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

by Melanie Marks

  I almost laugh out loud at poor Noah’s tortured, guilty expression, but then when he finally actually speaks, I almost blurt out confessing the honest, sincere truth to him because he says all soft and genuine and tender, “I feel bad, Peyton. Let me make it up to you. I know you like the guy—I heard you on the phone. And I saw you just now, the way you looked at him. I blew it for you and I hate that. Let me help you—please.”

  He’s so cocky! Like him having an interest in me is going to make another guy take a second look at me. Well, okay, maybe it would work, who knows? But I honestly, sincerely in no way want to kiss a fish.

  But now I’m back to not wanting Noah to know the truth. It would be beyond humiliating (not to mention, awkward) to let him know I faked liking a guy because I was all dazzled by his kiss, and incredibly hurt that he hadn’t even thought mine was ‘eventful.’ I mean, who wants to admit that?

  Well, not me, buck-o.

  I sigh all what-ya-gonna-do? But then I lay it on pretty thick. I mean, the dude didn’t like my kiss. So he can bite me. And be tortured. “Noah, relax. It’s over … he’s with Aspen now. Don’t worry about it. I’m just going to have to face it and move on”—then I add all sniffle-y and dramatic-like, “—somehow.”

  “Peyton—”

  Noah chases after me as I start to slog away. Slowly, he blocks my slogging/escape by pinning me against the lockers, but he doesn’t know what it does to my heart, him suddenly so incredibly close. So incredibly fantasy-inducing with his seductive stare and heat-filled lips.

  I swallow hard.

  I’m not used to being close to boys. And Noah is so, extremely, full-on male. It’s embarrassing how male I’m aware he is. Especially right now. This hot-blooded male that I’ve constantly fantasized about kissing and holding me tight. And now I can feel his hot Noah-breath, and the heat from his hot Noah-body. It’s making my world spin and everything inside me ignite in flames. I swear, I’m on fire. I want to grab him by his collar again and attack him—kiss him wild. Never stop.

  The thought, and him so incredibly close makes my knees go weak. I’m not even exaggerating. Not even a little. I have to hold on to the locker behind me to keep from toppling over. Breathe, Peyton.

  Meanwhile, Noah’s warm breath teases my lips.

  His passionate words explode my heart. “Look, you’re prettier than Aspen,” he says fervently, “—and way cooler. Spencer would be so lucky to have you as a girlfriend—just let me show him that.”

  His warm, rough hand touches my cheek, making me peek an eye open at him. (Yes, I’d squeezed my eyes shut.)

  Oh!

  His eyes are looking deep into mine.

  The way he’s staring at me all breathless and dreamy makes my body shiver with excitement. Is he going to kiss me? For a moment, I’m certain he is. I hold my breath, waiting for it. Hearing angels. But then suddenly it’s seems like—well, I don’t know. Like, he remembers that I’m his little ‘sister’—and that he saw me practically naked.

  He makes this little groan noise, drawing out a ragged breath. My heart slamming against my chest, he pushes himself away from the lockers—away from me.

  Now he’s standing at a tiny distance, just looking at me—like he doesn’t want to get too close. And he’s not sure what to do with me.

  He runs a hand through his hair. “Look, just think about it, okay?”

  But now he doesn’t sound so positive that he wants to go through with it.

  The bell rings and he seems relieved for the opportunity—or excuse—to have me disappear. He watches me go like he’s wondering—‘What the fork just happened?’

  I’m wondering it too.

  What was that???

  CHAPTER 17

  NOAH

  NOAH

  Of course when Peyton moved in with us I knew there would be changes. And I also knew that she hated us—all of us. But I had planned to change her mind about me. Be the perfect brother and melt her hurt heart with kindness. That was my plan. But now things are getting a little … complicated.

  It’s weird though, because they started out so easy—for me. Let me give you an example of Peyton:

  One Saturday I came home from hockey practice and there was sweet (though tried to be mean) Peyton in the kitchen, concocting something.

  I cocked my head. “What are you doing?”

