Hate You Not: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Ella James

  She gives me a death glare. “What now?”

  “What now?” I laugh—or start to, but I stop myself because I know it’ll hurt. “Am I such a pain in your ass?” I say it quietly, so the kids won’t hear the bad word.

  She widens her eyes, clearly incredulous. “Is that even an actual question?”

  I give her a for-shame frown. “You don’t mean the gifts I’ve sent?”

  “Oh yeah, the gifts.” She rolls her eyes again. “In fact.” She looks over her shoulder. “I bet your gifts are peeing on my porch this very second.”

  She looks behind me, and I turn around, too. Hot Rocket is standing just a few feet away, looking at us with his somber eyes like he’s sorry I fell.

  “I get the rocket part,” I mutter.

  “You were riding like an idiot,” June hisses.

  “I was riding like someone who doesn’t know they’re on a barrel racer. That’s what he is, isn’t it?”

  “I tried to tell you to be careful, that he was a one-woman horse. It’s not my fault you’re afflicted with Male Ego Syndrome.”

  The kids dash off, checking out the jump course, so I’m able to speak louder when I say, “Oh, c’mon, is that the best that you can do? Male ego?”

  “If it walks like a duck, tries to mansplain like a duck, and falls on its ass like a duck, then maybe it’s a man with a big, stupid man ego.”

  I let out a low whistle. “What chapped your ass—or who?”

  She sniffs. “Nobody did. I stick in my little corner of the world and they all stick in theirs. I don’t have time for bullshit.”

  “That sounds awfully bitter, Miss Lawler.”

  She steps away from me before I get the chance to ask who made her bitter. “Oliver and Margot?” she says into cupped hands. “Can y’all walk over to the house and let the puppies out to potty?”

  Oliver nods.

  Margot frowns. “Are you sure you’re okay, Burke? You’ve got a bump on your head. It’s a little purple.” Little sounds like wittle.

  “I’m all good, sweetheart.” I wink, and she smiles like she knows it’s bullshit. “Don’t get back on him,” she tells me sternly.

  “Promise.”

  She nods like she’s satisfied and follows her brother toward the house.

  I arch a brow at June. “You think they’re okay to go alone?”

  “What? All of a hundred yards to the house? What do you think is gonna happen?”

  “I don’t know. Coyotes?”

  “Yeah, they’re sleeping. But I hear the snipes are movin’ something fierce this time of day.” She’s smirking, making me want to run my finger over her lip.

  “What’s a snipe?” I ask.

  “Just these wild and crazy critters. Thick hide, got a big snout.” She pushes up on the tip of her nose, making a pig face. “Sometimes rise up on their hind legs.” She holds her arms out, zombie-style.

  I screw my face into a skeptical frown, which makes my damn head hurt. “You’re making this shit up.”

  “Nah. There’s snipes all around these parts. I think I’d know.” She smirks again before taking the horse’s reins and leading him back toward the barn.

  Goddamn that ass of hers. It’s nearly impossible not to stare. She’s got a longer type of blouse on, but it hugs right to her. How the hell did Molly not discover how damn hot she is? I would have changed my plan. In fact…I still can.

  “You want me to go to the house with them?” I call.

  “I don’t care what you do.”

  “Oh, c’mon. You mad I took a tumble off your barrel racer?”

  “I’m annoyed that you were reckless,” she shouts, turning partway around. “And a showoff.”

  “You think I did that shit on purpose?”

  “I’m not sure it matters,” she says pertly. “You don’t think of anybody but yourself.”

  Even though it’s bullshit, it still hits me right in the chest. “I guess you know me pretty well, huh?”

  “I know guys like you.”

  I follow her into the barn and get some water from a sink that doesn’t look especially dirty. She leads Hot Rocket back to his stall.

  “I’m sorry I trusted you to obey my instructions.” She leans down where I can’t see her for the stall’s wooden gate, probably undoing saddle buckles. “Does your head feel okay?”

  “Spinning from those leggings you’ve got on.” I snicker at myself, because—fuck me—I didn’t mean to say that.

