Hate Notes: A Sweet Enemies to Lovers Young Adult Romance (Lakeview Prep Book 1)

by Gracie Graham

  Her hand reached out and gripped my t-shirt, and I paused to see where she’d take this, giving her the chance to pull away if she wanted it, when she hesitantly angled her head, pulling me even closer.

  My pulse pounded in-beat with the drums on-stage, and I had no idea how much time passed from the first moment our lips met. All I knew was that I could stay there in that moment forever and be happy. All I could focus on was her velvet lips. The silky hair under my fingers. The dazzling heat of her skin. And the sound of her breathy sighs.

  When the lyrics died and the last guitar chord rang out, she pulled away, blinking those nutbrown eyes at me as if trying to understand what just happened between us. Like she’d been drugged and needed a second to come down from the high. And I saw the moment she shut down.

  Shutters closed over her eyes as she quickly turned back to the stage, clapping and cheering while the song ended and my heart thumped.

  Chapter 21

  TOPHER

  I crumpled up the wrappers to my sandwich and threw them in the take-out bag with a glance over at Penelope, who had barely eaten. We sat on the hood of my car in the back parking lot of Elliot Landscaping, meant for employees.

  “Is it okay?” I asked, eyeing her food. After all, it was late. After 11:00 p.m.. For all we knew, it sat under the heat lamp for the last four hours, though I suspected her silence had more to do with the heated lip lock we shared during the concert than anything.

  “Yeah. Why?” She glanced at me with big, expressive eyes.

  “Just making sure.” Then I yawned and stretched my arms.

  I should bring it up. The kiss. I knew I should, only I was a coward, which was new for me, so I was struggling to adjust.

  “Tired?” she asked, and I answered with another yawn.

  “What time did you get up?”

  “I had to be at the pool before six. Got up around five.”

  She blinked at me, her dark brows arching. “Is that every morning?”

  “Most, yeah.”

  She took another tiny bite of her sandwich as I polished off mine and started in on my fries, eating them four at a time because as long as I was shoving food in my mouth, I couldn’t make more of a fool of myself. You know, like throwing myself at a girl who clearly wasn’t interested.

  “That’s a lot of dedication.”

  I shrugged. “You do that with the things you love, I guess.” I peeked at her in my periphery and our eyes locked before she glanced away, her cheeks turning pink.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” she murmured.

  We ate in silence for a few more minutes, and once I finished, I wiped my hands on a napkin, hating that the night was almost over. We had more fun than I ever thought possible. We laughed and talked and danced. My throat was raw from screaming, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get the image of her, arms raised, all swaying hips and rhythm, out of my head.

  The soft sound of her voice as she sang the lyrics sunk hooks under my skin. And I could still feel the shape of her lips.

  My breath caught on the memory. Regardless, I couldn’t put off the inevitable. No matter how much I wanted the night to go on, it was over. I needed to take her home.

  I glanced over at her, hoping she’d say something to prolong the evening. Hoping in vain she might tell me she never wanted it to end. That she might give me some kind of indication of how she felt.

  She was halfway finished with her sandwich when she wrapped the last bit up and dropped it in the bag. “I’m ready when you are.”

  I nodded, but instead of turning on the car and heading out of the lot, I sat there, staring at her under the lamplight. A golden glow cast her in shadows. Her dark hair framed her face, and when she glanced over at me, I could see the nerves dancing in her eyes, in her half-smile as she said, “Thank you for bringing me tonight.” She shook her head. “It was . . . amazing.”

  My stomach twisted. “Life should always be full of amazing things, Penelope Ewe. Especially for you.”

  I pretended not to notice the way she cringed at the sound of her name. Mostly because I hated myself for it. All those years I allowed the practical jokes, pretending like they meant nothing. Not even to the girl they were directed toward.

  I wished I could take it all back. Find a way to erase the past and start fresh.

  “I don’t know about that,” she said, staring down at her nails.

