Hate Me (35 page)

Waves of pleasure roll through my body.
 

I remember telling him at rehearsal about using that scruff.
 

I feel like the baddest, sexiest, naughtiest version of myself.

And I like it.

He’s relentless.
 

Only stopping or slowing down to let me catch my breath.

After a while, my throat is dry, and my voice cracks as I say, “Water.”

He kisses up my stomach. “Don't you dare move.”

“Okay.”

He brings me a glass of water, which I gulp down. He steals it from me before I finish and takes a long drink.
 

“In case you were wondering, you dancing just for me was
the
sexiest thing I've ever seen.”

I lean back on the table, stretch out, and make a contented sound.
 

“That almost sounded like a purr,” he teases. But then he says, “Here kitty kitty,” and proceeds to convince me that it's not his lips that are my bliss.
 

It's his tongue.
 

And the scruff.
 

By the time he's done with me, I feel like a meteor, burning hot, shooting through the sky, burning as I hit the atmosphere, then free falling and crashing into the ground. Nothing is left of me but a pile of atomic ashes.
 

Just when I think I can’t take any more, he kisses me, pulls me off the table, and picks my underwear off the floor.
 

“Probably not wearable anymore,” he says with a sexy laugh, eyeing the trashed pair.
 

“Probably not,” I giggle, leaning against his warm chest.
 

I close my eyes and breathe in the intoxicating scent that is Aiden mixed with the smell of the new leather.
 

It's like heaven.
 

He kisses my forehead and then my nose. “We still have time to make our dinner reservation, if you're up for it. You're outfit is hot. We should go out.”

“Plus, you're starving, right?”

“Naw, I already ate,” he says teasingly.
 

“You're bad. Give me a minute to touch up my makeup.”

He takes his jacket off and puts it on my shoulders to keep me warm.
 

Which sorta makes me swoon.

Because he’s hotter than hell and the sweetest boy ever.
 

I run into the bathroom, throw on a sorta matching pink thong, touch up my makeup, and look at my no-longer-stick-straight hair. The back looks mussed and sexy. Rather than straightening it, I tease the rest of it, making it big and hopefully as sexy-looking as I feel.
 

When I go back out to the living room, Aiden has his shirt back on and has picked all my clothes off the floor. I slide the thigh highs back on, zip up my boots, and throw on my skirt.
 

Aiden smiles. “Maybe you should just stop there.”
 

“Just wear my bra and your jacket to dinner?”

“You can have anything of mine you want.”

“Anything?”

“Yeah. If you want.”

I do want.
 

I so want . . . but yet.
 

I just can't.
 

Maybe before I leave school in the spring, I'll tell him everything.
 

We'll sleep together. Then . . .

Wait.
 

Rewrite.
 

Sleep with him first. Unleash that Titan. Then tell him. That way, if he hates you, at least you'll know if it was everything you thought it would be.
 

That's the real reason I haven't yet. When we do, I don't want there to be any more lies.
 

I want to tell him I love him. I want him to know the real me.
 

As he slides his jacket off me and helps me put my shirt back on, I realize how badly I want that.
 

One boy to know and love all of me.
 

Aiden knows part of me. The me I've become.
 

But part of me is my home and my family.
 

B knows the old me. He knows my family and understands my life.

Neither one of them know all of me.
 

As the shirt goes over my head, Aiden gives me the kind of kiss that makes me feel like it doesn't matter with him. Like he knows my soul. Like he wouldn't care who my family is.
 

What'd he say last week?
You and me against the world. Always.
 

And when he holds my hand and leads me out to our waiting car, I feel like it's enough.
 

But then I remember how I felt so in love with B.
 

How he loved me, but still left me.
 

I'm afraid Aiden will, too.
 

And I'm afraid it will destroy me.
 

That's the other reason I didn't want to come back to school. It's just going to make it more heartbreaking.
 

His voice flits through my memory.
A heartbreakingly beautiful kind of love.
 

In any good script, there are elements of foreshadowing. A tense score. A dark, scary place. I wonder if what he said was foreshadowing in the story of my life.
 

A love so beautiful it will break both our hearts.
 

He puts his arm around me and whispers, “You okay?”
 

“I couldn't be more perfect, Aiden. I'm with you.”

After we're seated, served drinks, and hear the long list of specials, Aiden orders a steak and I get blackened salmon.
 

The waiter brings us out a free appetizer of spicy shrimp. As I bite into it, I can't help but think of being with B at Buddy's and wonder how serious he is about the girl he's been seeing.
 

Although I was really upset that he didn't help me as promised, I can understand. I might have done the same thing if I got a picture like that.

I think of the one Mom got in New York that was stabbed everywhere.
 

Aiden rubs my hand. “You're quiet all of a sudden.”
 

“I’m just mellow. Relaxed. Kinda tired.”

“How about after dinner, we have the driver take us by the tree and then we go snuggle up in bed?”

