The Boy I Hate

by Taylor Sullivan

  He brushed past her, not waiting for an invitation before stepping into her apartment. “I have to piss. Where’s your bathroom?”

  She made a face at his choice of words, but decided quickly against making a comment, and turned swiftly toward the hall. For the next three days, she was stuck with him. Three thousand miles, and she was determined not set off on the wrong foot. “It’s down the hall.”

  She wrapped her arms around her belly and walked in the opposite direction toward the window. This was a bad idea, she could feel it in her bones. Renee had said he’d changed, but she thought in a good way. If anything, he was worse! Gruff, callous, entitled. Though maybe a bit rougher. His jeans were a weathered blue, roughed up in the way that was fashionable these days, and his shirt was gray, form fitting, and indicated that he still had the body he was known for in high school. But now he had a scruffy shadow of a beard that matched his messy surfer-boy style.

  Though it wasn’t his looks that made Samantha uncomfortable. It was the way he acted—as though he owned the place. As though it was his world, and she just existed in it.

  He walked out of the bathroom some time later, wiping his hands on his back pockets, even though she knew she’d hung up a towel that morning.

  “Is this your luggage?” he asked, gesturing to her suitcase in the corner of the room.

  She nodded, but before she could add that it was only the beginning, he lifted the bag up to his shoulder and headed for the front door.

  “Wait!” she shouted, maybe a tad more frantically than she’d intended.

  He turned on his heels, his eyes wide open with a “what the hell is wrong with you?” expression.

  “The sculpture,” she finally managed to spit out. “I need help getting it downstairs.”

  “The sculpture?” he repeated slowly, as though he didn’t quite understand what she was telling him.

  She turned on her heels, not bothering to explain, and headed for her studio. “It’s this way.”

  A minute later, they stood in the middle of the room, Tristan’s eyes wide, taking in the three foot tall, two foot wide, bubble-wrapped creation. It was the best she could manage given its shape, but she had to admit, wrapped up like this, it did look rather crazy.

  “And we’re bringing that with us?” he managed to ask.

  “Yes.” She nodded.

  He bit his lip, as though trying to make his mind up about something, and shrugged. “Well, okay.” He set her suitcase to the ground, stepped toward and lifted the sculpture a few inches. He quickly set it back down and stepped backward. “Shit. What’s in there? Steel?”

  She scrunched up her nose, knowing it was heavy. But seeing that it was too heavy for Tristan made her nervous. How the hell would they get it downstairs? “Here, let’s lean it on its side. I’ll grab one end, you grab the other.”

  Six years earlier

  “Why on earth would I trust you, Tristan? I know who you are; I’ve seen what you do!”

  His eyes narrowed, but he wouldn’t budge from his spot blocking her on the branch. “For someone who doesn’t know me, you sure know a lot.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I don’t have to know you. I know all the people you’ve hurt, and that’s enough.”

  “Like who?”

  “Veronica Ward. Jenny Chavez. Sophie Miller. Need I go on?”

  “Do you always believe what people tell you, or only when it involves me? I’m curious.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means, check your sources, sweetheart.” He pushed back off the branch, causing the whole thing to rock backward and cover her in water.

  She held on for dear life, watching him swim away toward the center of the lake, damning herself for coming out here at all. “Are you just going to leave me here?” she screamed.

  “I haven’t decided,” he said, stopping ten feet away. “What did they tell you?”

  “You’re holding me hostage now?”

  He shrugged.

  She clenched her jaw. “Fine. If you must know, I’ll tell you. But it’s the same thing every time: you stringing them along, making them think they have a chance with you, then turning around to be a complete dick! And for your information, Tristan, I don’t need to check my sources. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. It’s not like it’s a big secret; you display your dirty laundry out for everyone to see!”

  He swam toward her, taking only two strokes to cross the distance. His bare chest pressed against her legs, his eyes wide as though he needed her to see him. “You’re wrong. You think just because someone gets hurt that’s my fault? It may sound arrogant, but I can’t prevent a girl from falling in love with me.” He shook his head. “I can’t prevent her from climbing in my bed, loving me. But they only think they love me, Sam. They don’t. Just like you, they hardly know me… They love the idea of me. The fairy tale version that’ll never exist. They convince themselves they love me, and that’s not my fault.”

  His arms relaxed a little, but he stayed right there, looking into her eyes, never faltering. “If I’m nice, if I smile the wrong way, or God forbid give them my phone number, I’m suddenly leading them on, and it’s bullshit.”

  He pushed off her legs, turning to lean his back on the fallen branch. “Jenny and I kissed one time at a party. We were both drunk and I kissed her.” He looked over. “Does that mean I owe her my future?”

  She swallowed. She’d never been spoken to this way before. Yet she’d never thought of it from his perspective either. She didn’t even know any of these girls, but she’d believed everything they’d said without question. She’d believed everything passed around the gossip circles she normally tried to stay out of. But now, hearing his side of things, all he had told her that she’d never considered, she couldn’t even blame him for being angry.