  They were bright pink, and I ached to know what that meant. Pink was pretty, cheerful. Pink was good, right?

  “Well, I do,” I said.

  She glanced up at me from underneath a fan of dark lashes, and I thought, maybe it wasn’t too late. I’d devote myself to reframing her mindset, and I wouldn’t stop until I reversed the damage I caused. Until not a single ounce of negativity remained when she heard the sound of her name.

  “And what about you? Is that what life is like?” she asked, breaking through my thoughts. “Full of nothing but amazing things?”

  She was teasing. I could tell by the way her lips curled at the corners, but there was a seriousness in her tone I couldn’t ignore. And so I answered in kind.

  “Sometimes. At one time, yeah. When I was younger, before I joined the polo team. Before I got old enough that my dad started talking about my future. But lately . . .” I swallowed and stared out the windshield.

  “Lately,” she urged.

  “Lately, I think about where my life is headed. I wonder about the past four years and fear they were a waste. I’ve devoted so much time to something, and what if he’s right? What if it gets me nowhere? Is it worth risking my relationship with my family?”

  All the hours, the sweat, the hard work, and dreams. Soon, they’d mean nothing.

  “Because of your dad?”

  I nodded.

  “Just tell him, Topher. Not just that you’re taking the meeting with Bucknell. He already knows that. But tell him what you want. How you truly feel. Stand up to him.”

  “I already have. I’ve tried. I just don’t think he cares.”

  “He’ll care. And if he doesn’t, screw him.”

  I searched her eyes, wishing for her quiet strength. “Why does it feel so hard?”

  “Because most good things in life are hard. They’re never easy, are they? If they were, they wouldn’t be so rewarding.”

  I exhale, a steady stream of air like the hissing of a tire. “And if he cuts me off?”

  “Let him.”

  “What if he kicks me out of the house?”

  “Do you really think he’d do that?”

  Did I? I wasn’t sure.

  But he was certainly used to getting everything he wanted. He just took and took until there was nothing left. In business as well as his personal life. Just like he took Ms. Stone. He took all of Mom’s good years, her youth, then cheated on her. Just like he’d take mine. He’d drain me of every dream I ever had. The one thing I loved, just so his stupid legacy could live on.

  Even if he didn’t kick me out, I imagined not having somewhere to go back to on spring and summer break, having no support in case things went south, no financial backing. Nothing, despite having everything I’ve ever wanted handed to me my entire life. Could I make it on my own? What if he was right and I couldn’t? I’d been groomed to expect an affluent lifestyle when coaching would probably only ever keep me comfortable. Was that enough? Or would I find myself constantly wanting?

  I hated that he made me doubt myself, even though I was nothing like him. I didn’t want to chase money my whole life, but instead, I wanted to do something I loved. And suddenly, I no longer cared if he made good on his promise. Because I didn’t need his money or his house or his business. Not when I’d have my scholarship, and I’d get my degree. If I got injured, I’d cross that bridge when I came to it, but that was a risk I was willing to take. The truth was, I didn’t even like my father, and after what I learned about him this past year, I certainly didn’t respect him.

  “You’re right.”

&nb
sp; “I’m always right,” P said with a confidence I wished she’d exude all the time. It reminded me of Julie, and I wondered what she’d be like if, all these years, people would’ve given her even half a chance.

  “You’re a good friend; you know that?” I nudged her in the arm, heart aching when she flashed me a crooked smile.

  “Friends.” She nodded.

  “Unless you wanna be more.” I wiggled my brows like it was a joke to cover up the fact that I was feeling her out because I was entirely serious.

  Her cheeks bloomed bright red. “Kings don’t date peasants.”

  A flash of irritation stabbed in my chest. “Don’t call yourself that.”

  “It’s just a joke.”

  “A stupid one.”

  Her mouth opened, but I stopped her with a finger over her lips, feeling an electric jolt down to my bones at the touch. “You’re amazing, and you don’t give yourself enough credit. If you’d just open up and believe in yourself a little, you’d have half the boys in our class crawling on their hands and knees.”

