The Trouble with Hating You

by Sajni Patel

  He explained, “I want to know if other men are coming around.”

  “No,” I admitted. I was not even remotely interested in other men.

  “Not even this guy you had a date with tonight?”

  I swirled the wine in my glass and arched a brow.

  “There was no guy, was there?”

  “Can’t a girl treat herself?”

  He leaned his head back and laughed, then said, “I want all of you. The bad liar, too.”

  I pushed my foot against his chest, and his hand accidentally fell to my thigh, grazing my skin on the way to the cushion. He shifted across the couch so that I was snug against his chest.

  Okay. This was unexpected. Him kissing my neck? Yes. But him holding me and caressing my arm? Totally new.

  I rested my cheek against his shoulder and closed my eyes, trapping the tears. I was never meant to have someone this good, this decent. It would eventually end, and that would end me.

  Jay brushed a thumb across the dampness of my cheek, and I startled.

  “Are you crying?” he asked quietly, pulling away to look at me.

  “Too much eye makeup and sleepiness makes my eyes water. I should wash my face.”

  He kissed my cheek, his lips gentle against the wet trail. “Do you want me to leave?”

  “No. Why don’t you find a movie and I’ll change?”

  “All right.”

  I washed off all the makeup and stared at my teary-eyed reflection in the mirror. Jay was genuine, and he really liked me for me? He still wanted me, still chose me over another woman as the one to bring home to his perfect family?

  I managed to control my emotions and slipped into pajamas. Not the everyday ones: a pair of dark green bottoms and a matching three-quarter-sleeved top. Not the intimate ones: an assortment of revealing, lacy lingerie. But the nice ones. The kind I wore to sleepovers with the girls or when I wanted to feel nice all on my own: gray, white, and pink pinstriped short cotton shorts and a pink tank top.

  Jay sucked in a breath when I returned. He pulled down the throw from the side of the couch and covered me.

  “Okay…What’s wrong now?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  I threw off the sweltering blanket, letting it lie in my lap as the movie began. Jay glanced at me through the corner of his eye, biting his nail, and keeping to himself.

  “Spill it,” I demanded.

  “Liya, you’re making it very difficult for me not to take you into your room.”

  My gut clenched. “I thought you didn’t want to have sex with me.”

  “I wouldn’t have sex with you,” he said so matter-of-factly that a hefty dose of pain shot through me. “We’d make love. We’d turn down that bed. I’d have you making all kinds of noises and calling out my name like you’d lost your mind.”

  “You sure are full of yourself.”

  “And you’d be full of me.”

  I swallowed. “Why are you holding back, then?”

  He grinned. “I’ve got other parts of you to unlock first. Doesn’t mean I’m not turned on by you.”

  I grinned and slid the blanket off my shorts. “Does this bother you?”

  “Testing me, woman.”

  I laughed, and although he kept his hands to himself, after a while, I bundled up as the night chilled. Only then did Jay wrap his arm around my shoulder and hug me, tender and protective, and all the things that made me warm inside. All the things men had never offered.

  I awoke in bed, beneath the covers. Not remembering Jay leaving, or even which movie we tried to watch, I yawned, stretched, and crept out of the bedroom. I stilled at the sight of Jay tugging on his pants, his wretched back turned to me. Scars and welts seared his flesh. My heart ached at the sight. He had a painful past, too.

  Mesmerized, I tiptoed toward him, carefully, quietly, the sound of his zipper a booming rumble in the silence.

  Jay’s back was tall and broad, the color of dark caramel, rich and creamy, with swirls of mismatched hues on marred, rough, rigid skin.

  My hand reached out and my fingertips touched the creases. Jay spun around and grabbed his shirt. His eyes blazed.

  “What happened to your back?” I asked softly and watched as his hands expertly buttoned his shirt.

  “Nothing.”