  June gives me a withering glare. “Why don’t you spin it back to California?”

  “I’m not leaving yet.”

  “What are you waiting for?” She lifts the saddle off, so I can only see her head and shoulders for a moment.

  “Those two tiny humans.”

  “You’ll be waiting for a long damn time.” I hear the creak of leather as she sets the saddle down. Then she straightens up and tosses me a brush so fast I barely catch it. “You can finish up with him and brush him down after you do.”

  My gaze clings to her as she saunters out of the stall. “Can this count for a sorry?” I ask.

  “Not so much. But it’ll pay your ticket to keep loitering around my farm.”

  I throw my head back on a low laugh and pay the price in pain that splinters through my skull. I grin so she won’t notice. “Count your money, darlin’. I’ll see you in just a little bit.”

  When I hear the barn door creak shut, I push my stiff dick down in my jeans and laugh. I’ve been playing this all wrong. June Bug is no country bumpkin spinster aunt. She’s beautiful. Demanding. And discriminating. What I need to do is win her over.

  Chapter 7

  June

  He thinks he’s funny. Charming. Slick. I bet Burke Masterson is a real lady magnet where he comes from—what with his big pile of money and the fancy cars and schmancy house I’m sure he’s living in. No doubt those high-rolling California women love it.

  I am not impressed.

  I’ll admit, I was surprised to find that he can manage my show course. He looked sexy as sin sailing over my rails, every muscle in his big, hard body moving with Hot Rocket’s. Then Hottie threw a shoe—something I don’t even think Burke realized—and the devil took a tumble.

  Okay, being honest, I was even just a little bit impressed with that because of how he tucked and rolled. He still ate dirt, due to the angle of it, but it was an elegant sort of fall—a fall that just screams “I’m athletic.”

  Then that way he jumped up and tried to play it off? I have to give him credit, he was thinking of the kids, or seemed like he was. But he’s a showboat. Clearly. All that arrogance he’s shown me since he got here…

  Just like almost every man I’ve ever known—except my Daddy. Mama got a good one in him, and look what happened to him since she passed? He’s been damn near crazy, even if he never owns up to it.

  So anyway, I know there’s good ones, but who needs an arrogant son of a bitch? I don’t know who, but it’s not me. I don’t have time for that stuff, or the energy. I did that once before—tried to be somebody’s moon and sun and stars—and let’s just say that everybody in the county still remembers how that ended.

  I bet he’s no different than Lambert was. Probably always wanting everyone to tell him how amazing he is. Mr. Startup…Mr. Richy Rich Guy. Grew up with a silver spoon. That’s what I read on Google. More important than all that is what he said to me about the college degree.

  Goading me about not finishing high school? That’s a douchebag move. I don’t make exceptions for a man under duress. I just lost my sister, same as he lost Asher. You don’t see me acting like a dick. Okay…well, maybe at times I’ve been a little bit prickly, but he earned it. Even riding to the jump course when I asked him not to—that’s a dick move.

  I do hope his head’s okay. Would be a shame to ruin something so pretty. But that’s crazy talk. I laugh at myself as I pull the porch door open.

  I find the kids in the kitchen, having taken the pups out, returned t
hem to the laundry room, and served themselves popsicles.

  “Making yourselves right at home the way I want you to.” I kiss Oliver’s head. “What do you think of those?” I ask, nodding at the Fla-Vor-Ice tubes in their hands.

  “They’re popsicles in a plastic bag,” Margot says.

  “Well that’s true. All popsicles kind of are, though, aren’t they?”

  “Not if we make our own at home,” she says, taking a bite of her blue popsicle. “That’s better for nature.”

  “Oh, like the environment?”

  She nods, and so does Oliver.

  “Okay, well, let’s do some of those then. I can buy the plastic molding for them next time we go to the Piggly Wiggly.”

  I get a popsicle for myself and peek out the curtain covering the door that leads onto the screened porch. No Burke in sight, so it’s safe to ask them, “What do you think about your uncle showing up?”

  “Burke?” Margot asks.

  I laugh. “He really doesn’t like to be called uncle, does he?”

