The Love You Hate: A Charge Man Novel (The Charge Men Series Book 1)

by Rachel Robinson

  She nods, tucking her brown hair behind her ear. “Yes. He’s waiting for you now. In testing room C.” I set off without another word. It’s obvious I’m making her uncomfortable. I know when I’ve arrived to the corridor of the doctor’s offices because it becomes warm, cozy even. The crisp cold air of the lab vanishes. I open the door with one big palm, and swing into the room. He’s at his desk, a scan of some sort in one hand and his finger and thumb on his other hand clutching his chin. Coldren’s deep in thought as I approach his steel, no-nonsense desk.

  He looks at me over the rim of his glasses. “Nate. Good session. I watched in real time today.” Well, that’s kind of fucking creepy, but isn’t that his job?

  “I’m done? Safe to be let loose in the wild without a bleeding heart?” I’m half joking, but that’s the root of it. Eradicate the emotion attached to the opposite sex and sex in general. “The proctor doc said she thought it might be my last session.” Stealing my nerves for what comes next, I sit in the dark leather chair in front of his desk. It always smells like some kind of furniture polish and it deviates starkly from the nothingness scents of the lab.

  “I think it might,” he says. “Tell me. How did it feel today? How was it different from last time two days ago?” He’s diving right in.

  Swallowing, I fold my hands in my lap, wiggling my toes in the black scuffs they give us to walk around in. “I felt nothing, Coldren.” I meet his eyes. “Absolutely nothing. Nothing triggered a lewd thought this time. That’s how it’s different. She, I mean, the image, could have been a concrete wall for all that my mind took into account.”

  His silver brows knit together. “You didn’t think of Raya once? There was a brief segment that showed up elevated on the heart rate report.” He squints his eyes at something on his computer screen I can’t see. “But nothing too consequential. Really, nothing at all.”

  “I didn’t think of her.” I can’t say her name. Then I might think of her and then I’ll be in this training program longer. “There was literally nothing when I was watching the mannequin on the screen.” When the dummy ex-girlfriend appears, she’s clothed, but still scantily clad. She then dives into a thirty-minute escapade of taking off her clothing, teasing between her legs with her fingers, and ends with fucking herself with a dildo while using my name. Even her voice sounds familiar. “There was nothing this time. As I admit it, thinking of what I just sat through, I realize how odd that is. As a man, I rolled in here thinking about sex, at minimum, twenty times a day. The sight of a female doctor taking off her lab coat was enough to trigger a subconscious sexual thought. Now, there’s nothing. It’s almost as if it’s been erased.

  Coldren smiles, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it before. We have literally deprogrammed you. They didn’t think it was possible.” He chuckles. “The perfect robots. We can erase the strongest emotion from the strongest men in the entire world.”

  My stomach sinks. That statement makes me double back. “One day in the future, when it’s important to have, uh, all that stuff back, you’ll be able to fix me back to factory settings, right?”

  His gaze darts up from the screen. “Of course.” Lie. That was training I finished long ago. I’m a human lie detector. He should know better, out of all people.

  I ignore it in favor of trying to get what I want right now. The future is so far away. “Am I ready for assignment, then?”

  He nods, eyes alight. “I think you are.” The doctor signs off on the magic yellow sheet of paper, but then looks up at me. “Any other urges outside of the chamber? Masturbation?”

  I shake my head. “None. Your perfect little robot soldier.” He knows this already. We’re watched near constant. Even while we shower and shit. They know if our bowels aren’t regular, damn straight they know if we’ve been choking the chicken in the “privacy” of our own room. I leave his office for my quarters, and sink into a dreamless, detached sleep.

  ****

  Presley groans from the sofa, and I realize I’ve let my thoughts wander and my guard slip. Breathing heavy, I verify I don’t have any new emails, tuck my laptop under my arm and return to her. She’s half hanging off the love seat, her head is off and her hair dragging on the linoleum floor, mouth open as she snores. Her shirt has ridden up, exposing the bottom swell of her breast. Gently, I take her into my arms and bring her to the bedroom. As I lay her on the bed, her eyes flutter open, just for a second.

