P.S. I Hate You

by Winter Renshaw

  “Hannah, I have been all over him like white on freaking rice.” I lean back in my arm chair, drawing my legs against my chest. “It makes no sense. I’m invasive. I’m helping myself to everything in his apartment. I’m asking really probing questions. I even pretended to stop and look at wedding magazines when we passed a newsstand on Fourth Street the other day. I’m one giant red flag, and he hasn’t shown the tiniest inclination that he might be thinking about noping out of this.”

  “Because. He. Likes. You.” Her eyes flick onto mine and she smiles, chewing a piece of green bubble gum. Lifting her hands to her head, she pulls her messy top knot loose and fixes it. “My friend Miranda’s sister met this guy at this concert. She lost her wallet and he paid for her drinks all night. At first we thought he was just some creep trying to get laid, but he turned out to be this really nice guy. They were literally inseparable after that. So cute together. They’re going on four years now, I think? Anyway, not every guy is a creep just because he shows more interest than the average douche.”

  “I get what you’re saying,” I say, pausing to gather my thoughts. “But it’s just … weird. I don’t know. It’s not natural. It’s like he’s rushing it just as much as I am.”

  “You want me to say it? You want me to say it again? I’m going to say it,” Hannah says, pointing. “Because he likes you. There, I said it. That’s three times now. Is it sinking in yet?”

  “So what do I do? I thought he’d be done with me by now, and it’s like things are just intensifying.” I tuck my hair behind my ears and stare out a foggy window. It’s raining again. Rain makes me moody and contemplative and indecisive.

  “Maybe … I don’t know … give him a chance and see where it goes?”

  “I can tell you right now, it’s not going anywhere,” I say. “I don’t want a boyfriend.”

  “Then break up with him.” Hannah sighs, slamming the magazine shut. “Shit or get off the pot.”

  The idea of breaking up with someone I barely know, someone I’m pretend-dating, makes me chuckle. “So this is what my life has come to.”

  Hannah leans forward, nudging my phone across the coffee table. “Call him. Call him and end it. Put us all out of our misery and end this ridiculousness.”

  I take the phone, holding it in my hand but realizing I don’t even know how to do this. Ten minutes ago I was asking him to meet my parents. If I call him and end things now, he’s going to be crushed, and I’m not that heartless.

  “I’ll end it soon,” I say. “When the time is right.”

  Hannah squints at me, her lips bunched and head tilted. “You like him.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Liar. There’s a small part of you that kind of sort of likes him. You just don’t want to admit it.”

  Shaking my head, I stand, leaving this room, this conversation.

  “Fine,” Hannah calls after me. “Walk away. Just know that not everything is always going to be in your control. And some feelings are too strong to deny.”

  For a nineteen-year-old, she sure does think she knows it all.

  And at twenty-six, I may not know it all, but I know she has a point.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Keir

  “I’ve never seen so many doors and windows on one house before,” I say as Rowan takes me down the stamped concrete walkway that leads to her parents’ massive Potomac estate.

  Two bubbling fountains frame the steps leading to two arched double doors.

  Ringing the doorbell a moment later, she steps back, hands folded in front of her.

  “You have to ring the doorbell to your own house?” I ask.

  Her pink mouth lifts. “If you only knew how anal my parents are. We’ve got a rule book three inches thick.”

  “Tell me you rebelled every chance you got.”

  She gazes up at the two-story entrance that shelters us, then back to me. “I wish. This place was locked down tighter than Fort Knox.”

  “All these doors and windows and you never snuck any boys in?”

  “Babe, we weren’t even allowed to have friends over,” she says.

  “Wait, what?” My nose wrinkles just as the door opens, and a woman in khakis and a white polo smiles.

  “Hi, Marta,” Rowan says as we head inside.

  “Your parents are out back.” Marta doesn’t smile, and I can’t help but imagine how thick her rule book is.