  Laughter spluttered beneath my finger.

  I shot her a dark look. “I’m serious.”

  She reached up and clasped my wrist, gently pulling my hand away, and I let her. Mostly because the warmth of her hand over mine stirred my insides.

  “Boys like you don’t date girls like me. They fall for girls like Gabby Haines. Bubbly blondes that wear short skirts and cheer and spend inordinate amounts of time on their makeup and hair and—”

  “Not true,” I cut her off.

  “Pah!” A puff of air escaped her lips. “How can you even say that? The two of you have dated on and off for years.”

  “That’s just because . . .” I searched for words that wouldn’t make me sound like a jerk, but no matter how I cut it, my reasoning—the truth—made me sound like a douchebag. “It was easy.”

  I raked a hand through my hair with a low growl, unsure of what frustrated me more, the fact that she was right to stereotype me or that she was clueless in regard to how I felt about her. But then I thought about how I mentioned Julie in our tutor sessions, how I’d been talking to a girl I liked. Given our history, I couldn’t exactly blame P for thinking she’d be the last person I’d want.

  “I know how that sounds. It’s not like I didn’t like her, but I know Gabby. She’s predictable. With her, there are no surprises. I know what she expects of me and vice versa, and when your father is as demanding as mine, and you’re just struggling to hang on by your fingernails, you go with what works. With what takes the least effort.” My mouth twisted on the words. I was a regular Prince Charming.

  “So why’d you break up with her again?”

  “Because I’m tired of pretending to be something I’m not. Because I’m tired of easy. Because I want to start living an authentic life, and that starts with being honest with myself. I don’t love Gabby. I never have. And, yeah, I’m torn between wanting to stay Topher Elliot, King Royal, because it’s safe, and dying to be someone else. To be just Topher Elliot, whoever that is.”

  I glanced down to Penelope’s hands twisting in her lap, and I asked, “Does that make sense?”

  “I know a lot about wanting to be someone else.” She lifted her gaze once more and our eyes locked.

  “Greatest fear?” I asked.

  “To be seen.” Her throat bobbed. “You?”

  “To never really be seen at all,” I said in a husky voice. “But, P, there’s one problem with yours.”

  Her eyes dropped to my mouth. “What’s that?”

  I lifted my hand to the side of her face, placing it over her cheek. “I already see you.”

  Chapter 22

  PENELOPE

  My heart crashed against my ribs.

  Time slowed.

  Topher’s eyes were the bluest I’d ever seen them up close. I already see you. His words thrummed in my head and my heart. The raspy sound of his voice. The way he leaned in close until I could smell the scent of soap on his skin and remember the exact way it felt just a couple hours ago to kiss him.

  I was at a crossroads. Give him an inch and he'd surely close the gap and press his lips to mine again. Pull away and send a signal. Lose the moment—the chance—possibly forever.

  My head said to retreat.

  Because I’m a coward.

  Because no matter what he said, a boy like him could never like a girl like me.

  Because I was a liar.

  Because of Julie.

  A bright light blasted my retinas, and I flinched, squinting as I shielded my eyes with my arm and a deep voice barked, “Who’s there?”

  Through the beam of light, a man dressed in all black stood before us, flashlight gripped tightly in one hand while his beady eyes peered in at us. Embroidered on his chest was the word “security” in bold letters, and my pulse skipped. I told my father I was with Scarlett because I knew he’d say no to staying out this late with a boy. I also hadn’t wanted to explain what I was doing out with Topher, especially when I, myself, wasn’t even sure. How would I explain getting busted for loitering around in a private business parking lot?

  He frowned, his expression tight as the light hit Topher’s face before it loosened all at once. “Topher?”

  “Frank, what are you doing here?” Topher blocked the beam of light with his hand, and I exhaled, relieved that he knew this man and we weren’t in any kind of trouble.

  “Your dad’s been having some problems with stolen equipment, so he hired me to hang around for the next few weeks and keep an eye on things.”