  Presley’s sleepy smile stabs at me. A thrill, followed by a chill, and then she speaks. “Oh, my gosh. You’re finally taking me to bed. My dreams have come true.”

  What do you know? My fucking cock responds with a brisk salute. I am so fucked.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Presley

  My head is pounding when sunlight streams across my face. I turn away from the window and see Nate standing over me. A glass of water in one hand and the other a closed fist, extending toward me. “Take these, rock ‘n’ roll queen. You have to feel like garbage.”

  Last night is hazy, but I do remember Nate bringing me home. I take the white pills from him and chug the glass of water down like a camel in the desert. “More,” I growl, shoving the glass back at him. He quirks one perfect brow. “Please,” I add. “If you would be so kind.” He goes into the bathroom and refills the glass. I take it and slurp half without taking a breath.

  “Do you even remember any of the concert? We weren’t there long, but you really took it upon yourself to clean the bar of booze.”

  Groaning, I set the cup on the plastic, makeshift nightstand and lean back into my pillows. “What time is it?” A brief moment of panic rises because I know we should be at the bakery, but it’s fleeting, because without confirmation I know Nate has already taken care of it.

  He sits at the end of the bed and his massive weight pins my feet under my comforter. “Don’t worry. I called Ryan. I told him you needed the morning to shake this one off and I was going to help you.” Nate clears his throat. “I bought us the day off. Rather, your hangover did.”

  I let another groan slip. I’m never this unreliable. It’s embarrassing. It wouldn’t have been until Nate Sullivan, though. I care what he thinks of me and I’m trying to figure out how to live with that. “From what I remember of the concert, I think I had a great time.” Pausing, I try to gauge how mad he is at me. “Did you have an okay time?” Men like Nate don’t have fun often. The concert was probably a drag for him and I ruined it by drinking too many Long Island’s.

  “Yeah, it was okay.” His neck works as he swallows.

  “You didn’t have to stay here last night. I would have been fine.”

  He smirks. “If you were to choke and die on your vomit, I never would have forgiven myself.”

  “Listen, my stomach is a steel trap. I can down a fifth and hold it all night.” I can’t, but I’m trying to test his humor meter because of what I have to ask next. “Did I say anything… I don’t know… mean or embarrassing? Or things that didn’t make sense? Dumb, meaningless statements?” My fear is that I blew my cover to this man and he’s going to be a huge liability. Especially when we’re not getting along which seems to be back and forth by the day. His lips curl into an amused grin. “Oh, God,” I say. “I’m sorry is probably in order?”

  He nods. “You called me bi because I didn’t want to take advantage of you. That was after you accused me of only wanting women who were taken. Because I’m an alpha male.” He air quotes the word alpha and I think I might die of embarrassment.

  “Can we shoot straight for a couple minutes?” I sit up quickly, a mistake, and lay a hand on my pounding head. “I’m sorry, to start with, though. Alcohol removes my verbal filter and I become Ratchet Ryleigh. She’s my drunk alter ego who I was introduced to in college.” I amend, “Well, the world was introduced to her. I rarely remember the things she does and says.”

  For the most part, Nate seems interested, though he’s looking at me like he’s trying to fi
gure me out. “Sure,” he finally says. “Though I always shoot straight.” Somehow, I don’t doubt that.

  “Men, for the most part have always been easy for me. My old best friend for example. I took what I wanted, and moved on. I get what I want is what I’m trying to say without sounding like an entitled bitch.”

  “And I don’t want you, so it makes you angry,” he deadpans.

  I wince. “Ouch. Way to let me down easy. Not.” More water. That’s what I need. My head swims and the possibility that I’m still drunk rises. I swallow the rest and heave a sigh. “Why don’t you want me? Ratchet Ryleigh was trying to form her own opinions, how about you just tell lucid me so I don’t have to wonder? The old girlfriend still? Because I know how that feels and moving on is the best way to erase the past.”