  “Jay…”

  He paused, as if he were conjuring all the words to explain his scars, but not a single word made it past his lips. There was a surge of miserable anguish that crested his features and, in that moment, the hellish black clouds lingering over our heads became one. There was a whorl of misery that our pasts had created, that followed us around, but seeing Jay’s in the flesh somehow created a protective cocoon meant for just the two of us.

  “I…”

  He watched me carefully. “Liya?”

  A harsh breath shuddered through my chest. Here. Went. Everything. “I really like you, Jay.”

  His expression softened, but he didn’t attempt to speak.

  “I think this, whatever we have and could have, will dissolve because I’m wild and untamed and you’ll get tired of either my ways or the rumors. And I know you believe you’ll never let that happen, but wait until it’s constant and external. You’ll decide we’re not worth it after all.”

  “Do you want this to be worth it, or are you just using this excuse to spare yourself the pain?”

  “Both.”

  “Who hurt you so badly that you think like that?” he asked.

  “The question is: who hasn’t?”

  He ran his hand down my cheek, his touch warm with the right amount of roughness. “Tell me all the bad things that have happened to you, that make you doubt any man would or could make a life with you.”

  I pulled away and went into the kitchen. “I told you last night that I would tell you the truth, and I keep my word. I can’t watch you watching me while I tell you something that I don’t usually share, though.”

  “Okay,” he said softly.

  I busied my hands with coffee, lots of coffee, and toast while he made scrambled eggs.

  “This doesn’t leave us,” I said.

  “Agreed.”

  “I started having sex when I was fifteen.”

  “Okay. Why?” he asked like any other casual conversation. No judgment. No assumption. No accusation. No negative anything.

  Two mugs clanked in my hands and the calming aroma of coffee filled the air. “Because I wanted control over something, and when I realized how much a girl could control boys with sex, it became natural,” I replied, waiting for the undiluted disgust that never came.

  “Just did it one day and liked it?”

  “No. I hated it. I hated being touched, being used. I hated the man who first touched me, who made me feel like a cheap, defenseless child. Sex was the only way to validate myself, take power back, be the dominant one in a world where I had no authority.”

  I saw the lines of his face harden from the corner of my eye. “Were you assaulted?”

  “Yep. I was at his house because his family was friends with mine, and his wife had me over after school until my parents came. She, um, left the apartment to do laundry and he came home.” My chest burned as I relived that warm afternoon. Mukesh didn’t have a lot of time to do as much as he could’ve, but he did enough damage. “And you know society. It was, of course, my fault. Certain people were quick to villainize the victim.”

  “Liya, I—”

  I quickly looked to him, meaning to give a confident face that showed how much it didn’t bother me, but it came out weak and shaky instead. “It doesn’t define me. I made sure that I worked hard in school and made a career and found independence so I never have to rely on a man.”

  He took a step toward me and touched my hand over the coffee mug. “What happened to this asshole?”

  “Oh, he’s still there, running the show with no one to drag him down.”

  “Did you report him?”

  “I told my parents. My mom was sca
red, but my dad said it was my fault.”

  “What the hell?” he growled.

  “He said I must’ve done something to lead that guy on. And then he…” I looked down at our comforting hold. “Instead of protecting me, he profusely apologized to him. My dad was the first to label me a whore. He blamed me, then he blamed my mom. Ever since I finished college, he’s been pushing someone on me to marry because, according to him, girls who get assaulted are broken and useless, and finding a man to even consider me was an exhaustive ordeal.”

  “Oh, my god, Liya.” Jay wrapped his arms around me and held me tight. In his embrace, the truth didn’t hurt so much. What my dad had done disintegrated. I’d only ever known men to hurt me, but for the first time, this man was gluing me back together. “And you think this secret would come out and make us run from you?”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “I am so sorry you went through all of this,” he added, kissing my head. “You are amazing and strong, and I’m incredibly honored that you shared with me.”

  “Don’t get all emotional,” I joked, my voice cracking in the process. “And you’re burning the eggs.”

