Hate Me

“Well, once my ex got drunk enough that he didn’t care what I did, then I’d dance on the bar.”



“Were you drunk?”



“Naw. I’d have a few shots, have some fun, but that was it.”



He pushes his chest tightly against mine, half kisses and half licks my cheek, and says, “Don’t go anywhere.”



I watch his godly hotness stride over to the bar.



I mean, imagine it. A demigod. Hot, buff, golden boy, wrapped in a designer motorcycle jacket. It’s like one of the gods plucked us from the sky and placed us together.



The. Most. Perfect. Boy. For. Me.



But, curse Aphrodite and her vindictiveness, they thought it would be fun to put us together under the worst possible circumstances. I knew she shouldn’t be the goddess of love. More like the goddess of spite.



Bitch.



Aiden hands me a double shot of tequila.



“Nice pour,” I say as we clink glasses and drink.



“Well, I'm hoping you'll dance on the pool table for me later.”



“I’ll dance on the pool table for you now.”



“No way. You're just trying to avoid the inevitable. Me whipping your ass."



I really need to start plugging my ears when Katie reads me the naughty parts from her erotic romance novels, because I don't want to lose the game, but the first thought that popped in my head was Forget date me, love me, and adore me. I want spank me, attack me, fu—



“Are you gonna shoot now?”



“Hmmm? Oh, yeah.”



I remember that he made me keep my skirt on for a reason. Maybe I can use that to distract him.



I lean way over the table, knowing my skirt is totally riding up.



Aiden has shifted to my side of the table. He even sits in one of the low slung leather chairs to get a better view.



I move my hips from side to side, pretending to get comfortable in my stance before I shoot.



I turn around and catch him staring at my backside. “Shouldn't you be standing up and making sure I don't cheat?”



He glances up. “No, I can see the table just fine. Shoot already.”



“I can't decide which ball to hit.”



He stands up and leans against my back, bending over me, his hips touching my ass in an attempt to line up a shot.



I almost whimper.



“Hit that one right there into the corner. But hit it softly so the cue ball doesn't follow it in.”



I slide the cue across my fingers and completely miss the ball.



“Shit.”



“Looks like you lose again.”



“No. That was a—I don’t know what it's called—but it's like when the volleyball hits the net. I get a do-over.”



“I shouldn't be helping you,” he says as he leans back over me, guiding the cue for me. One of his legs is between mine, I'm bent at the waist, and I’m trying not to close my eyes and just sigh.



He slides the cue gently though my fingers, sinking the ball cleanly in the pocket.



“We did it! Got it in the hole,” I say excitedly, but all of a sudden pool seems as sexual as basic construction. “I mean, I sunk it.”



Oh, gosh. Sticks. Balls. Holes. Hitting it hard. Breaking. A boy totally made up pool.



Aiden doesn't move even though my shot is clearly complete. He keeps me bent over the table and kisses my neck. “What do you want me to take off?”



“Since you illegally helped me, you have to take off two things.”



“No way.”



“Fine. I'll compromise. Take your jacket and shirt off, but then I'll let you put your jacket back on.”



Surprisingly, he doesn't argue. He slides out of the jacket, hands it to me, and pulls his shirt over his head. Luckily for me, he does this slowly, and I get a clear view of flexing muscles.



He looks hot shirtless but when he slips his jacket back on, I about have a spontaneous orgasm.



Like, if that were possible.



I admire him for a few seconds; even lay a few kisses across his chest.



Then I remember I have another shot.



And, suddenly, I'm very motivated.



I find an easy to make shot and line it up, really focusing.



As I shoot, my cue gets hit from behind and knocked out of my hand.



I turn around to find Aiden wearing a smirk.



“Tough shot,” he says. “My turn. You know, you should’ve put some chalk on the tip. It works better that way.”



Oh god. There's another one.



And now I’m wishing I could chalk his stick.



“See?” he says as another ball falls in the pocket. “Hmmm. Skirt for sure, this time, although, I will say the view was nice. I can see why even your gay boyfriend would be jealous of that view.”



“I swear to god, if you ever meet him, he's not out. And I promised to tell no one.”



“You didn't tell me. I guessed. Skirt.”



I roll my eyes, unzip my skirt, and let it fall to the ground.



He surveys my pink and black lace and says, “It’s halftime. Do you want another shot?”



“Please.”



We down another shot and then he says again, “It's halftime.”



“Pool doesn't have a halftime, silly,” I tell him.



“Our game does.” He hits a couple of buttons on my phone, which has been playing through the speaker system, switching over to a very appropriate song about bad boys. “Get up there and dance,” he says as he takes a seat.



“I can't. These heels would tear up the felt.”



He stands back up, grabs the cue, and quickly sinks two more shots. “I’ll take the boots, Boots.”



He picks me up, plops me on the table, unzips my boots and slides them off my feet, leaving me in my thigh highs, bra, panties, and jewelry. Then he holds my hand to help me up on the table.



Ha!



Dancing in a cage for a bunch of horny drunk guys did end up helping me out later. I'll have to tell Cooper that.



I look at Aiden's hungry eyes.



Uh, maybe not.



I move slowly and sexily to the song, close my eyes, and let myself go.



Touching my chest, my hips, and totally caught up in the beat.



When the song ends, I hear Aiden say, “Eight ball, center pocket.”



He shoots the eight ball between my legs and wins the game. Which means I get to . . .



Aiden takes my hand and helps me off the table. His lips immediately land hard on mine, and I can feel how much he liked my dance.



I reach for his pants.



He stops me.



“Panties. I win,” he says as he rips them off me, sets me back up on the pool table, and sinks his head between my legs.



Oh my god.



His mouth. The source of his power.



That magical tongue is . . .



And the scruff is . . .



