Want To Hate You ... Too Bad I Love You

by Melanie Marks

  But Noah caught me struggling in the gym with the unwinding of the twinkly lights that I was assigned to unwind, and he stopped to help me, though he was on his way to hockey practice. In fact, he was late for his practice, yet when he saw me struggling … he sighed and stopped. (I’ve mentioned Noah is nice, right? And that he’s taken being a ‘brother’ to heart?—the teasing part and all.)

  So he said, “Need help, sis?”

  He said it with a huge grin, because I was getting all tangled and wrapped up in the lights and it was quite obvious I needed help. Like, major help.

  I was kind of stunned when he came over and helped me though. I’d just barely moved in with my dad (aka: Dad and his whole new super cool ‘family’—Spencer and his home-wrecker mom) I hadn’t been nice to him—at all. In fact, I’d been a total witch. Yet, he came over and patiently helped me—untangled me carefully with a grin, like I was his cute little puppy/sister that of course would get tangled in a cord. After all, I’d just come out from under a rock. Cords and stuff were new to me—just like dances and parties and kisses.

  It cracked him up.

  (By the way, I’m up on cords.) (Really!) (I just had a little trouble unwinding them. They were loooong and a total mess.)

  After untangling me, Noah patiently sat helping me untangle the unending tangles of cord. He was being super nice. It was baffling to me. I mean he was so … hot. Hot guys are stuck-up and mean … right? I didn’t actually know this (since, you know, I’d been living under a rock since middle school) but I’d read lots of teen books and seen teen movies. And I’d seen tons of pictures of my hot ‘stepbrother’ long before I met him (since I refused to go to my dad’s wedding or acknowledge his existence once he ditched my mom for a another woman, AKA—Noah’s mom) but I’d seen the pictures of Noah, and although they’d made my heart race, they’d also made me pretty certain he was stuck-up and we wouldn’t get along and it would be easy for me to hate him.

  But he was making that plan super hard. And doing it on purpose. And it seemed to make him laugh that I was trying to hate him.

  “I bet these will be pretty when you have them up in the gym,” he was saying. “They’re for the school dance right? I’ve seen you dance, by the way. You’re—wow.”

  Right then Bianca came by and caught us together—him helping me. It seemed to make smoke come out of her ears.

  She put her hands on her hips, looking extremely annoyed. “I thought you were too busy to help with the lights,” she snapped at Noah. “You’re never too busy to make-out with me, but when I ask for your help—wham! Such a busy boy.”

  A half grin played on his lips. “Well, I’m too busy to even make-out with you now.”

  That was his great comeback. Needless to say, it didn’t calm her down. It made her growl.

  Noah chuckled slightly at that. (My heart rejoiced and danced a jig. Him so unmoved by gorgeous always-gets-what-she-wants Bianca. Ha!)

  Bianca was getting so mad he finally tried to calm her down. A little. He drew out a breath and explained, “My sister needed my help.”

  “Your sister?!” she scoffed. “She’s only been a ‘sister’ to you for a week.”

  “And yet she’s my sister,” he shrugged. “And she needed help. So, I stopped to help her. She was going to strangle herself in the cords otherwise.”

  He got up. “But I’m late for practice, so I’m going to go.”

  He turned back to Bianca before heading out the door though. She seemed to hold her breath like she was expecting him to say something ultra-romantic or at least apologetic or flirty—something—but all he said was, “Help my sister—I don’t want her to die.”

  It was rather touching, really. Right? (Kinda???) But Bianca didn’t think so. (I think she wanted me to die.)

  Once Noah was out of earshot, she glared at me and snarled, “He flirts with everyone.”

  She said it like she was letting me know I wasn’t special.

  I blinked. “He wasn’t flirting with me, Bianca. He was helping me.”

  “Well, just don’t think you’re special to him,” she said. “Because I guarantee, you’re not. You’re so not his type.”

  She smirked, “And by the way, I can’t help you with the lights.” Her smirk grew to epic proportions, “I have a date—with Noah. He’s taking me to a party after his practice, and I have to look hot.”

