Hate Me

“It's a good start, though, right?”



“Yeah, it's a good start. The scenes are important to the movie, so a lot of people will see my face even if they don't really remember me after.”



Aiden runs his hand from my temple to under my chin and says, “Smile.”



“You are awfully bossy tonight. That jacket must have come with a dose of cockiness.”



“Smile for me. It makes me happy,” he says.



And I can't help but smile. I want to make him happy.



“That's what people are going to fall in love with. That smile. It's, well, the only word that really accurately describes it is intoxicating. Everyone in the theater will be instantly love-drunk.”



“What about you? You put your picture on your wine. Shirtless. Wearing that jacket. Stuff could taste like crap and women wouldn't care.”



He laughs. “You're silly.”



“So, what else did up your mom buy you for your birthday? I may need to inspect your purchases if they are going to crash at my house.”



He runs his finger across the top of my hand again. I can tell having this stupid table between us is driving him nuts.



Just before our food is served, he says to the waiter, “Can we move to that booth?”



We switch tables, the cozy, round booth allowing us to sit close together. He lays his hand across my leg, sometimes just holding my knee and other times playing with the tops of my thigh highs.



We eat dinner, drive by the beautiful and insanely huge Christmas tree, and then get dropped off at home.



I throw on some pajamas, wash my face, and then dive into bed with him.



All he has on is a pair of soft cotton boxers.



He snuggles me into his arms and kisses the top of my head. “When you told me about ice cream dream, I should’ve stayed and listened.”



“I know why you got mad, but there's always more to a story than meets the eye.”



He nods, snuggles up with me, then immediately starts breathing deeply.



I can tell he’s already asleep.



I look at the clock.



11:30.



I don't have any phone calls to make.



No midnight meeting with Cooper.



No flights.



Nothing to think about except how safe I feel, here, in Aiden's arms.



SUNDAY, DECEMBER 11TH



Our.



10am



I wake up to the smell of bacon.



My room feels chilly. I bump the heat up a few degrees, brush my teeth, and wrap myself in a long cashmere robe.



“I was just coming to wake you.”



“Have you been up long?”



“About an hour. I made chocolate chip waffles.”



“That sounds yummy.”



I watch as he adds another waffle to a huge stack in the warming drawer.



“You feeding an army? Or did you invite the football team over?”



“Actually, my parents should be here any minute. I hope that's okay. They went to visit friends in Vermont after the dance competition, but are flying home from here. They'll be home for a few weeks.”



“Is something wrong?” I immediately assume something is, based on Aiden's body language.



He pours more batter onto the waffle iron. “Hopefully not. This time every year she goes in for tests, and we impatiently wait to find out if the cancer has come back. She’s lost weight since I last saw her, so I’m worried.”



“Aiden! Why didn't you tell me?”



“I’m telling you now.”



The intercom buzzes. “Shit! I'm in my robe!”



“It's okay. My parents are laid-back.”



“Maybe, but you aren't in a robe.”



“I’ve got on sweats and an old t-shirt. Don’t worry about it.”



“It’s no wonder I can’t think straight. Your shirt is way too tight and your sweats are way too low on your hips.”



“That’s because they’ve gotten too short and look dumb if I don’t pull them down.” He walks over and kisses my nose. “I like that you can’t think straight. You go get dressed. I’ll let them in.”



I run into my closet, throw on a pair of stretchy jean leggings, an oversized Foreigner t-shirt, and a pair of Ugg slippers. Then I run a powder brush across my face and give my lashes a few swipes of mascara.



I'm back out by the time they have their coats off and are sitting down at our kitchen table.



I stop in my tracks.



Our.



Our kitchen table?



I look at Aiden hugging his mom and smile at him.



As soon as his parents see me, I’m greeting with hugs too.



I try not to hug his mom for too long, but I can't help it. I miss my own mom.



“It smells wonderful,” she says, taking her seat.



“Aiden made it all,” I admit. “I just woke up.”



“Late night last night?” Aiden’s dad asks.



“No, we—I mean, I was asleep by like eleven. Aiden,” I point toward a bedroom, “has his own room.”



I have no idea if they’re cool with sleeping with someone before marriage or whatever. I don’t want to offend them.



Or for them to think we’re having sex when we’re not.



I mean, actual doing it. As opposed to the hotness that was the pool table last night.



I glance at Aiden, whose nostrils flare as he suppresses a smile and rolls his eyes adorably.



I figure food is a safer topic of conversation and eating is even safer, so I put a waffle on my plate, throw a few extra chocolate chips on top, and pour melted butter over it all.



“I hear you're all going to St. Croix for Christmas. You'll have the best time,” I say.



Aiden says to his parents, “I haven’t told you yet, but I’m going to spend New Year’s Eve with Keatyn.”



“You are?” His eyes meet mine and he nods. I lower my head and pretend to be very interested in cutting my waffle into precise pieces while I fight back tears.



I can’t let him leave his family, so I say, “I was actually going to ask how long you're supposed to be there. I was thinking about coming for part of the break.”



“We're waiting for Damian to firm up the schedule,” his mom tells me. “So, we’re not sure on the dates yet.”



“You’ll love Damian.”



Aiden’s mom says, “Well, Peyton seems very taken by him. That's part of why we were hoping to have breakfast with you.”



His dad smiles. “Yeah, we'd like the 411.”



