Page 114 of One Week Hating You
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AS I GET CLOSER to the door, I recognize the voice on the other side; deep and a bit gruff. My pulse slows and my breathing eases.
I pry the door open slowly – it always sticks. I see him through the sliver of open space. He’s disheveled; messy hair, scraggly beard, lounge pants, old worn sweater. Yet, he still manages to look sexy. Go figure.
“Sorry for the banging,” are the first words out of his mouth as I let him inside. “I tried to knock but you weren’t answering.”
“I was sleeping,” I point out. “You should have let me know you were coming.”
“I did. I sent you a text.”
“How did you even get in here?”
He grins playfully. “Your mom gave me your address a while back. And I snuck in behind this couple on the way in. They were all over each other. They didn’t even notice me.”
“Great! Nice security we have around here. Come in,” I say, and I’m suddenly self-conscious. I’m wearing sweat pants and an oversized SpongeBob SquarePants t-shirt. My hair is a curly mess. I catch a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror. Oh my god, it’s worse than I thought; raccoon eyes, from all the crying.
But Blake doesn’t seem to see all that. He pulls me into him and wraps his arms around me. “It’ll be all right,” he says.
I smile against the soft fabric of his sweater. Even after all these years, things haven’t changed much – he used to say this all the time. I fell off my bike once, and he gathered me up and hugged me. “It’ll be all right,” he whispered. I failed a math test once, “It’ll be all right,” he told me. An older kid called me a name that to this day, I still can’t repeat. “It’ll be all right,” Blake said, and then proceeded to beat the shit out of the kid. The only time he didn’t tell me, “It’ll be all right,” was when our dads died, because he knew it wouldn’t be, not for a very long time.
I get lost in his hug. He smells so damn good. And he’s so warm. “Thank you,” I say. “Thank you for coming,” I tell him as I reluctantly pull away.
“So where’s this jerk of a cat,” he quips. “I want to have a word with him. No one makes my Freckles cry.”
I laugh out loud. “He’s not really the one who made me cry. It was Serena Hollister.”
He cocks a brow, curious.
“She was the one who interviewed me for the job,” I explain. “I just got an email from her tonight telling me I didn’t get it.”
He takes a seat at my kitchen table. “I’m sorry, Maeve.”
I shrug. “That’s life. It shouldn’t come easy.”
“Yep, but it shouldn’t be hard either.”
“Do you want something to drink?” I ask. “Sorry, I don’t have any beer or Coke.”
He smiles. “I’ll take a glass of water.”
I hurry to get him a glass, with ice cubes, like he likes. I catch him watching me when I turn. He grins. Was he really checking me out? How could he possibly think me attractive right now? I’ve never looked worse. If Peter were here, he’d run screaming.
Kitty finally graces us with his presence. His steps are hesitant, his gaze searching and curious. He doesn’t quite trust us, but he’s willing to give us the benefit of the doubt. We’re right next to his food, after all.
“There he is,” Blake whispers. “Beautiful. Very aloof. Black cats like to ignore people, act superior, look out the window, eat cat kibble, and nap.”
I smile. “Who knows, maybe he’ll warm up to me soon.” I approach carefully and reach for him, but as soon as I get close, he dashes off.
“Maybe he just needs more time,” Blake says with an adorable pout.
“We have a love hate relationship,” I joke.
“Kind of like you have with me,” he points out.
I laugh. “I don’t hate you, Blake. Never have. I just hate how cocky you can be sometimes.”
“You don’t hate it,” he tells me. “You secretly love it. It gets you off, admit it!”