  I already knew about the party and that he was taking Bianca. Noah’s room is right next to mine, I can hear his conversations through the wall. I heard him and Bianca doing FaceTime on the computer. She practically begged him to take her to the party, reminding him of all the gross things she did for him the night before. (Gag.) I really do not appreciate being able to hear his conversations—though it’s certainly giving me a quick education on the stuff I’ve been sheltered from for the past few years. (Gratefully.) (I mean, gratefully I’d been sheltered from it.) (Yuck-yyy stuff.)

  Bianca gave me a quick scowl before she left the gym, kind of letting me know she (absurdly) saw me as some sort of threat. Or maybe it was just that she knows how I feel about her. (I’ve hated her since kindergarten.)

  Like I said, unfortunately, my mom and Bianca’s mom are close friends. Which is probably how Bianca knew I never kissed a boy. (Thanks mom.)

  Okay, a little back history: My mom and I moved away from this area when my parents got a divorce. It happened during middle school and after that, I was homeschooled. So now—well—I’m abnormally shy of boys. But whatever. Hey, I got my first kiss out of the way. So there’s that. Of course now I’ll dream about it over and over for the rest of my life and no other boy will be able to compete with it. Ever. But whatever. It’s out of the way. So, thanks for that Bianca. Thanks sooo much.

  Not!

  CHAPTER 5

  While I’m still being a lazy bum in bed I get a text from Spencer. It asks if I want to take his shift at the restaurant tonight. He wrote: “I thought I’d try you first since at the party you talked about how much you like working there.” (Like, non-stop, a mile-a-minute.)

  I quickly text back: “Yes, I’d love the hours—thanks!!”

  Spencer: “You’re welcome. I can probably toss some of my other hours your way as well.”

  Me: “Thank you—I love you!!”

  Once I hit send, I gasp, suddenly worried he might take that wrong (since, you know, he tried to kiss me when I just told him a bunch of crazy gobbledygook). So, I quickly add, “—I mean, as a coworker.”

  Spencer: “Got ya.”

  Then he texts more, probably just to be clear, “I love you as a co-worker too. So relax. You can not sweat the kiss I tried and failed. Doesn’t happen often … but it happens.”

  I’m not sure what to say to that, so I just send him a smiley face. (You can never go wrong with a smiley face.)

  Well, and a cupcake—you can never, ever go wrong with a cupcake. So, I decide to make him one.

  While I’m in the kitchen baking up the chocolate frosted red-velvet cupcakes, Noah wanders into the kitchen with bed-head. Well, actually, his hair is always rumpled and messy/sexy/gorgeous like he just rolled out of bed. So, really, it’s rather awesomeness than bed-head, but still, I choose to call it bed-head.

  Especially this morning.

  Since he wasn’t impressed with my kiss. (Sob!)

  I want to throw cupcakes at him. (Or, okay, another kiss—but that’s just sad.)

  “’Morning sunshine,” I greet him teasingly, since he looks like he had zero sleep—like he was partying all night and just took a quick nap this afternoon so he can make it through his hockey practice that he’s apparently off to.

  “’morning,” he mumbles. He eyes the cupcakes, then lifts a brow. “Are the cupcakes for everyone?”

  ‘No!’ I want to tell him, ‘Go get cupcake-action from someone who can actually stir an ‘event’ in your picky mouth.’

  But I don’t say that, because he already thinks I’m a little girl—no use proving it by being a brat
.

  “Well, they’re for Spencer,” I tell him (yeah, being a brat—and, okay, a little girl) “—but you can have one.”

  He winced when I said ‘Spencer.’ So, for the briefest of seconds my heart soared and I was all—yay! He doesn’t like that I’m making Spencer cupcakes … he cares (and is maybe slightly jealous)—a least just a little.

  But, alas—no.

  He rubs the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. “About Spencer—” he starts to say.

  But then a horn honks outside and it’s obviously his ride and he’s late. He clomps his shoes on without tying them, then grabs one of the cupcakes shoving it in his mouth as he quickly heads for the door. “Mmm,” he says about the cupcake, then gives me the tiniest look, “We’ll talk later, okay?”

  Then he’s gone, out the door.

  Unfortunately—(kill me now!)—I figure I know what he was going to say. That Spencer—the guy I had gushed about on the phone last night forever—he hooked up with another girl.