  “Erase the past. That sounds pretty desperate. I’m not desperate. I’m just not a relationship guy.”

  “Or a fuck buddy kind of guy?” I ask. “To be clear, I’m not asking you for that because it’s offensive, I’m trying to understand.”

  Nate closes his eyes. “Females and their fragile self-worth, I swear.” He sucks in a breath. “It has nothing to do with the way you look. You are… attractive.”

  I smile wide, and he turns away. “That’s the first nice thing you’ve ever said to me. Except it was following a very chauvinistic stereotype. Go on.” He’s getting irritated with me, but I can’t help it.

  “I already told you I’m not the fuck buddy kind of guy. Even with you. We are friends and I don’t intend to ruin it that way. Maybe by being a dick in some other way, but not that way. Do you understand? Can we put this behind us and just… move on?”

  “Fine, if you cook me breakfast, take me roller skating, and help me start a garden at your house today.” If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under. “What? It’s a day off! I want to take full advantage of it even if I feel like a gutter troll.” Less than a gutter troll. Maybe a garbage rat.

  He sighs and stands from the bed. Almost as if he feels defeated. It doesn’t make any sense. I’m the defeated one. He turns me down every chance he can, and yet underneath the bravado and muscle, I know he’s a good man, a reliable man. He would never lie or cheat. His brash personality makes it so I know I’m getting the truth. I make the decision here and now, I need to either give up and cherish whatever friendship he’s going to give me, or I need to add another item to my redo bucket list. It’s an easy choice for a human who isn’t as good as Nate Sullivan. I grab my notebook and pen from the clear plastic drawer, and scribble it down. Make the good guy fall in love with me.

  He made me eggs and bacon, helped me plant seedlings in a garden box he bought for his back yard, and now he’s currently jogging behind me as I roller skate in the only cement parking lot in town. For as shitty as I feel, today has been the best day I’ve had yet in Gold Hawke. While he’s still broody and mildly ornery, Nate seems different today. I can’t pinpoint how, but there’s something about the way he holds eye contact with me. Or the way he reacted when he accidentally touched my hand while passing me a trowel. There’s something there. I glance over my shoulder to see how far behind he is and the tip of my skate catches the lip of a crack and I go down hard. Ugly hard, legs flailing, arms all over the place, and face scraping across the pavement.

  I see stars. Probably from being hungover and dehydrated, but according to Nate’s face, I belong in the ER lying on a stretcher. “Why did you look back?” he shouts, tone acidic. “Jesus, your face. It’s bleeding. What hurts?” He says more, but he’s talking so rapidly I can’t make out words in between. He is so panicked that it makes me panicked for a moment, until I realize that he is overreacting. He just… cares about me?

  “I’m fine. It’s a scratch,” I say, smirking as I sit up and meet his gaze. “Just a scratch.” I rub my finger along my bottom lip and it comes away crimson red. Nate is watching me, gaze flicking between my finger, my lips and my face. “You okay?” I ask, drawing his eyes to mine. “I know you aren’t afraid of blood. You had it all over you with the dog incident.”

  “I’m fine.” Nate seems to regain his composure. “That is not a scratch. Does anything else hurt?”

  Sighing, I gesture to my knees, elbows, and wrists. “You made me wear all of these stupid pads covering all my gangly limbs, of course nothing else hurts. Just my face.” I lick the blood and he watches my lips.

  “You’re not gangly. It’s a lot of blood. Let’s get back to the truck. I have a first aid kit in there.” His gaze darts down, but the muscles in his arms flex, and his jaw works—a welcome visual distraction from my pounding face.

  “Why do you have a first aid kit in your truck? When did you put it there?”

  He looks away, standing, then offers me a hand. I stand up, wobbling on the skates. “Well, it’s warranted, is it not? It doesn’t matter when I put it there.”

