P.S. I Hate You

by Winter Renshaw

  The clearing of a throat pulls us out of the moment, and thank god for that. Turning, I spot Kerouac standing in the doorway, keys in his hand.

  “Don’t mind me.” His tone is displeased, and he directs his attention to me, his stare hard and unforgiving with a hint of something else entirely in his gaze. Jealousy? Resentment?

  Passing us, he reaches for the door handle and shows himself out.

  “You ready?” Oblivious, Thane checks his phone, firing off a quick text to God knows who. He’s always texting. I don’t tend to care.

  “Yeah,” I say. From inside, I see Kerouac trekking across the driveway, heading home.

  I’d much rather be with him tonight.

  I just hope he knows that.

  Absinthe: Hey, you there?

  Kerouac: Aren’t you supposed to be at the movies?

  Absinthe: I am. Hiding in the bathroom. He took me to some CGI hot mess that has absolutely no plot and terrible dialogue. I’m dying. SOS.

  Kerouac: You made your bed.

  Absinthe: So you don’t feel sorry for me?

  Kerouac: No.

  Absinthe: :(

  Kerouac: You should get back to your movie.

  Absinthe: I know. But I’d rather chat with you. Side note: I’ve decided my type are really attractive, literature-obsessed intellectuals.

  Kerouac: Like me?

  Absinthe: No! Like me.

  Absinthe: I’m basically looking for a guy version of myself. The one I found doesn’t reciprocate my feelings, so …

  Kerouac: I know what you’re doing. Stop.

  Absinthe: Saw right through that one, huh?

  Kerouac: Just because I’m chatting with you doesn’t mean I’m going to make you an exception to my rule.

  Absinthe: I saw the way you looked at us earlier … when you saw him kiss me in the foyer. You were bothered by it.

  Kerouac: Your point?

  Absinthe: The whole time he was kissing me, I was wishing it was you. Just thought you should know.

  Kerouac: Get back to your movie.

  Kerouac has signed off.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Ford

  “Whoa. I’m surprised you answered. I was just going to leave you a message. Why are you up so late?” Nicolette’s voice chuckles through the receiver just past eleven o’clock Friday night.

  “What am I doing up late? You’re the one with a five-year-old who wakes up before the sun.”

  “You know I have insomnia. Anyway, check your email.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “I sent you an article.”

  Retrieving my laptop from the coffee table, I prop the lid open and pull up my email. A moment later it loads, and I sort through dozens of junk messages to find the one with her name on it.

  “Is this going to piss me off?” I ask before clicking the link.

  “Yes.”

  Groaning, I tap the trackpad and pore over an article detailing the recent success of our stepbrother, Mason Foster. According to the write up, his tech company was started when his mother gifted him ten million dollars (of my father’s money), and over the past five years, he’s started a software firm, a wildly popular gaming app universe, and an up-and-coming social network; the latest of which he sold to Facebook for over two billion dollars.

  “You done reading yet?” she asks.

  I see red. It’s not about the money—I do just fine without it. It’s about the entitled, undeserving bastard and his conniving wench of a mother.

  There’s a photo of Mason, perched on the edge of a desk in jeans and a blazer, the views of his office overlooking Silicon Valley as he wears a smug grin. But he’s sitting on a throne built by my parents’ time, money, and dedication. He didn’t earn any of this.

  “I fucking hate him,” Nicolette says.

  “Not as much as I do.” I press my phone against my chest when I hear a faint knock at the door. “Let me call you back.”

  Ending the call, I peer out the window next to the front door and see the outline of a young woman standing in the dark.

  Yanking the door open, I exhale. “Why?”

  Her full lips curl. “Not exactly the reaction I was expecting.”

  Hooking my hand into her arm, I pull her inside before anyone sees her. “Aren’t you supposed to be on your date?”

  Halston’s eyes roll to the back of her head and she makes a gagging sound. “I was about to die, it was so fucking boring. I made him drop me off early. Told him my curfew was eleven but it’s really midnight. Now I have an hour to kill.”