  Rowan leads me through a home that comes across as quaint and welcoming despite its enormous footprint. Framed portraits of Rowan and her family line one of the halls we pass through, and the living room boasts a floor-to-ceiling fireplace and an abundance of seating. I’m guessing her parents like to entertain.

  Once we reach the sliding glass doors off the kitchen, she takes me by the hand. Outside, under a cedar pergola next to a glistening pool are Rowan’s mother and father. A bottle of red wine rests between them and their voices carry lightly over the sound of jazz music piping through some hidden speakers.

  “Mom. Dad.” Rowan gives a little wave as we head toward the table.

  “My goodness, I didn’t even see you walk out here.” Deborah’s face is lit. And so is Deborah. She rises from her chair and moves toward me, arms wide open.

  It’s hard to imagine the sweet-looking woman who’s hugging me right now as a cold, workaholic mother.

  Doug stands, extending his hand, and as soon as Deborah lets me go, I give him a proper hello.

  “Keir, why don’t you have a seat,” Doug says. “You drink wine?”

  “Please,” I say. He moves a goblet toward me and pours from an open bottle.

  “Rowan?” he asks.

  “I’ll have some. Thank you,” she says. She’s sitting up a little straighter around them, and she’s definitely more reserved, quiet. It’s almost as if they put her on edge.

  “So how was the drive?” Deborah asks. “You didn’t hit rush hour, did you?”

  “Just missed it,” I say.

  Deborah twists toward her daughter. “Something’s different about you. Did you get highlights? You know how those ashy ones wash you out. You’re much better suited as a buttery blonde, sweetheart.”

  Her eyes widen, as if she can’t believe her mother is doing this right now.

  I can’t either.

  “That lipstick’s just a shade too light on you too,” she says, eyes squinting as she studies her daughter. “Might look better on Adeline. She’s a bit fairer than you are.”

  “Everything looks better on Adeline,” Rowan says, reaching for her wine.

  “Deborah used to be big in the beauty pageant circuit,” Doug says, leaning toward me. He wears the smile of a man who’s spent the last thirty years making excuses for his wife’s behavior. My father wears that very one. “She’s into hair and makeup and all of that. You know, girl stuff.”

  I give a tight smile and nod, my attention moving to Rowan.

  I want her parents to like me, but I’ll be damned if I sit around while her mother picks her apart like this.

  “I love that shade on you, Rowan,” I say. “I don’t think it’s too light at all. I think it gives your eyes a chance to shine.”

  My words are overly sugar-coated and I don’t know the first thing about makeup and colors or any of that, but someone needs to defend her.

  “Aw, Keir.” Deborah’s hand clutches at the diamond pendant hanging from her neck. “Isn’t that just the sweetest thing?”

  Doug smiles, topping off his wine. “Rowan, how’s the job hunt going?”

  Deb scoffs, glancing toward the pool. This must be a sore subject for her.

  “This is a gorgeous house you’ve got,” I change the subject. “Mind if Rowan shows me around?”

  Doug and Deborah exchange looks, and I understand it isn’t proper etiquette to ask for a tour of someone’s house, but there’s something I need to do.

  “Go right ahead, darling,” Deborah’s tone changes to faux sweet and she swirls the wine in her chalice.
>
  Rowan gives me a look but follows my lead, rising from the table and heading back toward the sliding doors.

  “What are you doing?” she whispers as soon as we’re inside.

  “Show me your room.”

  “What?” Her brows meet.

  “Where is it? The room you had growing up?”

  Her mouth is open slightly, head tilted.

  “Just do it,” I take her hand, and she leads me toward a spiral staircase and down a long hall at the top, stopping at the last door. “This it?”

  She nods, and I show myself in.

  A full-sized bed with a white duvet centers the pale pink room, and a white writing desk and chest of drawers are shoved against the wall between the closet and bathroom doors. A bulletin board hangs over the desk, covered in various medals and ribbons and certificates, and there’s a sweet scent in the air, almost like raspberries and innocence.

  “So you never had boys over, huh?” I ask.