  I grunt out my frustration. Nate doesn’t let go of my hand until we’re at the truck and I remove the skates. He pulls the kit out from under his seat and I see that the upholstery is messed up, almost torn in places. “What happened there?” I wasn’t paying attention to anything except Nate’s proximity on the drive here, so I didn’t notice before.

  “You don’t remember,” he says, more to himself than to me as he fishes around in the box looking for something specific. “I lost something between the seats had to take them apart. This old ass truck has old ass seats.”

  He spins with a wipe in his hand and begins to dab it on my lip, but stops. “Here, hold this on your mouth while I get the antiseptic.”

  “What did you lose?” I ask, words jumbled against the wipe, as I keep my lips separated.

  He turns to look at me and lifts a brow. “A USB stick fell out of my laptop. Why?”

  “Just wondering. You don’t seem like a man who loses things.”

  He clears his throat. “Let me see it.”

  I pull the red-soaked wipe down and he winces. “It’s already fat,” he says, moving in for a closer look. Delicately he puts his finger on my bottom lip, and my whole body breaks out in a flush of heat. “It doesn’t need stitches though.” He dabs ointment on the lip and wipes at the road rash on my cheek before applying the sticky goo there as well.

  He licks his lips and notices me watching them. Another tic of his jaw, an awkward slow blink, a glimmer of something that wasn’t there just yesterday. He’s holding his breath, I realize. “Do I stink?” It’s a stupid question, but my mind is so fuzzy it’s the only thing I can say when he’s making me feel this way.

  Nate furrows his brows. “No. I don’t think so.” He steps back.

  “Why are you holding your breath?”

  I step toward him, feeling my bottom lip protruding from my face. “Habit,” Nate replies. “Have you had enough roller derby for one day?”

  Rubbing my cheek, I let it slide. “I guess. Can we go back to your house to watch the sunset?”

  He looks hesitant, even bothered, but I can tell he’s going to agree. “Sure. Maybe I can get those drip hoses working for the garden.”

  I get into the truck and hold the first aid kit in my lap as he goes around to the driver’s side. There is way more in this kit than basic first aid. There are bottles I don’t recognize and small little devices that look like espionage spy shit. When he slams the door, I hold up a black thing. “What’s this do?”

  He eyes it warily and turns back to the road. “It’s a cauterizing tool. Luckily we didn’t need it today, or you’d smell burned meat for a week.”

  Grimacing, I drop it. “That’s disgusting. You really were a sport today. My bucket list took a huge hit today. Only ten more things!”

  “Ten?” He startles. “Why so many?”

  “Well, there were a million things I wasn’t allowed to do in my… well before I came to Gold Hawke to spread my wings, there was a bunch of things I wasn’t able to do. When you think about it that way there really isn’t that many.”
>
  “Please tell me you don’t actually want to join a roller derby team after today’s incident. You can’t even look backward and skate. They’ll crush you like a steamroller. Those women aren’t delicate.”

  Sighing, I bring my cool fingers up to my cheek. “What I can’t work out is why you care.”

  “Is it such an impossibility that I care about your well-being as my solitary friend in my new home?” Nate glances over, eyes worried. “We’ll get some ice on it as soon as we get to my house. It’s going to swell. You’ll probably have a shiner tomorrow.”

  I grin. “I can’t wait to tell Ryan you kicked my ass.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Nate says, horrified.

  He pulls into his driveway, and I fidget in my seat. “I am known as the jokester around these parts. I have a reputation to uphold.”

  “I can lie too. I’ll make up something equally as disgusting if you say that.” His tone is serious.

  Stepping out of the car, my stomach turns. “I was just joking. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” When another grumble hits, I add, “I need dinner.”

  “You’re a real pain in my ass today, you know that? What do you want for dinner?”

  Smiling, I wait until he unlocks the door so I can enter first. I go straight to the bathroom and flick on the light, then scream. It’s way worse than I thought. “I look like a zombie! Why didn’t you tell me?”