  “You’ve got to stop doing this.” I rest my hands on my hips, shaking my head before releasing a deep breath. All I keep seeing is that picture of Mason, perched on his desk like some self-made man who started from the bottom. And when I glance up at her, all I see is my future going down in flames because I want nothing more than to feel her naked body on mine, her hips grinding on my cock, her full breasts bouncing with each thrust as her mouth finds mine in the dark. “You can’t keep coming over like this.”

  “Okay, this is the second time. Ever. And you’ve got nothing to worry about. Tab and Vic are asleep. Bree’s babysitting overnight for some doctor’s family, and when I leave, I’ll sneak out the back door.”

  She smirks, stepping toward me and clearly not taking this seriously.

  “You really need to lighten up,” she says, eyeing my liquor cart in the corner. “Let me make you a drink.”

  Before I have a chance to stop her, she’s pouring two fingers of Scotch into a crystal tumbler. I take a seat in the middle of my sofa, rubbing my eyes and sinking my head back.

  “Here you go.” She taps my knee.

  When I open my eyes, I find Halston on her knees between my legs, holding up a glass of liquor with a smile on her fuckable mouth. My cock throbs, swelling against my jeans.

  “You need to leave,” I say. “Before I do something I’m going to regret the rest of my life.”

  Halston’s expression fades. “What did I do? All I did was make you a drink. Now you’re kicking me out?”

  “It’s not you,” I say.

  “Of course it is.” She rises. “God, I’m an idiot.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I thought we had a real connection.” She grabs her bag from the floor by the front door, flinging it over her shoulder. “And I thought maybe you were different, that we had something genuine. But now that you know you can’t fuck me, you just want to be done. So, fine. I get it. I’ll leave you alone from now on.”

  The notion of watching her walk out the door and never talking to her again, seeing her parading around the halls at school with that pencil dick boyfriend, sends a fire through my veins unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.

  This woman—this young woman—is everything I never knew I wanted in another person, everything I never knew was possible to have.

  And I want her.

  I want her so fucking bad it’s unreal.

  “Halston.” I move toward her with steady, confident strides. “You have it all wrong.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You’re all talk, Kerouac. It’s all you’ve ever been and all you’ll ever be. I know that now.”

  Cupping her face, I realize this is the first time I’ve ever touched her—really touched her. I let my palm linger, my thumb running over her pillowed lips.

  “I’d give anything to kiss you right now,” I say, my voice a remorseful whisper. My heart thrums at a dangerous pace, the distance between our mouths closing.

  But I won’t kiss her.

  I can’t.

  Her green eyes are lost in mine, holding for what feels like an eternity. Her scent fills the space between us, soft and wild at the same time. I’m seconds from telling her I’ll wait for her, that there’ll be a day when we can be together—until her mouth grazes mine.

  Halston kisses me, pressing her lips into mine harder, slinking her arms over my shoulders and rising on her toes. For a brie
f moment, I lose myself, relishing in this kiss like it’s the only one that’s ever mattered in my life.

  And then I push her away.

  “Why the fuck did you do that?” I’m seething, jaw clenched and shoulders rising and falling with each breath.

  “Wh-what?” She’s somewhere between laughing and crying as she floats back down to earth.

  “This is bad. This is really fucking bad.” I pace the living room before stopping in the center, massaging my temples and refusing to look at her.

  “Kerouac,” she says. “You’re overreacting. It was just a kiss.”

  Turning to her, I shake my head, lips pressed into a hard line. “You don’t understand. I could lose my job over this.”

  “No one’s going to know.” Her eyes widen. “I’ll take it to the grave.”

  “You say that now.” I cock my head before dragging my hand across my cheek. “One day I might piss you off and—”

  “God, no. I would never do that.” She approaches me gingerly at first, then rushes to my side, placing her hand on my chest. I brush it away. “I’m not like that. At all. I would never.”