  She thought about Steven, about him declaring his love four years ago, after knowing her for two weeks. How he wanted more, even though she’d only been a friend to him. That wasn’t her fault. Yes, you can’t help the people you fall in love with, but you also can’t help the people who fall in love with you. She looked down at her fingers, shaking her head both at the fact she’d judged him unfairly, but also because she agreed with him. “No,” she finally whispered. “You don’t owe her anything.”

  His brow lifted as though her admission surprised him, and he turned to face her, studying her, as though wondering if what she said was what she really believed. When he finally spoke again, his voice was low and rough, almost a whisper. “Do you forgive me?”

  She tilted her head to the side, the corner of her mouth lifting involuntarily because after all that, he’d brought it back full circle. After all that, he wasn’t asking her for the apology he probably deserved. He was asking for her forgiveness. Because he didn’t dwell on who wronged him. He worried more about how he’d wronged her.

  “Yes.”

  Present Day

  “Do you want to go first, or should I?”

  Samantha’s face was red with exertion, her back already aching under the weight of the sculpture. They’d only just made it into the living room, which meant they still needed to make it down the stairs, through the courtyard, and to the front of the building where his car was parked. “You,” she said on a winded breath. “I’ll follow.”

  He nodded quickly, silently agreeing with her decision, and turned around, carefully easing his back into the stairwell. He adjusted his grip on the bubble wrap, lifting the sculpture around a sharp corner like a professional furniture mover, and took the first step backward down the stairs. “Easy now.”

  She followed after him, her jaw flexed with the weight pulling at her shoulders. But she wouldn’t let him see her struggle. Not now, not ever. Even it if ripped her arms right out of their sockets.

  They shuffled down the steps one at a time, through the courtyard, and to the front of the building. He finally lowered the sculpture to the ground a few feet away, where Samantha released the weight, mayb
e with a little more oomph than she’d intended, and stepped backward.

  She pulled in a few deep breaths before standing, replenishing the oxygen she’d lost on the flight downstairs.

  “You’re stronger than you look, Smiles.” He grinned, pulling his keys from his front pocket and hanging them on his finger. “I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

  Samantha straightened, resisting the urge to snatch the keys out of his cocky hand. She looked down the row of cars, inwardly cringing at how much farther they still had to go. “Which one’s yours?”

  His lips lifted. He stepped forward shaking his head and unlocked the door to the light blue ’67 Ford Mustang just in front of them.

  She vaguely remembered it—from long ago. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “About what?” he asked.

  “About that.” She gestured her chin toward the car. “We’re not driving all the way to New York in that—are we?”

  He moved to lean his hip against the taillight, and placed a pair of aviator glasses on his face. “That’s the plan, sweetheart. Is that a problem?”

  She pressed her lips together at the endearment. “We’re driving over three thousand miles,” she stated. Reasonable. Let’s all be reasonable. “In a car that’s fifty years old?”

  “And?”

  “Don’t you think it would be wise to take a more reliable form of transportation?”

  He shrugged.

  Oh, dear God! She turned toward her apartment and wiped her hand over her face. “You know what—here, let me get my car. It’s not very big, but—”

  “Greta”—he tapped hard on the back fender of the Mustang—“hasn’t let me down yet.” He popped the trunk, lifting it all the way open. “I’ll ignore the fact that you insulted her.”

  Samantha narrowed her eyes, her heart pounding with the need to punch him. “You’re just as sweet as I remember.”

  He huffed out a laugh, pulling the glasses from his face, and resting one finger on his bottom lip. “Oh yeah? And what do you remember, Samantha?”

  6

  Chapter Six

  Six years earlier

  “Hang on, Sam, a little bit longer, we’re almost there.”

  Samantha clung onto Tristan’s neck, their heads bobbing up and down from each pull of his breaststroke. How he’d convinced her to do this was beyond her. She’d never even touched Tristan before, and now only the thin, wet fabric of her bathing suit separated them from being skin to skin.

  Maybe it was guilt that made her agree. Guilt over believing every bad thing she’d ever heard about him since middle school. Or maybe it was because the thought of making it back by means of the tree branch made her bottom ache… But if she was being honest with herself, being this close to Tristan Montgomery made her feel alive. He did something to her, something exciting and nerve racking. But it wasn’t just that. He made her think, he challenged her in every way possible, and she loved it.

  As they approached the small, rocky landing of the shore, she set her feet on the ground, making the rest of the ten or so feet on her own. Tristan was right beside her, his tan back glistening in the faint light of the moon.

  Tristan sat down on the rocky beach a few feet away. Long wisps of his hair clung to his forehead before he pushed them back, revealing a soft, contagious grin. He leaned back on a large rock, using it as a pillow, and looked up at the stars.

  But he said nothing, just lay there, looking into the sky. Samantha stood beside him, her arms wrapped around her middle, wondering what to do. Going back to the cabin was an option, back to Renee and dry clothes, but for some reason, she didn’t want to. She didn’t want this night to end—not yet.

  Gazing up at the sky, she marveled at the millions of stars that were normally impossible to see. She glanced down at the spot beside him, knowing it was a bad idea, but finally picked an area to sit.

  They were both quite for a time, absorbed in the magic of the evening when he finally spoke. His voice soft, breathy, mysterious. “This is my favorite,” he whispered.

