Page 8 of The Way I Hate Him
Holy crap.
I pull it out of the box and examine it.
Best New Artist: Hayes Farrow.
I remember seeing him accept this on stage. He was wearing a black suit with a white button-up shirt, the first three buttons undone, showing off the leather necklace with a silver pendant he wears everywhere. He combed his hand through his hair in disbelief as he stared down at it and thanked his grandma for buying him his first guitar.
And then . . . Matt and I stole it.
Well, I didn’t really steal it. I was an accomplice. I held the door open for Matt. I wasn’t sure what he was doing until we were in the car, and he pulled it out of his suit jacket.
I’ve felt bad knowing Matt has had it even though Hayes Farrow is the scum of the earth.
Even the scum of the earth deserves theirwell-earnedtrophies.
Eyeing the box of my things and the fanboy box, I make the executive decision. I toss my shirts in the fanboy box along with the Grammy, and as I clutch it close to my chest, I head toward the staircase.
There can’t possibly be anything in this apartment that I care about—oh wait, my puzzles.
I pause in the living room and set the box down. Confused by the liquor bottles Matt collected, I pull them out of the box, making some room, and put them in the box on the bed I left behind. I then open the cabinets under the TV and spot three of my puzzles stacked neatly together.
Oh noooo, I’m not leaving my puzzles with Matt. Grant him hours of entertainment? No fucking way.
And he said I wasn’t entertaining. Clearly, he forgot about these purchases.
I slip my puzzles into my box, then head back down the stairs and open the door to the outside. Matt stares down at his phone—shocker—while sitting on the stone wall that encases the parking lot behind the buildings. He glances up. “That was quick.”
“It smelled like you in there, and it was sickening. The quicker I could leave, the better.”
“You used to like the way I smell,” he says, for God knows what reason. Maybe he’s starting to have regrets.
“Well, things change. Just like you changed your feelings about me, your signature scent has also changed. Quite musky smelling if you ask me, like an old bottled-up fart.”
His expression melts into irritation. “Once again, very mature, Hattie.”
“Glad I could be of service,” I say as I stick my box in my car and open the driver’s side door. “And for the record,” I say loud enough in case anyone wants to listen. “You’re terrible at giving oral, you couldn’t find my clit if it knocked you on the nose, and your penis is crooked, and not in a good way. It felt more like trying to wrangle a bent pencil in my vagina than getting pounded by a beefy salami.”
“Oh, fuck off.” He points his finger at me. “I made you come every goddamn time.”
“It’s called faking it, Matt.” And with that, I turn my car on and drive off, his steaming face in my rearview mirror.
Task number one of making him feel inferior, done.
Now, task number two . . . get him fired.
ChapterTwo
HAYES
I forgot how quiet it was here.
I’ve been on the go for the last goddamn year with the tour, interviews, and promotions with all my sponsors that I forgot what it meant to sit in a quiet spot and listen to nature around me.
I arrived back in Almond Bay yesterday and stopped by to see my grandma first thing. As expected, she was as happy as she ever is. Just as I thought, she’d lured me back to Almond Bay, knowing damn well I was done with my tour. I probably would have come back anyway. I enjoy the calm, and I need calm right now with my label breathing down my neck.
When I arrived, she gave me her signature hug and kiss, and then we sat down on her balcony that overlooks the town while her aide brought us tea. I offered to grab it, but she told me to sit down—and I listened to Gran bitch to me about the Peach Society for two solid hours.
Gran has NEVER gotten along with Ethel O’Donnell-Kerr. Something about stealing her man back in the day. She won’t go into it because it makes her too upset, and Gran makes it a point not to rage—she says it brings on too many wrinkles. She also doesn’t like how Ethel claims the top celebrity card in Almond Bay because, as Gran says, I’m more of a household name than Ethel could ever dream.