Aiden cringes. “Dad. No one says that anymore.”



His dad rolls his eyes exactly like Aiden does, which makes me laugh. “Aiden seems to approve of him.”



“I never said I approve,” Aiden counters. “I said she's happy. The happiest I've ever seen her.”



“He's a great guy. One of the good ones, you know. Smart, respectful, extremely talented, creative, fun, and he has an amazing voice. I think you will love him,” I tell them.



“And his family?”



“His dad is remarried and they have little kids. That keeps get-togethers casual and lots of fun. And the house is St. Croix is the perfect combination of luxurious and relaxed.”



Aiden adds, “And the food is amazing.”



“Well, that sounds perfect,” Aiden’s mom says. “What are your holiday plans, Keatyn?”



“Um, I'm probably going to France to celebrate with my family.”



Aiden narrows his eyes at me. “Probably?”



“Oh, not probably I'll be with my family. I meant probably France. It's hard to say. My mom might decide to go to St. Moritz, or Annecy, or somewhere instead.”



“But not to St. Croix?”



“No, not this year.”



“Peyton told me that some celebrities might be coming for their New Year’s Eve party.”



“They have a great party space and, because of his job, Mr. Moran does know a lot of celebrities. I haven't been there on New Years for a couple of years.”



“Well, you should come. We’d love to ring in the new year with you and Aiden.”



“Maybe. I just have to get things firmed up with my parents.”



“What are your parents' names, dear? As much traveling as it sounds like they do, I wonder if we have any mutual friends,” his mom asks.



“You probably don’t. My mom works a lot.”



“And what does she do?”



“Oil and gas leases. With countries.”



“And what was her name?”



“She never said,” Aiden’s dad replies.



“Oh, um, my mom’s name is Kathryn,” I lie, using her middle name. “For work, she uses the last name Monroe, like mine, but my stepdad’s name is Tom, uh, Hart. So, even though they aren’t actually married, a lot of people would think of her as . . .” Shit. What did I say her first name was? “. . . Mrs. Hart. Maybe, Mrs. Tom Hart. Kathryn Hart. She’ll answer to just about anything, really.”



Aiden’s mom puts a finger to her temple. “Hmmm, Monroe sounds familiar. I know. George and Elizabeth Monroe. They’re from Scottsdale. Any relation?”



“No, most of my relatives are in Texas.”



Aiden thankfully stops the Arrington Inquisition by clearing plates and asking his parents if they'd like to see the rest of the loft.



While he shows them around, I make myself busy with the dishes.



When they go upstairs, I grab my purse and add more lies to my ever-growing list. It’s no wonder I can’t remember half of them anymore.



They finish up the tour, join me in the kitchen, and Aiden asks, “Will Abernathy and Fritz be there?”



“Who?”



“The couple you and Damian were talking about. The love-at-first-sight couple.”



“Oh, I don't know. I haven’t seen a guest list because I’m not going.”



Jeez, does he ever forget anything?



“Abernathy. That's an unusual name,” Aiden’s dad comments. “Isn't there a Scotch with that name?”



“No, that's Aberloure,” Aiden tells him.



His mom changes the subject. “Your Christmas tree turned out beautifully. I thought Aiden went a little crazy on the ornaments, but it was the perfect amount.”



“Thanks,” I say. “He did go a little crazy.”



Aiden leans against the kitchen island in the exact spot he was in when I got down on my knees and unleashed the Titan. I tilt my head and look dreamily at him.



He smirks at me, then looks down. I know he knows exactly what I’m thinking about.



I hear his dad say, “This loft is incredible. Aiden told us about its former life as a concert hall.”



The answer to my previous question: no. Aiden clearly never forgets a thing.



Damn that godly brain.



“That’s why I love it. The history and character.”



“And your closet is beautiful, too. Aiden said you have one like it at home?”



“Uh, yeah.”



Ohmigawd, people. Please, no more questions.



But they don’t stop.



Aiden’s dad asks, “Do you have plans for today? Do you want to go do something?”



“We have tickets to see The Nutcracker this afternoon. Do you want to see if I can get a couple more?”



“Oh, no, we should probably get to the airport. I start my testing on Tuesday.”



“I hope that all goes well,” I say. “That must be scary.”



Aiden’s dad looks at the floor, but his mom says, “Better to know the truth so you can deal with it.”



After they leave, Aiden pulls me into a hug. “Sorry for the twenty questions.”



“It's okay. I didn't mind,” I lie.



“I want to spend New Year’s with you. Wherever you are.”



“That would be nice.”



“What would you think of spending the week here? I've always wanted to watch the ball drop in person.”



“That would be amazing. But maybe we can go to a party? One that overlooks the ball dropping, instead of standing outside in the cold.”



“That sounds even better. Dancing all night. You in a sexy little dress. Kissing at midnight.”



“It’s a date,” I tell him. “Can we make some hot chocolate and go upstairs, so I can stare at the tree before we leave? It's so pretty.”



“Perfect. We’ll relax for a while before we have to go. Why don’t I finish cleaning up while you go put your robe back on.”



“You want me back in my robe?”



“Yes, it’s soft and you’ll be naked underneath.”



We see The Nutcracker, have dinner, and then take a late train back to school.



I finish doing the homework I didn’t do all weekend—while Katie tells me all that happened while we were gone—and am just getting ready to go to sleep when my phone buzzes.



Hottie God: ifly