Hate to Love You

by Jennifer Sucevic

  “I don’t mind.” Growing more serious, she says, “You come first. Always.”

  One side of my mouth hitches. She doesn’t have to tell me that. “I know. But still, don’t cancel your date. I’m pretty tired and was planning to hit the sack early.”

  Uncertainty flickers across her face. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” Reaching over, I give her fingers a little squeeze and search her face. “You seem a lot more Zen. I was afraid to tell you about Dad and Bridgette. I was worried that it might push you over the edge.”

  Like it did me.

  Her expression turns thoughtful. “I haven’t mentioned it before, but I’ve been working with a therapist for about a month, and it’s really helped me to see things with more clarity. Our marriage didn’t just fall apart overnight. It had been slowly eroding for years, and I chose not to repair it.” She searches my eyes and adds, “He may have been the one who walked away, but I’m not sure I blame him for that anymore. I think he did us both a favor.”

  Her admission catches me completely off guard. I’ve always blamed my father for leaving. Not once did I ever think she brought this on. He fell in love with someone else and left us. I’m happy for her and glad she’s moving on, but I’m not at that point yet.

  And I’m not sure when I’ll get there either.

  “I’ve also started practicing yoga and meditation.”

  When I just stare, she cracks a smile. I’m having a difficult time imagining her meditating. Or doing the downward dog.

  “In fact, there’s a seven o’clock class tomorrow morning.” Her smile widens. “You’re welcome to join me.”

  “That sounds interesting, but I’m going to take a hard pass on that. I plan on sleeping in until at least ten.”

  She shrugs. “Maybe another time.”

  “Definitely.” I’ve avoided yoga like the plague. I like high-energy cardio like kickboxing and Zumba. The thought of sitting quietly and holding poses doesn’t appeal to me. Although, for Mom, I’d give it a try.

  “You know, I wouldn’t have thought that yoga and something as simple as meditation could help so much, but it does. I feel so much better when I’m finished. More centered. Like I’m letting go of all the anger and sadness that has been weighing me down and focusing on the future and all the positives in my life.”

  I blink. This woman is seriously starting to scare me. “You sound like a hippie.”

  Not taking offense, she chuckles. “I’m starting to think that hippies might be onto something. What I’ve learned through this experience is that you can’t hold onto anger. It’ll eat you alive if you do.”

  My mom is blowing my mind with all this insight, and I’m not sure how to feel about it. Both of my parents are morphing into people I no longer recognize.

  “I know you’re angry with your father, but he loves you. Even though a lot in our lives has changed, that’s one thing that never will. Don’t cling to the past, Natalie. Nothing good ever comes from it.”

  I glance down again at the swirling pattern in the granite countertop and sigh. “I don’t know, Mom.” When she opens her mouth to argue, I cut her off. “I’ll give it some thought.” Maybe.

  “Good. I hate to see you so upset.” Her eyes search mine. “Are you sure you don’t want me to change my plans? I don’t mind. I’m totally up for a girls’ night.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I’ll be fine. Maybe some time alone to think about everything will do me some good.”

  “It certainly can’t hurt.”

  Thirty minutes later, we’ve finished dinner and are cleaning up the kitchen when the doorbell rings.

  “Why don’t you get that while I load up the dishwasher,” Mom says.

  I pad on stocking feet to the entryway and open the front door.

  My eyes widen at the sight that greets me. “What are you doing here?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Brody

  Her response makes me grin. Which I’m sure she doesn’t appreciate. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit this is precisely the reaction I was expecting. Although, given the time we spent together the other night, I’d hoped for a warmer reception.

  Guess not.

  Looks like I’m back to square one with this girl.

  I throw my arms wide. “Now, is that any way to greet your boyfriend?”

  “Fake boyfriend,” Natalie fires back.

  When she doesn’t invite me in, I angle my body against the doorframe. “You stopped answering my texts. Don’t you know that it’s girlfriend etiquette 101 to respond immediately to all calls and texts?” I reach out and casually flick the tip of her nose.