  “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  Halston shrugs. “Okay, fine. I’m sorry. But your hand was on my cheek and we were standing so close. I thought … I thought that’s what you wanted.”

  I can see how she would’ve been confused, how passion and wanton lust would’ve overtaken her in that moment.

  “You have no idea how lucky you are that I stopped,” I say.

  “Funny. I feel the exact opposite.”

  “You shouldn’t come here anymore,” I tell her, though it breaks my heart. If she continues to stop by like this, we’re going to keep skirting the line. And one of these days, we’re going to cross it. And once the line is crossed, we’ll never be able to go back.

  Halston’s emerald eyes gloss with tears, and I imagine she’s not accustomed to crying over much of anything. She’s tough, fearless, with thick skin and a resilient spirit.

  But I may have just broken her.

  “You should go now,” I say.

  She does.

  And the moment she’s gone, it’s as if someone’s blown a cannon-sized hole through my chest, heavy and gaping. I take a seat in my chair, facing the window and watching her shadow move across the yard in the dark, her arms folded across her chest and her chin tucked.

  The berry-sweet taste of her full mouth lingers on mine, its taste turning bitter the second I refuse to allow myself to enjoy it a second longer. I should never have placed myself in that position—standing so close.

  I knew better.

  And while every part of my body craves hers with an invigorated intensity, I know deep down, I did the right thing.

  Chapter Thirty

  Halston

  “Girls? You ready? Your dates are here!” Aunt Tabitha calls to us from the bottom of the stairs, and I give myself one last look in the full-length mirror on the back of my bathroom door.

  I didn’t want to go to homecoming, but Thane managed to talk me into it, and when Bree miraculously landed a date, her parents insisted we go as a group. Besides, focusing my time and energy planning for this student dance all week has helped to take my mind off Kerouac … somewhat.

  It doesn’t help that I see him every day, multiple times a day at school, but lately I’ve been learning his schedule and taking alternate routes to class, mixing it up sometimes so I can be sure I won’t have to see him.

  Bree knocks on my door. “Come on. They’re waiting.”

  Tonight we have to pretend we like each other, but I’m hoping after dinner and a little bit of time at the dance, I won’t have to see her at all the rest of the night. Vic and Tab gave us a 12:30 AM curfew, and Thane’s older brother rented us a block of hotel rooms at the Embassy Suites in downtown Rosefield. Thane was elected homecoming king yesterday at the afternoon pep rally, and last night the Rosefield Tigers won their game against their unrivaled Cherry Dale Cardinals, so everyone’s expecting Thane to be there. He promised we’ll make an appearance and then we’ll bounce.

  “Yeah,” I call out. “One sec.”

  I graze my palm along a pressed wave. Tabitha insisted we get our hair done at her salon today. While my hair looks soft and bouncy and neatly done, it’s hard as a rock and covered in hairspray.

  A gold sequined bodice hugs my waist and lifts my breasts, and the peach tulle skirt hits just above my knees.

  I look like Peaches-n-Cream Barbie.

  I look exactly like the kind of girl who goes to homecoming with Thane Bennett.

  The squeal of my aunt and uncle downstairs tells me Bree went on without me, which is fine. Grabbing my matching sequin bedazzled clutch, I head downstairs.

  Nobody makes a big deal out of my entrance … except for Thane. His face lights as he stands there in his suit, holding a corsage in a plastic box and wearing the biggest grin I’ve ever seen.

  “Halston,” he says, brows lifted. “You look beautiful.”

  I wave my hand, brushing off his compliment. “Anyone would look beautiful with this much hair and makeup and a dress that shines like the top of the Chrysler building.”

  “Don’t be so modest, you look incredible,” Aunt Tabitha says, and it just might be the first compliment she’s ever paid me.

  Glancing out the front window, I spot a black limo in the driveway, and a man in a black tux and white driving gloves standing beside the passenger door.