  “Never.”

  “That’s a shame.” I glance around the room, my hands on my hips and my eyes landing on her lock-less doorknob. “This is going to be risky, but I think we can pull it off.”

  “What are you talking about?” she laughs until she finally lands on the same page as me. “We can’t have sex in here, Keir. I don’t have a lock, and my parents are going to come looking for us if we’re gone too long.”

  “Jesus, you’re not sixteen.” My hands rest on her hips and I pull her against me. Our eyes hold, and we share a moment that almost feels real.

  “You have no idea what it was like to grow up with the strictest parents in America.” She laughs through her nose.

  “Your mom’s a piece of work,” I say. “Five minutes with her was five minutes too fucking long.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  My hands slide down, cupping her perky ass and pressing her hips against me. “It’s a shame you never had a chance to rebel, to sneak boys into your room. It’s like a teenage rite of passage.”

  “I will forever regret, until my dying day, that I never had a boy feel me up in my childhood bedroom.” She sighs, her mouth curling.

  Lowing my lips to hers, I taste her sweetness, my hand gliding up her side and stopping at the hem of her blouse.

  “You’re seriously going to feel me up?” she whispers, fighting a chuckle.

  “And if you’re lucky, I’ll finger you too while we make out.” I massage her breast before sliding my hand down to her waistband.

  Rowan exhales when my hand reaches lower, deeper breaching the space between her silk panties and her bare skin. A moment later, I’ve slipped a finger inside her wet pussy, pushing it deeper and circling her clit with my thumb.

  Her eyes close and her tongue grazes her lower lip, followed by her teeth.

  Pressing my mouth into the soft skin just beneath her jaw, I work my way higher, along her neck and making my way to her ear. I breathe in her delicate scent as her hips buck softly against each insertion, and within a few minutes her hands are digging into my arm as she enjoys the world’s quietest orgasm.

  “Holy shit.” Rowan collapses against me when we’re finished.

  “Better late than never,” I say. My cock strains against my pants, but I don’t need anything in return. The fact that I got her off and gave her parents a giant ‘fuck you’ is all the satisfaction I need for now. “Should we head back down?”

  Slipping her hand in mine, she nods, cheeks flushed. My guess is her parents will be too sloshed to notice the glow on her face or the new light in her eyes.

  “Thank you,” she says, leaning against me as we walk down the hall.

  “Welcome.”

  “You like me, don’t you?” she asks, wearing a goofy grin.

  “What kind of question is that? Of course I like you.”

  There’s an airiness in my chest, a weightlessness in my walk, but only for a fleeting second. And then it’s gone. For the tiniest moment, this—whatever it is—felt real.

  And then I force it away.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Rowan

  I think he’s my boyfriend now?

  I wake up in Keir’s bed to the sound of the shower running, the bathroom door slightly ajar. This is the fourth night this week I’ve stayed over, and just yesterday he gave me a spare toothbrush, cleared out a drawer in his dresser for me, and put my favorite Greek yogurt on his next grocery order.

  Lately I’ve been testing him just for the fun of it. Half the time I think he thinks I’m joking, the other half of the time he plays along, like it doesn’t concern him one bit that I’m asking what his favorite baby names are.

  For the record, he loves Mia for a girl and Marsden for a boy.

  Grabbing the remote off the nightstand, I flick on the TV and tune into the local morning news to check the weather and see what’s going on outside this sex fortress. The anchor and the weather guy are chatting about fall and pumpkin spice lattes when my phone begins to vibrate next to me.

  Muting the TV, I glance down and see Spencer Calloway calling.

  My heart quickens. It’s been weeks since my interview. I figured my resume was in the circular file, my name long since forgotten.

  “Hello?” I answer.

  “Rowan Aldridge,” he says. “It’s Spencer Calloway.”

  “Hi, Mr. Calloway. How are you?” God, I sound like a social moron, but it’s early and he caught me off guard.