Infusing the rest of me with love potion, I think—no that tongue is very capable of inducing lust because . . .



Just because.



Or maybe he’s cursing it.



Ruining this part of me like he ruined my lips.



And the scruff is . . .



When someone gets in trouble, Grandpa always says they got a good tongue lashing.



This gives a whole new meaning to that phrase.



And I so want trouble.



I'm making promises to myself.



To always dance on the pool table for him.



To always suck at pool.



To . . .



Holy shit.



I grab his hair, because I can't help it. I let out a sound that’s almost a scream.



Every bit of cool is gone, and all I can do is react to the way he's rocking my body.



Thank god I don't have close neighbors.



I also pray to the gods that Garrett didn't put in any video surveillance. Or else, somewhere in Indiana, someone is getting an eyeful.



Waves of pleasure roll through my body.



I remember telling him at rehearsal about using that scruff.



I feel like the baddest, sexiest, naughtiest version of myself.



And I like it.



He’s relentless.



Only stopping or slowing down to let me catch my breath.



After a while, my throat is dry, and my voice cracks as I say, “Water.”



He kisses up my stomach. “Don't you dare move.”



“Okay.”



He brings me a glass of water, which I gulp down. He steals it from me before I finish and takes a long drink.



“In case you were wondering, you dancing just for me was the sexiest thing I've ever seen.”



I lean back on the table, stretch out, and make a contented sound.



“That almost sounded like a purr,” he teases. But then he says, “Here kitty kitty,” and proceeds to convince me that it's not his lips that are my bliss.



It's his tongue.



And the scruff.



By the time he's done with me, I feel like a meteor, burning hot, shooting through the sky, burning as I hit the atmosphere, then free falling and crashing into the ground. Nothing is left of me but a pile of atomic ashes.



Just when I think I can’t take any more, he kisses me, pulls me off the table, and picks my underwear off the floor.



“Probably not wearable anymore,” he says with a sexy laugh, eyeing the trashed pair.



“Probably not,” I giggle, leaning against his warm chest.



I close my eyes and breathe in the intoxicating scent that is Aiden mixed with the smell of the new leather.



It's like heaven.



He kisses my forehead and then my nose. “We still have time to make our dinner reservation, if you're up for it. You're outfit is hot. We should go out.”



“Plus, you're starving, right?”



“Naw, I already ate,” he says teasingly.



“You're bad. Give me a minute to touch up my makeup.”



He takes his jacket off and puts it on my shoulders to keep me warm.



Which sorta makes me swoon.



Because he’s hotter than hell and the sweetest boy ever.



I run into the bathroom, throw on a sorta matching pink thong, touch up my makeup, and look at my no-longer-stick-straight hair. The back looks mussed and sexy. Rather than straightening it, I tease the rest of it, making it big and hopefully as sexy-looking as I feel.



When I go back out to the living room, Aiden has his shirt back on and has picked all my clothes off the floor. I slide the thigh highs back on, zip up my boots, and throw on my skirt.



Aiden smiles. “Maybe you should just stop there.”



“Just wear my bra and your jacket to dinner?”



“You can have anything of mine you want.”



“Anything?”



“Yeah. If you want.”



I do want.



I so want . . . but yet.



I just can't.



Maybe before I leave school in the spring, I'll tell him everything.



We'll sleep together. Then . . .



Wait.



Rewrite.



Sleep with him first. Unleash that Titan. Then tell him. That way, if he hates you, at least you'll know if it was everything you thought it would be.



That's the real reason I haven't yet. When we do, I don't want there to be any more lies.



I want to tell him I love him. I want him to know the real me.



As he slides his jacket off me and helps me put my shirt back on, I realize how badly I want that.



One boy to know and love all of me.



Aiden knows part of me. The me I've become.



But part of me is my home and my family.



B knows the old me. He knows my family and understands my life.



Neither one of them know all of me.



As the shirt goes over my head, Aiden gives me the kind of kiss that makes me feel like it doesn't matter with him. Like he knows my soul. Like he wouldn't care who my family is.



What'd he say last week? You and me against the world. Always.



And when he holds my hand and leads me out to our waiting car, I feel like it's enough.



But then I remember how I felt so in love with B.



How he loved me, but still left me.



I'm afraid Aiden will, too.



And I'm afraid it will destroy me.



That's the other reason I didn't want to come back to school. It's just going to make it more heartbreaking.



His voice flits through my memory. A heartbreakingly beautiful kind of love.



In any good script, there are elements of foreshadowing. A tense score. A dark, scary place. I wonder if what he said was foreshadowing in the story of my life.



A love so beautiful it will break both our hearts.



He puts his arm around me and whispers, “You okay?”



“I couldn't be more perfect, Aiden. I'm with you.”



After we're seated, served drinks, and hear the long list of specials, Aiden orders a steak and I get blackened salmon.



The waiter brings us out a free appetizer of spicy shrimp. As I bite into it, I can't help but think of being with B at Buddy's and wonder how serious he is about the girl he's been seeing.



Although I was really upset that he didn't help me as promised, I can understand. I might have done the same thing if I got a picture like that.



I think of the one Mom got in New York that was stabbed everywhere.



Aiden rubs my hand. “You're quiet all of a sudden.”



“I’m just mellow. Relaxed. Kinda tired.”



“How about after dinner, we have the driver take us by the tree and then we go snuggle up in bed?”



I smile. “That sounds perfect.”



“So, tell me more about this movie, superstar. Remember, I got your first autograph. It's gonna be worth something someday.” He takes my hand in his. “Not that I'd ever sell it.”



“It's a small role in an action film. I play the daughter of the badass main character. I get kidnapped at the beginning, have one little scene where they prove I’m still alive, and then a scene at the end where I’m rescued. And half of that may end up on the cutting room floor during editing.”