  Her cheeks turned all pink. (Peyton blushes a lot.) She turned away from me, like she didn’t want me to see her blush, murmuring: “I don’t want to tell you.”

  I eyed around the kitchen, then my eyes trailed back at her. “You’re kind of messy.”

  “I’m making soap,” she mumbled.

  I raised my eyebrows. “Soap?”

  She nodded with a sheepish tiny grin, like she knew I’d think that was nuts, but she was basically okay with that.

  I laughed, but couldn’t complain. She smells sooo good and she makes the bathroom smell good. Who makes bathrooms smell good? My stepsister, that’s who.

  “Okay,” I told her, strolling away. “But make enough for me too.”

  See—that’s Peyton. She makes soap. And she stays home on Friday nights reading or doing science projects instead of going to parties. Well, that is when she’s not busy being a cheerleader.

  She’s just … good.

  So things have been easy for me.

  Well, until now. But now—holy smokes!! Now I’ve seen her practically naked. And I’ve kissed her super hot.

  Things have changed.

  CHAPTER 18

  Peyton

  Peyton

  All through first period, I’m oblivious to the world. A meteor crashing into our classroom? I wouldn’t notice. All I can think about is Noah. His hot stare. His eyes. His lips. His almost kiss.

  Sigh … Noah.

  CHAPTER 19

  Peyton

  Peyton

  After first period, Bianca reminds me about the cheerleader fundraiser Friday night at the mini-golf place near our high school. Groan. I do not want to go.

  It’s like Bianca can read my mind. “Summer’s not going,” she says through gritted teeth.

  She says it like it’s beyond annoying that Summer is the captain when she bails on activities. But come on, Summer only sees her dad, like … well, hardly ever. So, you can’t really hold it against her that she drops whatever she’s doing to see him when she can.

  “I may not be able to go either,” I tell her, as much to piss her off as because, well, I don’t want to go.

  “You have to go.” Bianca snaps out angrily, “You really shouldn’t even be on the squad. We only added you because—well, because”

  “Because I’m awesome,” I finish for her.

  She shudders her eyelids. “That’s a matter of opinion. But we already had a full squad before you came. It wasn’t really fair that you just got to barge in during the middle of the school year.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “Not fair to who?”

  ‘Cause face it, I only add to the squad. And if it’s not fair to anyone—then it’s only not fair to Bianca, because it took some of the attention off her. And, boy, let’s face it, she can’t stand that I get any attention. Especially not now that she witnessed me getting some from Noah. It still has smoke coming out of her ears.

  “Look, I’m the co-captain,” she snarls. “And you’re going to the mini-golf fundraiser. Period.”

  I really don’t want to go. Mostly because I don’t have any real friends here yet besides Summer. I mean, not ones that I’d feel comfortable tagging along with.

  Bianca seems to suddenly realize this. She smirks, and starts to say something catty and evil but she gets interrupted—(Ha!)—because suddenly Zoey skips up to me all bubbly and happy. (You know, sweet Zoey from the restaurant.) She gives me a teasing, good-natured ‘wow!’ gesture and smiles epically, “That was such a hot steamy kiss Noah planted on you last night at the restaurant”—she fans herself playfully—“Yowza!! We all had to hang out in the freeze
r after that hotness!!”

  Then skips away.

  Because she’s a busy gal—spreading sunshine.

  Bianca looks like she’s going to die. One, because she just heard that Noah kissed me—again. And two, because she is morbidly jealous of Zoey. I know I’ve gone on and on about how Bianca wants Noah (because she totally does); But Bianca has wanted Finn—Zoey’s boyfriend—since elementary school. Bianca is obsessed with Finn. So she hates Zoey. But I’m pretty sure Zoey doesn’t even know Bianca is alive.

  Bianca stares after Zoey with narrowed eyes, then she turns back to me, taking all her anger and hatred of Zoey out on me, since she can’t Zoey (‘cause like I said, Zoey doesn’t know she’s alive). Bianca snarls at me, “You think Noah is interested in you? You are so not his type. You’re just a shy little mouse. He feels sorry for you.”

  Pain slices through me, but I roll my eyes. “Why would he feel sorry for me?”