  Eyebrows lowering, she bats my hand away like it’s a pesky fly. “And you didn’t take that as a hint? Most guys would.”

  I place a hand over my heart and give her my best wounded stare. “Ouch. That hurts.”

  “Doubtful.” She slowly runs her tongue across the front of her teeth. “How did you find me?”

  I grin and say lazily, “It wasn’t all that difficult. I can be fairly resourceful when I need to be.”

  Her expression flattens as she crosses her arms over her chest. The cottony material of her shirt stretches taut, emphasizing the roundness of her breasts rather nicely. My eyes drop momentarily.

  Natalie clears her throat, and my eyes jerk to hers. A slight blush stings her cheeks. Her fingers grip the door as she drags it shut. “Well, it was great seeing you. Thanks for stopping by.”

  I flatten my hand against the wood as she closes it in my face. “What? You’re not going to invite me in after I came all this way to see you?”

  “Nope.” There’s not even a drop of hesitation in her voice.

  “Natalie? Who’s at the door?”

  A tall, slender woman with a medium-length, dark bob walks out of the kitchen with a dishcloth in her hand. A smile touches her lips when she sees me loitering in the doorway.

  “Hello.” Curiosity fills her eyes as they slide from mine to Natalie. Because there’s such a striking resemblance between the two women, I’m guessing this must be her mother.

  When Natalie remains stoically silent, the older woman asks, “Is this a friend of yours from school?”

  “No,” Natalie bites off. Her face tightens as she gives me the evil eye.

  If I were more adept at reading subliminal messages, I’d have to wager that Natalie wants me to say that my unannounced appearance on her doorstep is a mistake. Wrong house or something along those lines.

  Now, am I going to let Natalie off the hook and invent some cockamamie excuse before slinking back to my truck?

  Hell, no.

  This situation is much too tempting for me to resist.

  “Actually, I’m the boyfriend.” I give Natalie’s mom my most charming smile.

  Not only do Natalie’s eyes widen to the point of looking like they might fall out of her head, but she squeaks out some unintelligible response that I can’t make heads or tails of.

  Pushing past my slack-jawed girlfriend, I thrust my hand toward the older woman. She looks equally shocked by what I’ve just revealed. “Brody McKinnon. Nice to meet you, ma’am.” Of course, I’m going to trot out my best manners.

  “Karen,” she says, still looking surprised. “Natalie’s mother.” Her brow furrows. “Brody McKinnon?” She slants a questioning look at her daughter before her gaze pins mine again. “The same Brody McKinnon who plays hockey at Whitmore?”

  I give her a full-wattage grin that makes my dimples flash. Besides Natalie, I haven’t met a woman who doesn’t go all soft and gooey at the sight of them. Hopefully, that’s not a family trait. I want this woman to like me. “Yup, that’s me.”

  Karen blinks a few times like she’s trying to play mental catch-up. “And you’re going out with Natalie?” She says this as if it can’t possibly be true.

  A chuckle slips out, and I sling an arm around Natalie, tugging her close. “Sure am.”

  “Well, that’s very strange b
ecause Natalie hasn’t mentioned a word about it. How long has this been going on?”

  Natalie gives me a well-honed death stare—one that nearly shrivels my balls—and grits, “It’s more of a recent development.”

  If the look on Natalie’s face is any indication, I’m going to pay dearly for letting the cat out of the bag. Knowing this, I still can’t bring myself to regret my decision to seek her out. It’s not like I didn’t give her ample warning about what would happen if she didn’t get her ass to that party. So really, she only has herself to blame for this.

  What can I say?

  You mess with the bull, you get the horns.

  And yet, somehow, I know that I’m the one who’ll end up being gored.

  Instead of trying to smooth things over, I dump more gasoline on the fire by adding, “But it’s been a long time in the making. Right, sweetheart?”

  She snakes her arm around me and sinks her fingers into my flesh, pinching me. Thank God, she’s not one of those girls with manicured talons. Hers always look bitten to the quick. She’d probably be drawing blood if that weren’t the case.