  “Crap!” He jumped aside and grabbed the handle of the pan with a towel, moving it off the heat while gingerly trying to scrape the eggs into a plate. “I’ll make you better ones.”

  “It’s fine. I like burnt eggs.”

  He went to work cracking more eggs. “All these idiots in your past distorted what a real man is and how a healthy relationship works.”

  “Well, hell. Don’t hold back now.”

  He paused. “What happened to my back is the past, but you still want to know. Whether you like it or not, the past still affects us.”

  I swallowed. A numbing sensation crept over my chest and burrowed into my skin, and spread like thick tar.

  Jay deftly made a new batch of scrambled eggs and plated them while I brought the coffee to the counter. “I’m glad you told me. I know it’s not easy.”

  He leaned over and tenderly kissed my forehead before taking a seat beside me.

  I took a bite of eggs and made a face.

  “Don’t tell me my eggs are gross. I perfected scrambled eggs.”

  I laughed. “This needs salsa. How do you live with yourself?” I hopped off the barstool and rummaged through the fridge, grabbing a half-empty bottle of homemade, oven-roasted salsa. I shook it in my hand like a martini. “Extra spicy.”

  He grinned. “Keeping the moment light?”

  I handed him a spoon to dip into the jar. “The heavy stuff has passed. Unless you want to share something?”

  “Come here,” he said, pulling me onto his lap.

  He wrapped an arm around me while I took a bite of spicy eggs. He cleared his throat and explained, “When I was a kid, I got caught in a fire. Actually, I started the fire. By accident. Our apartment went up in flames. Hence the scars on my back.”

  “Oh. Wow. I’m sorry. That must’ve been traumatic. But you’re okay, you survived.”

  “Yeah…” he replied softly, and I knew that someone else hadn’t. As much as I hated talking about my past, I couldn’t hold him to telling me more, not when I hadn’t told him my entire story.

  “Do the scars hurt?”

  “Sometimes they’re sensitive, phantom pain, but otherwise, no.”

  “Can I see them?” I asked.

  “Why do you want to look at my ugly side?”

  “Jay, you don’t have an ugly side.”

  He watched me thoughtfully for a moment before shifting me off his lap. He kept an intense gaze locked on mine as he unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it off.

  He turned away as I carefully ran my fingertips over the ridges, studying and memorizing them, feeling his pain and terror. To have been a small child, consumed by flames, melting, screaming in agony, certain of death? Tears welled in my eyes as I could, unfortunately, relate. To that night when a grown man slid a hand over me, explained to me the things good girls do for him.

  I swallowed hard, my throat dry and aching, and blinked back hot, stinging tears.

  I didn’t know what possessed me, but I spread my fingers over his back in a gentle caress and kissed one of the scars. My lips moved up to his shoulders, his neck, near his ear, where I whispered, “Everything about you is gorgeous.”

  Jay swiveled back to me and pulled me between his legs. He took hold of my mouth with his, his hands alternating feather-light touches and gripping commands on my waist.

  I’d wanted men before, simply for their bodies, for wild flings and mind-numbing sex, but I found myself wanting Jay on a different level, a new plane. All of him. Physically, emotionally, eternally.

  I pulled back after he landed a final soft kiss to my lips. We stared at each other longingly.

  We still had boundaries: His not to cross anything beyond kisses. Mine not to venture anywhere near love.

  An impasse. A resolve that was quickly falling apart.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Jay

  Things returned to normal after spending the night with Liya, but normality now included sharing all meals—including my family weekday dinners. Liya added a lot of laughter. And we now had actual dates where heels were sanctioned. Those freaking expensive high heels, to be exact. At nearly five inches taller, she didn’t have to look so far up to reach my eyes. But she was still shorter, and I liked that. We were a perfect fit.

  Those shoes made Liya’s already long legs leaner, and the short red dress she wore made them stretch for days. The dress hugged every flawless curve.