  She sneers, like it’s so obvious, “You’re afraid to even talk to boys.”

  True, but…

  I smile smug (well, try), totally fake like her words don’t sting. I point out: “I did more than talk to Noah at your party.”

  For a moment she has the smug knocked out of her. She can only silently glare at me with her mouth partially open. Then she totally changes the subject since I slammed her, big time, on that one. She snarls, “Don’t even dream of going to the fundraiser with Noah. He’s going with me—as my date.”

  I hadn’t even for one second thought of going with Noah. The crazy idea is … stupid. Noah doesn’t ‘mini-golf.’ And he’d never do it with me—or her.

  I draw out an incredulous breath, then raise my eyebrows skeptically. “Noah’s going with you? Does he know that?”

  Ohhh, I can tell I got her on that.

  She goes slightly red. “Not yet,” she admits. “He says he doesn’t do mini-golf. But he’ll come with me.” The smug is back in her smile. “I have my ways of getting what I want from Noah.”

  “Me too,” I announce. Well, lie. But it makes her smug smile drop to an angry scowl. So, score.

  She narrows her eyes at me. “I guess we’ll just see,” she says challengingly.

  “Yeah. I guess we will.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Okay, so that was incredibly dumb. Saying I could get Noah to go to miniature golf with me. Especially when experienced Bianca “has her ways” to get Noah to do what she wants. I don’t really ‘have a way’ of getting Noah to do what I want—that was all a total lie. In truth, I hardly know Noah. Less than a month ago, I didn’t even know him at all—never spoke a word to him. And this whole month I’d basically tried to be mean to him.

  So, no. I don’t ‘have a way’ with Noah.

  I slink down in my seat, trying to focus on my history teacher. I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my forehead. Okay, he is definitely talking, that much I can grasp. But that’s about it. I hear words, but they are basically ‘blah, blah, Noah, blah, miniature golf, blah, blah.’ And I’m pretty sure he didn’t really say the ‘Noah’ or ‘miniature golf’ parts. I’m unable to listen. ‘Cause all I can think about is I have to ask Noah out on a date—to miniature golf. Groan.

  I rub my forehead some more.

  If I could wait and ask him tomorrow, I could have time to work up a fitting explanation and plea—and wait for some sort of “opening” to broach the subject less awkwardly. But I don’t have the leisure of waiting until tomorrow, or waiting for some sort of miraculous “opening,” because I don’t want Bianca to get to him first—and face it, the girl works fast.

  The thought makes me shudder—Bianca and her fastness, and her “ways” to get Noah to do what she wants. Shudder, shudder.

  I glance over at Noah two seats away. My stomach flutters thinking about his kiss last night, his hot open mouth on mine. Whoosh! (That’s my breath, being taken away.) (And the rest of my brain goes with it—the little, tiny bit that’s left of it after his hungry kiss, and his awesome ‘pin’ this morning.)

  This is stupid! I can’t ask Noah on a date!!! I can’t even talk to him. And now he won’t even look at me since our awkward encounter this morning. Why would I go out of my way to make things more awkward?

  Then again … he did offer to be my fake admirer. (And I really wouldn’t mind if it led to another kiss or two. Or three … hundred.) And it would sure be soooo nice to show-up smug Bianca. (And did I mention, I wouldn’t mind some more hot kisses from Noah?)

  I lay my head on my desk, watching as Noah’s dark hair falls over his gorgeous long-lashed eyes as he takes notes on whatever our teacher is blahing about. Noah absently bites on his lips. (Ohhh, those lips!!!)

  I inwardly groan, then quickly scribble him a note. “Are you busy Friday night?”

  With trembling fingers, I pass Noah my folded question. He takes it with a tilted head and a curious gleam in his eyes.

  Oh my gosh! I may pass out!

  I hold my breath, feeling lightheaded as I watch Noah unfold the note.

  Just breathe, just breathe, just BREATHE!!!

  Noah’s eyebrows go up as he reads. My heart slams against my chest.

  I swear, I’m going to pass out.