  “Oh, I don’t know if that’s true, sugar-booger.” She bats her lashes, and my chest shakes with ill-concealed mirth. “It seems like I told you where to shove it just last week.”

  She pinches me again, and I wince, keeping the smile firmly plastered across my face. “I suppose that’s the beauty of love. You lose all sense of time.”

  Natalie bares her teeth as she agrees with the sappy sentiment.

  I almost forget about Karen watching us until she murmurs, “Right.” Although it comes out sounding more like riiiiiiiight.

  Karen’s eyes bounce between us. I can’t tell if she’s buying this or not. If she’s anything like her daughter, probably not.

  “Why don’t you invite your boyfriend in, Natalie. I’d like to get to know him a little better.” Her eyes settle on me. I don’t miss the assessing manner in them. “Have you eaten dinner already, Brody?”

  I pat my flat belly. “I can always eat again.” I make it a policy to never turn down a homecooked meal. Those are few and far in-between.

  The tension fades from Karen’s dark eyes, and she smiles. “I made Natalie’s favorite tonight. Beef stroganoff.”

  “What a coincidence! That just so happens to be one of my favorites, too.” I look adoringly down at Natalie, who is still wrapped in my arm. I’m surprised she hasn’t stomped on my foot yet. “See how much we have in common, muffin? It’s like we’re a match made in heaven.”

  “Or hell,” she grumbles under her breath so that her mother doesn’t hear.

  “Semantics,” I agree jovially.

  Together we walk into the kitchen. Behind her mother’s back, Natalie glares and mouths, I’m going to kill you. She slashes her finger across her neck to add emphasis.

  I grin at her antics. She’s adorable all heated up like this. Luke’s right—I really do take perverse pleasure in riling her up. It’s oddly satisfying.

  Her mother bustles around the kitchen, taking containers out of the refrigerator as we both take a seat at the kitchen island. Karen fixes me a plate with noodles and a heaping of meat-drenched sauce and pops it in the microwave. “What can I get you to drink, Brody?”

  “Water’s fine. Thank you, Mrs. Davies.”

  She grabs a plastic bottle from the fridge and places it in front of me. “Seeing that you’re my daughter’s boyfriend—the one I never heard of—you should probably call me Karen.” She glances at Natalie and adds, “Don’t think for a moment that we won’t talk about this tomorrow.”

  Natalie groans and lays her forehead against the granite of the island.

  When the microwave dings, Karen pulls out the plate and sets it in front of me with a fork. “Hope you like it.”

  “Thank you. And don’t worry, I’ve yet to meet a homecooked meal that I didn’t enjoy.” Without further ado, I shove the first bite into my mouth. My eyes drift shut as I savor the flavors of garlic, red wine, sour cream, and mushrooms. Using my fork, I point to the plate. “This is delicious.”

  Karen beams at the compliment. “I’m so glad you like it. There’s more where that came from.”

  “It’s seriously amazing. I’m going to have to come home with Natalie more often.” I wink at my fake girlfriend. “Right, babe?”

  There’s just a hint of a vibration that rumbles from her chest. It makes my lips curve.

  Karen stands silently on the other side of the island. Her eyes continue to ping-pong between us as if she’s trying to solve a puzzle in her head. I keep waiting for her to fire off more questions about our relationship, but she doesn’t.

  When I’ve plowed my way through half the plate, she admits, “I’m a little taken aback, Natalie, that you didn’t mention you’ve been seeing someone. You haven’t dated anyone seriously since—”

  “We all know since who,” Natalie says sharply.

  That douchebag asshole otherwise known as Reed Collins is who I’m guessing they’re talking about. I honestly don’t understand how he could have had a girl like Natalie by his side and cheated on her. It defies logic.

  Hurt and surprise flash across Karen’s face. “You always tell me what’s going on.”

  “Yeah, well…” Natalie trails off, looking uncomfortable.

  Remorse pricks at my conscience for putting her in this situation. My intention had been to give Natalie a little crap. I never expected her mother to be hurt by it. Now I feel like an ass.

  Natalie sighs. “The only reason I didn’t mention it was because the relationship is so new.”

