my way, I pour the creamer in the mug first, stick it under the coffee maker, and press start once I load it with one of his pods. I smile to myself as I watch the brown liquid mix with the creamer, stirring itself. See, genius and I’m not dirtying a spoon.
Satisfied, I pick up the mug and carefully walk it down to his bedroom. Such a lazy ass that he makes me do this. Just his way of holding control over the situation. When I reach his bedroom door, I part it open and stick my head in.
“Coffee delivery.” I push the door all the way in just as Hayes walks into the bedroom from the bathroom, wearing nothing but a low-slung towel around his waist.
Dear.
Mother.
Of.
God.
I feel my jaw slack as my eyes fall on his wet, toned body. Still wearing the necklace he doesn’t seem to ever take off, my eyes scan over his thick pecs, his toned, sinew-covered shoulders and biceps, and his stack of abs covered in droplets of water. Water that slides down each curve and bump of his fit stomach, all the way to the light patch of hair just below his belly button that extends to . . .
Oh God.
There’s a bulge.
My eyes snap up to his, and my mouth goes dry as his wet hair falls over his forehead and a light smirk plays on his lips.
Damn him.
Damn him and his sexy, mouthwatering body.
And damn that knowing smirk.
Yup, he’s not going to let that once-over slip by.
I can only imagine what he’s conjuring in his head.