  “Rowan, I’m just calling to let you know I haven’t made my decision yet,” he says, speaking quickly, like he has somewhere to be. “But I wanted you to know you’re a finalist. It’s down to three of you now. I hope to decide soon, but in the meantime, I know you’re looking for a job so if you get an offer, will you let me know right away?”

  “Of course.”

  “All right. We’ll be in touch.” Spencer hangs up, and I peer across the room to see Keir standing at the bathroom sink, a white towel wrapped low around his waist as he brushes his teeth. His dark hair is wet, disheveled, and his skin is damp and glistening.

  A trail of humid air carrying the spicy scent of his body wash makes it my way, and I pull the familiar scent into my lungs, wondering if I’d miss it if I took the job.

  To be honest, I didn’t expect to hear from Mr. Calloway, and I’ve been so busy spending time with Keir that I wasn’t thinking about what would happen if shit got real.

  Keir emerges a few minutes later, dressed for the day and smelling like a million bucks. He strides across the room, stopping to grab something from his top dresser drawer. Turning toward me, he places a square velvet box on the bed beside me.

  “Happy birthday.” He smiles, flashing his perfect grin as he slides his hands in his pockets.

  “How … did you know it was my birthday?” I tilt my head. “I never told you when it was.”

  Keir winks. “I have my ways. Come on. Open it.”

  Cracking the lid on the velvet box, I find a small gold pendant on a dainty gold chain.

  It’s a jet.

  Like that day we spent at Gravelly Point.

  “Keir.” I glance up at him. “Thank you. This is so thoughtful of you.”

  He shrugs like it isn’t a big deal, but it is.

  Growing up, my parents forgot my birthday ninety percent of the time. I’ve never been big into celebrating them in my adulthood—they generally conjure up unpleasant memories of being forgotten, an afterthought.

  Shit’s officially getting real.

  I think I like him.

  For real.

  Staring into his intense gaze, I resolve to give him a chance. A genuine chance. No more stage five clinger girlfriend. No more baby names and wedding dresses. He gets the real me from now on.

  And he only gets one chance.

  “What’s the plan today?” he asks.

  I shrug. “Hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

  “It’s your birthday. We should celebrate.” He takes the spot next to me, taking the pendant and remov
ing it from the delicate box before securing it around my neck.

  “I don’t celebrate my birthday. Never have.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he says. “It’s your first birthday with me. We should do something special.” Pulling me into his lap, he cups my face. “If you could go anywhere right now, where would it be?”

  Staring to the side, I twist my mouth. “Somewhere I’ve never been before.”

  “That’s incredibly vague. Can you narrow it down?” He smirks, twisting a tendril of my hair around his finger before letting it fall to my shoulder. “Wait. I know.”

  I slide off his lap as he heads for the other side of the room, retrieving his phone. Typing out a quick message, he presses send.

  “They’re bringing my car around for you,” Keir says. “Run home and pack a weekend bag. Nothing formal. Jeans. T-shirts. That sort of thing.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Some place you’ve never been before.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Rowan

  “It was my great grandfather’s.” Keir unlocks the door to a quaint cabin in the middle of the woods a few hours outside Bangor, Maine. We’re surrounded by lush forest, an abundance of wildlife, and a short walk from a sparkling lake. “I come here sometimes. When I need to get away, clear my head.”

  The place smells like pine needles and must, but in a nostalgic sort of way.

  “There’s no AC, but it’s supposed to be a mild weekend,” he says. “And we have the fireplace if we get cold at night. Fortunately, there’s a well, so we have running water.”

  Keir’s security carries in our luggage.

  “I’m going to get changed,” he says, tugging off his navy cashmere sweater and carrying his leather duffel bag to a back room. When he emerges a short while later, he’s in dark jeans, a red and blue button down cuffed at the elbow, and a pair of utility boots. His hair is slightly undone, and I’m pretty sure I’m drooling right now. “What?”

  He glances down like he’s checking his shirt for stains, brushing off imaginary flecks of lint.