  Noah wasn’t jealous about me making Spencer cupcakes … he felt sorry for me.

  Groan.

  CHAPTER 6

  I end up seeing Noah a lot sooner than I expected. I mean, since I had planned to hide from him—for the rest of my life. But no. He and some college-aged looking skank that I’ve never seen before come into the restaurant and get seated in my station. When I see that happen, I do a face-palm.

  Admittedly, my station has the best view—the ocean. But come on! I can not catch a break. I long for the guy. Long for his hands to tangle in my hair again, and his hot mouth to—well, do what it’s doing to her, Miss Mouth-action.

  Inwardly groaning, I slog over to them. “Can I take your order?”

  Noah gives me a semi-sympathetic/wholly-amused glance at my complete monotone—and gritted teeth. But he doesn’t say anything about it. Though, really, his smirk says it all. (Grr!)

  “What are your specials?” his gorgeous mouth-actiony college-age girlfriend asks.

  I hate her. So much! Noah seems to realize this. Maybe because I shoot her ice daggers with my eyes. He breathes out a laugh. “Just bring us a pizza,” he says, “—with everything on it, and a pitcher of root beer. And chili-cheese-fries for an appetizer.” He winks at me, “—I’m a big spender.”

  And a big jerk, I think. But what I say out loud is, “Well, I hope you’re a big tipper.”

  I say it under my breath though, more like a mutter. Only he hears. Obviously. Because he says with a teasing smile, “We’ll see how you do.”

  His girlfriend speaks up at that—having no idea I’m his stepsister and that she should maybe kiss my butt—she says all annoyed-like, “—yeah, you’ve been rather rude.”

  I grunt at that and walk away.

  Which makes Noah laugh.

  (My grouchiness always makes him laugh. Apparently, my bad moods are hilarious. Who knew?)

  When I come back with their pizza and I’m placing it on the middle of their table, guess who walks into the restaurant?—Spencer. He’s holding hands with Bianca.

  Noah immediately follows my gaze, and I see him wince when he spots the cuddly couple. With a tiny moan-noise, he sets his jaw.

  Great, of course, he gets the wrong idea. He mistakes my stare as one filled with hurt and deep pain and longing, but really I was just thinking, ‘Maaan, I should have brought Spencer’s cupcakes to work with me.’ But I hadn’t expected to see him—since, you know, he asked me to take his shift. But, of course, he’s not here to work. Or even to eat. He’s just here to pickup his paycheck.

  Anyway, Noah immediately takes my non-cupcake expression as sadness. He gives me a tiny sympathetic look. (Kill. Me. Now.)

  I just roll my eyes at him. I mean, what can I say?

  I plop down their pizza quickly and scurry away without a word. I guess no tip for me. But whatever. My face is on fire.

  Why does he always manage to make me feel like I’m twelve?—how does he manage that? I mean, here I am at work. I have a grown-up job. One that everyone at school covets. (Well, lots of them do.) Yet now I feel like … well, a little kid sister.

  I don’t want to feel like that around him. And I don’t want him to see me like that. I want him to want me.

  “Sorry that we’re here.”

  I jump at the unexpected voice.

  My heart pounding, I whirl around to find Noah standing behind me. Seeing him, I practically faint. (The boy does dramatic things to me.)

  Still, it’s rather shocking that he followed me. I mean, he’s on a date. Getting serious mouth-action. Yet he left Miss Skank; Miss Mouth-Event. (Whimper.)

  So, it’s strange that we’re here—together—in the back hallway—when I just served him a delicious pizza and he could be watching the awesome view and eating awesome pizza and having all kinds of awesome pleasure to his awesome picky mouth.

  But no, instead he followed me to the lovely back hallway and caught me pressing my forehead against the wall. (Could this day possibly suck any worse???)

  ANYWAY, his unexpected voice had made me jump—which made him grin. Of course. Though he’s trying to hide it, since he obviously followed me back here to apologize—not laugh at me. But, hey, he can’t help it. I’m apparently a clown. Or anyway, a sad, sad joke.

  “Sorry that we’re here,” he says again, “—and that you had to wait on us.”