  Oliver shrugs. “He’s not old like an uncle.”

  “Am I old like an aunt?”

  The kids shake their heads. Smart kids.

  There’s a silence, and I feel like I can guess what they’re thinking: Neither of us are as old as their parents. Neither of us is a mama or a daddy for them.

  I go stand behind Margot and wrap an arm around her. “You did good on Hottie.” I hug Oliver. “So did you, cowboy.”

  He turns around and looks up at me. “I like that Burke is here. He’s funny. Do you think he fell off the horse on purpose?”

  I smile. “I think maybe not. But he played it off real well, huh?”

  They nod.

  “What does your uncle do in San Francisco?” I ask them, blatantly fishing.

  “He just works a lot. My mom said like a thousand hours a day.” Margot takes an icy bite of popsicle and looks down.

  “He does startups, right?” I ask them.

  “I don’t know what that is,” she answers. “He’s just working all night and all day. Daddy said he’s going to put himself into an early grave. Too much screen time isn’t healthy.”

  I have to work to mask my reaction to that. Damn, does he work that much?

  “Did he come over sometimes?” I wince as I ask, and wish I could stuff my foot into my mouth. It’s not good to ask about their old life—or at least, it shouldn’t be done unless the question is important.

  “Sometimes,” Oliver says. “Like maybe three times.”

  “When did you see him?”

  “We keep our horses at the same place as him. He would take us riding sometimes on Sundays. But that was a long time ago.”

  “Oh, okay.” I file away that nugget of information. “So he’s real into horses?”

  “Real into them,” Oliver says with a mischievous grin.

  “What do you propose I say other than ‘real?’ ” I ask them, arching my brows.

  “You could use the word very. V–E–R–Y.” Margot finishes her ice pop and starts to fold the plastic wrapper accordion-style.

  “Very?” I say the word as if it’s all new to me. “Now that just doesn’t feel right.”

  They both mimic me saying “doesn’t,” drawing it out so it sounds like dut-uhn.

  “Thank you for the notice of my accent. I aim to amuse.”

  “Do you?”

  I jump. Burke is standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room.

  “Where the Hello Kitty did you come from?”

  He gives me an easy smile. “Front door was unlocked.”

  “I tend to keep it that way.”

  “Open invitation for those snipes you mentioned.”

  Both kids whirl around on their barstools with wide eyes. “Snipes?”

  “What are snipes?” Oliver asks at the same time Margot says, “Are they bad guys?”

  “They’re crazy creatures,” I tell them, “but they love kids.” I toss a glance at Burke before stepping over to the refrigerator. “It’s big bullies they come after.”

  “There’s no bullies in here,” Oliver says, relieved.

  I cut my eyes toward Burke. “I hope not.” I hold up an ice pop, then chuck it his way. There’s something gratifying about watching him fumble for it. He chuckles, maybe just a little awkward, as he rips it open with his teeth.

  “Never use your teeth as tools,” I tell the kids, who are both watching.

  “That’s what Mommy…” Margot trails off. Burke steps up behind her. He drapes his big hand over her small head and ruffles her hair. “You missing your mommy?” he asks, and his low voice sounds so soft and kind.

  Margot nods; her face looks like it does before she cries.

  “Let me tell you something.” He comes around beside her, propping his elbows on the counter’s edge and leaning over, looking at both kids. For a second, something tightens his face. Then he locks his handsome features down on neutral.

  “My mom went to heaven, too.” His voice is steady, but he sucks a breath in after he says it; I can see his nostrils flare. “When I was as old as Oliver. Did you know that?” I see him swallow.

  The kids nod, rapt now.

  “Crying is okay to do if you get sad.” Another covert inhalation; is he struggling to say this? “Big boys and girls can cry whenever they want. As long as they’re not throwing a fit about something. Isn’t that right, Aunt June?”

  “Yeah, for sure. Crying is like a shower for your brain. It washes out all the old stuff and makes your brain chemistry all sparkly and new.”

  Burke nods, giving me an unreadable look over the kids’ heads.