  “So, dinner reservations are at seven at Maestro’s Little Italy, but they want us to check in ten minutes early,” Bree says. Leave it to her to be the mother hen of the group tonight, though I’d expect nothing less. “I have our tickets in my bag. I also have gum and a phone charger if anyone needs it.”

  Rolling my eyes when no one’s looking, I loop my arm through Thane’s and pull him toward the door.

  “No, no, wait,” Aunt Tab says. “I want to get some pictures. And you need to do the flower thing.”

  Exhaling, I turn back toward the group and suffer through no fewer than a hundred snapshots, smiling and posing and pretending to gush over the pink rose and baby’s breath corsage Thane chose for me. By the time we’re done, my cheeks are stretched and my jaw aches.

  This very well may be the longest night of my life.

  But I’ll get through it.

  Always do.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Ford

  “I’ve always loved homecoming.” Sara Bliss clasps her hands, watching as students begin to fill the gymnasium. Music pumps from the speakers, a mix of songs, some new and unfamiliar, some nostalgic. “There’s just something magical in the air. The weather is cool, the leaves are changing. Everyone’s excited for a new school year.”

  Her small talk is like a splinter, slivering its way beneath my skin.

  “I was homecoming queen my senior year, believe it or not,” she says, leaning closer and bumping me with her shoulder. If she’s trying to impress me, she’s wasting her time.

  A Black Eyed Peas song comes on next and she starts dancing some weird, dorky little dance, and I don’t know if she’s trying to be funny and quirky or if this is just how she is, but I can’t take my eyes off the door.

  Any minute now, Halston’s going to wander in on Thane’s arm, and while I have no intentions of stoking the fire that took all the self-control I had to put out last weekend, I want to make sure she’s okay.

  All week, she avoided me.

  She’d see me and she’d walk the other way.

  Clearly, I hurt her, and while I’m sorry, I did what I had to do.

  If only I could find the chance to tell her that.

  The song changes, something slow and unfamiliar, and couples filter toward the dance floor, wrapping their arms around each other and trying to pretend their moments are more enchanting than awkward.

  Hate to break it to them, but one of these days, they’ll barely remember this night. All they’ll have are their filtered-to-
death Instagram posts and saved Snap Chats.

  The crowd is thicker than it was a moment ago, and the students begin to stir a bit.

  “Elvis has entered the building,” Sara says.

  Peering across the gym, the sea of well-dressed high schoolers parts and Thane Bennett struts, peacock proud, with Halston Kessler in tow. His crown rests on his head, cocked to the side, and he wears the proudest smirk I’ve ever seen.

  Everyone cheers for him, even Sara. But I just stand here, arms folded, watching their every move.

  I swear there’s a halo around Halston. She radiates, her skin warm and tan, her dress glimmering under the flashing lights. He places his hand on her hip and pulls her close just as the song changes, and then he kisses her.

  He kisses the sweetest lips I’ve ever known.

  And in this moment, I’m sunk.

  Being jealous of an eighteen-year-old means I’ve officially hit rock bottom.

  I stand behind the refreshments table and observe the two of them, ensuring his hands don’t travel lower than they should while nonchalantly watching for any cues that suggest she’d rather be anywhere else but here, with him.

  But she’s acting as if I don’t exist, pretending not to feel my penetrating stare from across the room.

  They dance to another song before a crowd of brawny football players surround him. He wears the limelight like couture, basking in his moment. Guys like Thane tend to peak in high school, but I won’t be the bearer of bad news. He’ll find out someday. The second he leaves Rosefield High, no one’s going to give a rat’s ass how many track records he’s shattered or how many girls he fucked before he even knew how to properly fuck.

  Halston squeezes away from the crowd, heading toward the punch bowl … toward me.

  We lock eyes, and I wear a solemn expression, though my heart is thundering harder with each step that brings her closer.

  When she stands on the other side of the table, maybe two feet from me, I want to tell her how beautiful she looks. How radiant and stunning. But I can’t.