Page 72 of The Way I Hate Him
Not even the slightest.
I want to be nice to you.
You’re the first fucking person, besides my grandma and Abel, I want to be nice to.
She peers up at me, waiting for a response, and because I’m the biggest dumbass in the world, I reply, “You smell really fucking good, Hattie.”
With a satisfied smile, she loops her finger through one of my belt loops and tugs me an inch closer. “What do I smell like?”
I can feel the heat of her body up against mine and can practically taste her heartbeat.
“Are you trying to get us in trouble?”
“Maybe,” she says, not looking shy at all, more ravenous than anything.
I’m tempted to lift my hand to her cheek, to deepen this moment into something more, but Abel’s words pump through me, his warning to stay away. So I keep my hands to myself as I say, “You smell like electric sunshine.”
“Electric sunshine?” she asks. “What exactly does that smell like?”
I shift, my body precariously growing closer. “Radiance with a zing, like soft summer meadows zapped by lightning. Like a sweet combination of fire and rain. Soft and edgy. Bright and dark all in one.”
She stares up at me, a studying look in her eyes.
When she doesn’t say anything, I ask, “What?”
“How many women have you said that to?”
“You want to know?” I ask.
“Yes.” She nods. “I do.”
I bring my finger under her chin, tilt it up and say, “None. That was for you and you alone.”
Fucking leave . . . now.
If you don’t, you will kiss her.
Don’t fucking kiss her.
Jaw clenched, I step away, and she lets go of my belt loop as I move toward the back entrance of the house. I open the heavy sliding glass door for her, and she takes the hint—the night is over for us.
When I shut the door, she turns toward me, drowning in my sweatshirt, looking so goddamn beautiful it actually hurts. “Walk me to my room?”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” she asks innocently, but there is nothing innocent in her eyes.
“You know exactly why,” I answer as I step back and then nod toward the hallway leading to her room. “Go on, Hattie, go to your room.”
She doesn’t respond, not right away. She’s almost to the hallway when she turns around and says, “You’re not the dick I thought you were, Hayes. And that should be terrifying for us both.”
Then she leaves, vanishing into the darkness of the hallway. Her words beat rapidly through me.
Because she’s right.
If Hattie doesn’t think I’m the man she thought I was, yeah, that’s terrifying for us both.
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