  Karen shrugs, seeming to accept her daughter’s words at face value. “Okay.” Her eyes fasten onto mine. “Well, I’m glad you stopped by tonight and that we had the chance to meet.”

  “Me, too,” I say sincerely. “And thanks for dinner. It was great.”

  “I should probably get ready.” Karen glances at her daughter and nibbles her lower lip. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay home? It’s not too late for me to cancel.”

  Natalie shakes her head. “I’ll be fine, Mom. I’m going to rent a movie and chill.”

  Karen’s eyes light up. “Maybe Brody can stick around and keep you company while I’m gone.”

  Natalie looks thrown by the idea. “No, I’m sure he has—”

  “I’d love to,” I cut in smoothly. This couldn’t have worked out more perfectly if I’d planned it myself. “Thanks for suggesting it.”

  On her way out of the kitchen, Karen calls out, “If you get hungry later on, there’s more stroganoff in the fridge. I’m sure Natalie would be happy to fix you another plate.”

  If her glare is any indication, Natalie isn’t pleased by the proposal. The comment muttered under her breath only confirms my suspicions.

  “FYI— if you want more, you can fix your own damn plate. Contrary to the crap you just fed my mother, I’m not your little wifey.”

  “Get my own plate?” I pretend to be affronted and grumble, “Some fake girlfriend you are.”

  “Emphasis on the fake part. Which, again, begs the question of why you’re here.” She raises a brow. “At my house.” Another pause occurs. “Bothering me.” When I don’t respond, her voice becomes even more irritated. “So, why are you here, Brody?”

  I shrug.

  Honestly, when she ditched me, I realized that I didn’t want to be at the party without her. Weird, huh? So here I am. At her house. That being said, there’s no way I’m going to tell her that. I know exactly how she’ll react. And that would be to laugh her ass off before tossing me out on mine.

  “We were supposed to make an appearance, remember? And then you went all MIA and wouldn’t respond to my texts.” That’s about as close to the truth as I’m going to get.

  She sighs. “I needed a break from all the Brody McKinnon craziness of this week. And I wasn’t up for a party tonight. Nowhere in the contract was it stipulated that I was to be at your beck and call twenty-four hours a
day, seven days a week.”

  “Really? ’Cause I thought it was pretty much implied,” I quip easily.

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t understand because you’re used to it, but it’s been a weird week for me. It feels like I’ve been living in a fishbowl.” She shoots me a look and admits, “I don’t know how you do it.”

  I shrug. “After a while, you get used to it.” I’ve lived in the spotlight for so long that I don’t even think about it. Other people staring and pointing doesn’t faze me. I don’t miss a beat when complete strangers come up and tell me about how much they enjoy watching me or when they regale me with tales of their own hockey-playing days. I barely blink anymore when someone asks me to autograph something. Although I draw the line at body parts. That never leads anywhere good.

  Okay, that’s not necessarily true. I seem to vaguely recall a threesome that was pretty damn fun that started out with just such a request.

  “Maybe I don’t want to get used to it,” she mutters. “Maybe I like being low-profile.”

  Most girls enjoy the celebrity status that comes along with dating an athlete. It shouldn’t surprise me that Natalie is of a different mindset. She’s not like anyone else I’ve ever met. And the more I discover about her, the more there is to like. “Well, you’re no longer low-profile, baby. So, get used to it. Your days of anonymity are long gone.”

  “Yeah,” she sighs, “I’ve already come to that conclusion.” Looking resigned to the situation, she straightens her shoulders and waves her hand. “As you can see, my plan is to kick back for the weekend. I’ll be back on campus Sunday night, where I’ll resume all fake girlfriend duties. But until then…” her words trail off as she stares expectantly.

  I raise my brows. If she wants to get rid of me, she’s going to have to do a lot better than that. “No problem. I’m up for chilling out and watching Netflix or something.”

  She looks less than thrilled with the prospect of having me all to herself. “I thought you were just saying that for my mom’s benefit. At least that was the hope I was clinging to.”