  He glances a distracted brief second across the crowded restaurant to the gorgeous girl he came in with. I never saw her at school, ever. I swear I bet she’s in college, all experienced and ‘event’ making. (I mentioned I hate her, right?)

  He glances back to me and ducks his head. “Sorry, I couldn’t talk her into going somewhere else. I owed her dinner—and she loves this restaurant. Lucky you to work at such a popular place.”

  He says it teasing.

  I grimace. “Yeah, lucky me.”

  “Anyway,” he says, “That’s not the only thing I came over here and caught you banging your head against the wall about,”—he grins faintly at that. But then he goes on sounding all sincere and truly apologetic and slightly uncomfortable—“I’m also sorry about last night. When I dragged you away from the party. I saw Spencer almost kiss you and I misinterpreted that—totally. I thought you didn’t want the kiss—”

  Probably because I jumped away with a yelp and terrified look on my face.

  Noah goes on, “Sorry about that—dragging you away from the party—and Spencer. I guess I might have messed things up for you with him—when I did that. Also, he had texted me right after, and asked me what was up with that, and I told him you were shy and maybe not ready to date yet. Sorry, I didn’t know at the time you were all into him … then I saw him later last night at the other party I went to and I was going to explain to him that I was wrong—that you were apparently more than ready to date him—since I heard you on the phone with Summer saying that. So I was going to tell him I made a mistake, but … I was too late. He was already with another girl, Aspen.” He gestures with a grimace towards the happy, cuddly couple—Spencer and Aspen standing all snuggly together as they talk with some of my co-workers in the entrance of the busy kitchen.

  Noah glances sideways to me with a wary gaze. “Sorry about that. I feel like it’s my fault—that—” he nods to them again “—you know, them together. But Peyton, if you want him, you can probably still get him. They can’t be that tight yet. I mean, okay, they look pretty tight, but … it’s probably all my fault. I led him to believe you were shy and not into dating. But I can change that. Fix it—”

  “No, you’ve done enough, thanks,” I mutter.

  I don’t bother to sound super bitter about it, since well, he kind of did me a favor and everything—but, well, I don’t exactly want him to know that. Because it would require me admitting the phone call had been, you know, fake.

  Also, it would let him know I was all tortured about his kiss. That it had been a total ‘event’ for me, even if it had been nothing to him. It would make
him feel even more sorry for me. More than he already feels. Which is tons. Obviously. Since he left Miss Mouth.

  He scrubs a hand over his face. “Come on—Peyton, I’m sorry. Look, I won’t talk to him—nothing lame like that. We’ll just show him that you’re not really that shy, and you are into dating.”

  “You mean, like, fake date?” I groan, “Yeah, ‘cause that’s so not lame.”

  He grins at my sarcasm. “Look, I’ll do whatever you want, Peyton. You want to get him?—I’ll help you.”

  I scoff. “No, I think you’ve done more than your share of ‘helping’ me.”

  He does a tortured groan. “Peyton.”

  I try my hardest not to grin, but let’s just reassess: If I’d known Spencer was coming, I would have given him a cupcake—and if I knew Aspen was going to be with him, I would have given her a cupcake as well. So, poor Noah. His sympathy is sweet, but misguided. Still, I don’t correct him. Because I’m an evil stepsister. (With an ‘uneventful’ mouth.) (Grrr!) Plus, don’t forget all those other reasons. (Better reasons.)

  Noah gives me a questioning look, then starts to walk away—back to his Mouth-Action—but at the same moment he’s leaving, Spencer starts coming down the hallway, and suddenly—whoa!!!—I mean, OH. MY. GOSH!!! Holy smokes!!—Suddenly, Noah puts his face into the curve of my neck!

  Tingles rush through me. I’m seriously on fire. Holy smokes!!!! Noah’s gorgeous, hot face is in my neck, INHALING. “You smell sooo good,” he murmurs. (Loudly.)

  Once Spencer is in the owner’s office and closes the door, Noah finally comes up for air.

  “Sorry,” he says with a sheepish grin. “I didn’t expect to like that so much.”

  He laughs at my stunned expression. A huge grin spreading on his lips, he explains: “Look, I’m sorry about messing things up for you with Spencer. Just now—what I was doing—I was just trying to help you out.”