  She turned to look at him, puzzled by this new side of him she’d never noticed before. “What is?”

  “This. Seclusion. The quiet… I can actually hear myself think.”

  She swallowed. “And what are you thinking about?” She laid her head beside his. Too close. Not touching, but close enough that the pounding in her heart increased a little.

  “Not much.” But the way he said it, with the heaviness in his voice, she knew it was the opposite. Tristan Montgomery was thinking about a lot. She only wished she knew what it was.

  She turned back to the sky, where the night was so dark it offered a narrow patch of privacy, but she said nothing at all for a good ten minutes. It wasn’t awkward though, even though she thought it should be, lying next to the boy she’d hated for as long as she could remember. She couldn’t figure it out, because sometimes she felt uncomfortable with Steven, and they’d been friends for nearly four years. She played with a rock with her fingers, rubbing the soft edges against her palm. Maybe her calmness was because Tristan affected her more than she cared to admit. Maybe for the first time in her life, she was enjoying herself without the worry of tomorrow.

  Tristan finally turned to her, adjusting himself sideways on the rock until he faced her. As if they were lying on a bed, instead of the beach of the lake they’d crawled out of. “You have a good vibe about you, Sammie Smiles. You relax me, and that doesn’t happen very often.”

  Her stomach tightened, and she took a deep breath before speaking. “I relax you?” she asked, reluctantly turning her head to face him. She hated the effect he was having on her, but loved it at the same time. He causes a delicious bundle of contradictions to roll around inside her. A push and pull like she’d never felt before.

  “Yeah.” The corner of his mouth lifted, but he didn’t say anything else. He just lay there, so close she could feel his breath on her face, so close she could feel the heat radiating off his skin.

  She turned back to the sky, needing to put distance between her and the boy she wasn’t sure if she hated any longer. She needed more than that; she needed to get up, go back to the cabin, and put herself to bed. But she couldn’t make herself do it. She couldn’t convince her body to move, no matter how hard she tried. No matter how loud her internal voice yelled, she couldn’t move. Even though she knew she should, even though no good ever came of girls who sat too close to Tristan Montgomery. Because she knew that if she did, if she got up and walked back to the cabin, this moment would never come again.

  “I have the same problem as you,” she stated. She wasn’t sure why, because there was no reason to share such a thing, but her voice came again, uneven and vulnerable. “With a boy, anyway.” She hesitated for a moment, her fingers playing with the rocks by her side. She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to talk about Steven, but she did. “He wants to date me. I just don’t know what to tell him. All our friends expect us to get together. I mean, he’s so persuasive—even I expect us to end up together, some days…” She turned to Tristan, too curious about his reaction to keep the distance any longer. “But at the same time, I don’t know what to say.”

  His brows furrowed, and he reached out to brush a strand of hair back behind her ear. The action caused goose bumps to run the length of her body, but he acted like it was something he did all the time, like it wasn’t the most intimate thing she’d ever experienced in her entire life. “Do you like him?”

  She swallowed, because a tight ball of something had lodged itself in her throat. “Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don’t.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because—” She shook her head, unsure why she was confessing all this. “Because he’s my best friend. He’s been there through everything. I just…”

  “You don’t like him like that.”

  She bit her lip, wondering how he’d known what she was going to say before she said it. “Yeah… I guess that’s it.”

  �
�Don’t sell yourself short, Sammie Smiles. Don’t settle for anything less than what you want.” He ran his thumb across her chin, touching her in such a comfortable way you’d think they’d been friends for years. “Tell him the truth.”

  “I can’t. I don’t want to ruin our relationship.”

  “So you’d rather give up on what you want to make him happy?”

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying.”

  “Then what are you saying?”

  “I just don’t know what to say.”

  “Tell him…” His eyes trailed down her face, stopping at her lips. “That you met another guy. A guy who’s trying damn hard to be a gentleman right now.”

  He met her eyes again, as though trying to read her thoughts. “Have you ever been kissed before, Samantha?”

  She turned away, too shocked by the turn in conversation to get her mind to focus. “Why does that matter?”

  “Because I need to know.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.” He touched her cheek gently with his fingertips, easing her face back toward him. “If this is your first time, I want it to be unforgettable.”

  Her chest rose and fell with each breath. She was sure it was visible, but there was no point in trying to hide it now.

  He smiled. “You have no idea, do you?”

  “No idea about what?”

  He pushed himself to his elbow. “How goddamned sexy you are.”

  She covered her face, wanting to hide away with embarrassment, but he reached out softly and brushed her hands aside. “You’re beautiful, Samantha, but I think what amazes me most is the fact that you don’t know it.”

  He leaned over, his forearm baring all his weight. “I normally don’t ask, I normally don’t have to, but I’m trying damned hard to keep my promise. I want to kiss you, Samantha.” His mouth moved slowly toward hers. “Now’s your chance to tell me you don’t want me to.”

  She looked up into his eyes, her heart pounding like a wild stallion, but no matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried to make her lips form the words, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t say no. She wanted Tristan to kiss her, even though an hour earlier she would’ve been horrified by the thought. But in this moment, right now, it seemed like she couldn’t live if he didn’t.