  No matter what she wore, the woman was drop-dead gorgeous. It was a no-brainer to see why she made heads turn wherever she went, why men drooled over her. Case in point, she waited by the bar while the staff cleared a table for us. After I washed my hands, the hostess informed me that our table was ready. I returned to Liya to bring her over, when another man leaned against the counter and tried to buy her a drink.

  I stopped just behind Liya to blend into the line of people waiting beside the bar, the guy totally focused on her. She giggled, and my heart constricted.

  “A pretty thing like you shouldn’t have to buy her own drinks,” he said with a wink.

  Some deep, dark, dank part of me worried how she’d react to other men hitting on her, or if I’d end up an emotional, jealous, constantly worried man-child.

  Liya tucked hair behind her right ear. “I can buy my own drinks. And I’m not a thing.”

  The man’s grin wavered. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that—”

  “And I’m here with someone.”

  “I don’t see him.”

  “You don’t have to…” she replied curtly and swerved away from him, startling when she nearly walked nose-first into my chest. “Oh! You scared me.”

  “Sorry. Our table’s ready. Are you all right?” I asked her before glancing at the stranger over her shoulder. I placed a hand on her lower back, rubbing my thumb across her spine.

  “Yeah, just telling this guy that I have a man,” she replied loudly enough for him to hear.

  I chuckled, immediately at ease, as we weaved through tables to get to our seats near the window. Leave it to Liya to make sure she was heard. Definitely no blushing and playing it off or apologizing for things that weren’t her fault.

  I never thought I’d be the type of guy who wanted a woman who commanded so much attention, like, man, I’d have to deal with this all the time? How far would another guy go to get her? But I was working on not worrying. I was appreciative of everything about her. And yeah, feeling a little cocky that she was with me. I definitely felt like I’d won at life being with Liya, and somewhere in the recesses of my mind, my brain started to pick that up.

  As I pulled out her chair, she backed into me. The curve of her backside so perfectly aligned with my body, the slight scent of her flowery, and no doubt expensive, perfume, and tickle of her hair against my throat made me shudder. I gently pushed her chair in as she sat down and cros
sed her legs.

  Clearing my throat, I took my seat across from her, but not without noticing all the looks.

  “Is this what it’s like taking you out?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked with a frown.

  “All the looks?”

  “What looks?”

  “Come on, you don’t notice all these guys gawking at you?”

  “All these women undressing you with their eyes, you mean?” she teased with a smile, and presented a side I’d thought I’d never see. So far removed from her tough-girl, in-your-face image that one wouldn’t believe such an easy side of her existed.

  From that point on, it was just the two of us as everyone else ebbed away into a sea of colors and faint sounds. We ate lightly and shared a bottle of wine and a dessert. Time flew by. Had it been an hour already? Two?

  Maybe she read my thoughts and didn’t want the evening to end just yet, because she stood and gave me her hand. “Dance?”

  I stood, my eyes never leaving hers, took her hand, and walked her out to the dance floor. A slow song played, and several couples swayed to the music as we found ourselves in the middle. At first, she maintained distance, that awkward/respectful few inches, but I pulled her in close. I never wanted her too far from me.

  She gasped as her chest hit mine and my hand slid down her back, but she didn’t fight it. Gradually, her arms wrapped around my neck, her cheek against my shoulder as I leaned down. She shivered as my lips landed on her neck, her arms tightened, her breathing a little heavier.

  Why hadn’t every man in the world fallen in love with Liya Thakkar by now?

  We danced for three songs straight, the music effortlessly melting together, before we parted. I pulled her back into me and asked in her ear, “Do we have to call it a night?”

  “What do you have in mind?” she muttered.

  “Come on.” I took her hand, small but powerful, in mine.

  The valet pulled my car around, and I opened her door before he could. Once inside, I reached over the console and took her hand in mine, threading my fingers through hers. She studied our hands, thoughtful. What went through her head?