  Noah stares at the note, his gorgeous brown eyes wide with surprise. Then I watch as a lazy grin slowly spreads across his yummy, tantalizing lips.

  He writes me back, “So, is this you having second thoughts? You want Spencer to see me into you?”

  I scribble back diplomatically, “This isn’t exactly about Spencer.” I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans and suck in my breath. Hesitantly, I add, “Well, it’s not about Spencer at all.”

  Noah reads my note and his eyebrows go up. He writes me back. “Then what IS this about?”

  The bell rings before I can answer—thank goodness. Because I can’t go through with this. I can’t explain about Bianca, and her ‘ways.’ Or me telling her I have my ‘ways’ too. Me lying.

  I grab my backpack and try to race out of the classroom door before Noah has a chance to notice I’m gone—and that I didn’t answer his question. I plan to avoid him for the rest of my life so we never, ever have to finish this awkward conversation.

  But d’oh! Noah is somehow to me before I’m out the door. He must have shot out of his chair like lightening the moment he saw me bailing.

  I wince from his presence (and his eyes that I can feel hovering on me), but I don’t look at him. Instead, I try to keep going, like I’m in a total hurry. But Noah doesn’t buy it. He partially blocks my way with his outstretched arm, leaning it against the wall.

  I freeze. But still, I don’t look at him. Instead, I stare at it—his arm. Stare and stare, my heart pounding and my cheeks sizzling and my insides exploding with humiliation. It’s racing through my veins, making me weak and dizzy and wish a hole would open in the ground and swallow me so I don’t have to do this—what he’s expecting: explain my note.

  Totally against my will, my eyes drift up to his face. Noah gives me a quizzical grin. It makes the air whoosh out of me and makes me even more weak—weak in the knees. Like I’m going to keel over. From Noah-exposure. And lack of air. And heart burst-ation.

  Still, even despite his blatant, obvious attention, I try to silently escape anyway—like ignore him. And his grin. Like I’m annoyed and confused and have absolutely no clue why he’s suddenly blocking my way.

  But as I start to walk around him, he places a warm hand on my shoulder. It stops my heart (and me) cold.

  I turn all mushy from his simple touch. Yet I cringe, now knowing I’m going to have to do it—talk to him. Explain.

  Noah seems to notice his hand on me is giving me a reaction. He just seems curious what the reaction is. He tilts his head.

  “What’s up, sis?” he asks, finally taking his hand off my shoulder—doing it deliberate-like. Like, Calm down, I’m taking my hand off, see?

  He raises his eyebrows. “What’s up with the note?”

  I swallow, so wanting to chicken ou
t. Lie. Deny. But I don’t. Instead I babble out brainlessly, “It’s about the fundraiser Friday night … and miniature golf—have you ever actually played?”

  Noah quirks an eyebrow and his lips do this amused side-tilt-thing. “Are you asking me on a date, Peyton?”

  My face is on fire. My ears too. I feel them sizzling. I look away from him. “Mm-hm.”

  He positions himself in front of my gaze, so he can see my eyes. “Was that a yes?”

  I draw out a long, dramatic breath. “Yes.”

  He grins, totally melting my heart and sending me into a quivering oblivion. I swear, oblivion. My brain is gone—no longer in my head or anywhere near me.

  Sparks shoot through my body as he says, “Then I accept.”

  CHAPTER 21

  I float to my next class in a daze. I have a date. With Noah.

  I have a DATE WITH NOAH!!!

  My very first date … and it’s with Noah!! (THANK YOU BIANCA!!!)

  But then only moments later, I get a text from Noah. ‘Okay, I’ve thought about this. For a minute—in class, when you asked me (well, sort of asked me)—I believed you. Well, sort of believed you. But this is really about Spencer … right? I mean, I heard you on the phone the other night—and I saw your cupcake-moves this morning. You really like the guy. Look, I’ve made it pretty clear, I’m willing to help you. I’ll even do mini-golf for you.’

  My stomach loops. Yet knots. I’m filled with conflicting emotions. All of them are mingling together, making me bananas. It’s sweet really, that he’s willing to help me. That he’s even willing to do mini-golf for me. That’s sweet, right?