I smile. “That sounds perfect.”

“So, tell me more about this movie, superstar. Remember, I got your first autograph. It's gonna be worth something someday.” He takes my hand in his. “Not that I'd ever sell it.”

“It's a small role in an action film. I play the daughter of the badass main character. I get kidnapped at the beginning, have one little scene where they prove I’m still alive, and then a scene at the end where I’m rescued. And half of that may end up on the cutting room floor during editing.”

“It's a good start, though, right?”
 

“Yeah, it's a good start. The scenes are important to the movie, so a lot of people will see my face even if they don't really remember me after.”

Aiden runs his hand from my temple to under my chin and says, “Smile.”
 
 

“You are awfully bossy tonight. That jacket must have come with a dose of cockiness.”
 

“Smile for me. It makes me happy,” he says.

And I can't help but smile. I want to make him happy.

“That's what people are going to fall in love with. That smile. It's, well, the only word that really accurately describes it is intoxicating. Everyone in the theater will be instantly love-drunk.”

“What about you? You put your picture on your wine. Shirtless. Wearing that jacket. Stuff could taste like crap and women wouldn't care.”

He laughs. “You're silly.”
 

“So, what else did up your mom buy you for your birthday? I may need to inspect your purchases if they are going to crash at my house.”

He runs his finger across the top of my hand again. I can tell having this stupid table between us is driving him nuts.
 

Just before our food is served, he says to the waiter, “Can we move to that booth?”

We switch tables, the cozy, round booth allowing us to sit close together. He lays his hand across my leg, sometimes just holding my knee and other times playing with the tops of my thigh highs.
 

We eat dinner, drive by the beautiful and insanely huge Christmas tree, and then get dropped off at home.
 

I throw on some pajamas, wash my face, and then dive into bed with him.
 

All he has on is a pair of soft cotton boxers.
 

He snuggles me into his arms and kisses the top of my head. “When you told me about ice cream dream, I should’ve stayed and listened.”

“I know why you got mad, but there's always more to a story than meets the eye.”

He nods, snuggles up with me, then immediately starts breathing deeply.

I can tell he’s already asleep.
 

I look at the clock.
 

11:30.
 

I don't have any phone calls to make.
 

No midnight meeting with Cooper.
 

No flights.
 

Nothing to think about except how safe I feel, here, in Aiden's arms.

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 11TH

Our.

10am

I wake up to the smell of bacon.
 

My room feels chilly. I bump the heat up a few degrees, brush my teeth, and wrap myself in a long cashmere robe.

“I was just coming to wake you.”

“Have you been up long?”

“About an hour. I made chocolate chip waffles.”

“That sounds yummy.”

I watch as he adds another waffle to a huge stack in the warming drawer.

“You feeding an army? Or did you invite the football team over?”

“Actually, my parents should be here any minute. I hope that's okay. They went to visit friends in Vermont after the dance competition, but are flying home from here. They'll be home for a few weeks.”

“Is something wrong?” I immediately assume something is, based on Aiden's body language.
 

He pours more batter onto the waffle iron. “Hopefully not. This time every year she goes in for tests, and we impatiently wait to find out if the cancer has come back. She’s lost weight since I last saw her, so I’m worried.”

“Aiden! Why didn't you tell me?”

“I’m telling you now.”

The intercom buzzes. “Shit! I'm in my robe!”

“It's okay. My parents are laid-back.”

“Maybe, but you aren't in a robe.”

“I’ve got on sweats and an old t-shirt. Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s no wonder I can’t think straight. Your shirt is way too tight and your sweats are way too low on your hips.”

“That’s because they’ve gotten too short and look dumb if I don’t pull them down.” He walks over and kisses my nose. “I like that you can’t think straight. You go get dressed. I’ll let them in.”

I run into my closet, throw on a pair of stretchy jean leggings, an oversized Foreigner t-shirt, and a pair of Ugg slippers. Then I run a powder brush across my face and give my lashes a few swipes of mascara.

I'm back out by the time they have their coats off and are sitting down at our kitchen table.
 

I stop in my tracks.
 

Our.

Our kitchen table?

I look at Aiden hugging his mom and smile at him.
 

As soon as his parents see me, I’m greeting with hugs too.
 

I try not to hug his mom for too long, but I can't help it. I miss my own mom.
 

“It smells wonderful,” she says, taking her seat.
 

“Aiden made it all,” I admit. “I just woke up.”

“Late night last night?” Aiden’s dad asks.

“No, we—I mean, I was asleep by like eleven. Aiden,” I point toward a bedroom, “has his own room.”

I have no idea if they’re cool with sleeping with someone before marriage or whatever. I don’t want to offend them.
 

Or for them to think we’re having sex when we’re not.
 

I mean, actual doing it. As opposed to the hotness that was the pool table last night.

I glance at Aiden, whose nostrils flare as he suppresses a smile and rolls his eyes adorably.