  The static pop of a walkie drew my attention to the man's other hand, and a broken voice came through the line. I watched as the security guard raised it to his lips and said, “It’s just your son and his girlfriend.”

  Your son—it must be Mr. Elliot.

  My head spun. There was silence on the other end of the radio before a voice I recognized as Mr. Elliot’s asked, “What’s her name?”

  The security guard—Frank—lifted a chin in my direction. “What’s your name, kid?”

  My mouth turned to sand, my tongue leaden as I opened my mouth to speak and Mr. Elliot’s warning by the pool flashed in my head.

  “Penelope,” I rasped while my back pricked with sweat and the man echoed my name.

  Chapter 23

  PENELOPE

  Tell Topher to get home. Mr. Elliot’s response played on a loop inside my head as Topher drove in silence. While he was probably stewing over the missed opportunity for a kiss, I was internally freaking out over the possibility that his dad would make good on his promise.

  He wouldn’t, I told myself. Mostly because I needed to hear it.

  I glanced over at Topher out of the corner of my eye, and my thoughts drifted to the long string of texts on my phone. Maybe we were better off apart. After all, what would he think if he knew the truth? Would he see me or Julie as amazing, then? Or would he feel deceived, betrayed?

  When we rounded the corner and passed the Stop and Shop convenience store, I straightened in my seat and stared out the window. My house was only a couple blocks away, and as we approached, I felt him watching me, but I said nothing.

  When he pulled up to my house, he put the car in park, and I grabbed my bookbag in one hand, my cell in the other. Then because I couldn’t ignore him forever, I turned to him, wondering if this would be the last time I sat in his car. Homecoming was fast approaching and, even if his father didn’t “forbid” him from seeing me, then he’d know the truth. Part of me felt like I was just biding my time until the inevitable when this all blew up in my face, and I couldn’t help but wonder, if I told him the truth from the start, would I even be in this position?

  “Thank you. For everything,” I said. “I had the best time.”

  “Is it in your top ten best nights ever?”

  He grinned, and I suddenly regretted not kissing him again. Even if it would’ve been a mistake, it was probably the last chance I’d ever have.


  “Definitely top ten.” I flashed him a smile, even though I wasn’t feeling it, and placed my hand on the door handle. “Well, goodnight—”

  “Wait. P,” he reached out, “before you go . . .”

  “Yeah?” My pulse pounded.

  “Can I get your number?”

  There was a brief pause before his words registered, and my eyes widened. Fear rendered my voice useless as my mind raced, trying to come up with a plausible excuse for why I couldn’t do such a simple thing as give a friend my phone number.

  “I mean, we’re working together after school several days a week now,” he said, obviously taking my silence as rejection. “And we’re friends, right?”

  Did friends kiss friends like he kissed me?

  The thought knocked me off track and a beat of silence passed before I realized he was still waiting for an answer. “Uh, yeah. Right. Friends,” I said in a brittle voice.

  “So I only think it’s natural we’re able to get a hold of each other.”

  I swallowed. “Um, I don’t usually give out my number.”

  “P.” He rolled his eyes and wiggled his fingers, then pointed to the phone clutched in my hand. “Come on.”

  “I’m not allowed to talk to boys.”

  Topher snickered. “You’re so full of shit, P. Give me the phone.”

  And when I hesitated, he lunged forward, reaching for it.

  I pulled my arm back with a squeal, trying to keep it out of reach, but it was no use. The athlete in him was too strong. He was like a freaking monkey—too fast and his arms too long, and he caught me off guard.

  His fingers wrapped around it, but I wouldn’t let go. Pulse pounding like a jackhammer in my chest, he began to peel my fingers off one by one, like the arms of a starfish.

  A grunt of desperation bubbled from my chest. If he took my phone and opened up my texts or sent one from me to him to snag my number, I’d be screwed. He’d see that I’m Julie, and there wasn’t an excuse in the world that would save me.