  “When I was a kid, people didn’t know crying is a good thing,” he says, his face stoic. “But now they know.”

  “Did you cry when your Mommy died?” Oliver asks.

  “Our Mommy didn’t die,” Margot snaps, whirling toward him with her lower lip out. “She’s in heaven!”

  Oliver’s lips fold into a mean-looking smirk. “Mom and Dad are dead. There’s no such thing as heaven. That’s a myth.”

  He hops down off the bar stool and runs toward the bedroom. Burke gives me a brows-raised look and sets off after him.

  I focus on Margot. “Your Mom and Daddy are in heaven. I think Oliver is just being a little bratty.”

  She nods, then sighs. “Yeah.” She wipes her finger under her eyes, and I see they’re filled with tears.

  She looks up at me, her little lower lip quivering, and I wrap her in a big hug. “I want to see them up in heaven,” she sobs.

  I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure words can even really help with something like this. I pick her up and haul her over to the couch, and she cries in my lap for what feels like a long time. When she’s finished, sniffling and wiping her eyes but not sobbing anymore, she seems almost happy. She smiles and blinks around the room, her eyes fixing on a paper cutting that’s framed and mounted on the wall that leads to the hallway.

  “What is that?”

  I drag a breath in through my nose, debating whether to tell her the truth.

  “It’s called a paper cutting.”

  “What’s a paper cutting?”

  “It’s where somebody makes art by cutting patterns into a piece of paper.”

  “Who’s in it?” she asks, and gets up, walking over to it.

  I follow. “This one is a mother and a baby.”

  “Did you make it?”

  “No,” I tell her.

  “Mommy did.”

  I smile slowly as chills run up my arms. “Yes. Your mommy made this when she was in college, and she gave it to my mom.”

  “Where is your mommy?” She frowns, like she truly doesn’t know—even though it’s something I’ve mentioned a time or two.

  “She’s in heaven, too. Our moms and your dad are all in heaven together.”

  “Do you miss her?” she asks softly.

  “Every day.”

  She smiles like we h
ave a secret. “Me too,” she says in her sweet, soft voice. I’m struck with devastating sadness for what my sister lost, and lit up with the weirdest giddy shock at what I gained.

  We walk down the hall and to the kids’ room, where we find Oliver reading a book and Burke lying on the bed, facing the wall. His knees are bent, his broad shoulders tucked in just a little. I frown down at him, and Oliver grins.

  “We were talking, and he just stopped.”

  I watch his chest for a second before letting out a breath.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I whisper, beckoning the kids.

  I take them to jump in Bowser’s Castle. They pull me inside, and we all jump, but I’m distracted by his presence in the house. What is he doing in there? Is he really that tired?

  And then it hits me: he fell off of Hottie.

  Shit!

  I bet he has some kind of concussion. He’s probably dead in there right now.

  “Hey guys, I’m going to the potty. Be right back.”

  I bounce out of the Bowser Castle and sprint toward the screened-in porch like Mario running to save Peach. I’m intent on getting to him—on shaking his shoulders, making sure his devil ass will wake up. I throw the screened porch door open, zip across the rug, and slam right into him as he steps out through the living room door.

  I feel the impact of his solid chest under my cheek and palms, and then I’m ass-planted on the porch floor, looking up at him, and I can see he isn’t dead at all.

  His rich brown hair is ruffled, sticking up in one spot, and his long-lashed eyes are sleepy. Also blue. He has blue eyes. I never noticed until right now, at this exact second. His lips curve, and hot dang, he’s gorgeous.

  He’s grinning down at me like he’s happy to see me.

  He holds a hand out. “Need some help up?”

  I huff, but take his hand and let him pull me to my feet. I roll my eyes, and he gives me a sexy little frown, his dark brows pulled together.

  “Everything okay with you?” he asks.

  “Yes. I just have to…do something.” I walk around him. As I step into the den, he says, “Kids okay?”

  “In the Bowser castle,” I call. Then I make a beeline for the bathroom. Potty time for damn sure. I whip my phone out of my pocket and text Leah. Holy fucknuts, this is not good.