Once I was sure the house wasn’t going to end up burnt down or covered in vomit and spilled alcohol, I retreated to my room to work on a project I needed to finish for Mr. Smith’s class by Monday, which meant I was ridiculously short on time.
I hummed along to some of the tracks I could hear playing from the living room. Our place was small by the local standards, and the stereo in the living room was backed up to my wall, so I could hear everything clear enough to know Mandy was using my iPod Shuffle.
I was just starting to think it might be an okay night when my door opened. I looked up, expecting to see Mandy or maybe a confused party-goer looking for the bathroom. I didn’t expect to see him.
Zach Thornwood was standing in my doorway. In my bedroom. In my house.
“Quaint,” he said, strolling into my room without waiting for permission. He dragged a finger along the wall, eying the torn-out pages of my favorite poems thumbtacked to the walls. He stopped at one, reading the words and then making a dismissive sound before turning back to face me.
Even after what he pulled with Brent, it was hard not to marvel at him. He was dressed in black, lean and fit, with those eyes that seemed too deep to comprehend.
“Is this the part where you explain what you’re doing in my bedroom?” I asked. I was sitting on my bed still with my chemistry book and notebook paper sprawled all around me.
“It’s the part where I give you an offer.” He paused when the song swapped to Heartbeats by José Gonzalez. He smirked, pointing a finger to the ceiling. “Cue the romantic music.”
I covered my mouth, because I didn’t want him to see that I was trying not to smile.
Once I collected myself, I pulled my hand down. “What offer?” I asked.
“An offer to get me out of your business. A truce.”
“I’m listening.”
He was closer then, standing in front of me. The music hummed through the walls, soft and gentle to his cold and cruel.
“Kiss me,” he said. His voice was like sugar. Like butter. Like all the bad things that you had to learn not to indulge in because they were poison once they got inside you. “Kiss me and then tell me you didn’t like it. That’s all. Do that, and I’ll leave you alone. Once and for all.”
I laughed, scrunching up my forehead even as my stomach did somersaults and my heart pounded. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“You have a better idea?” he asked. “Because I’ll level with you, Gardener Girl. You got under my skin somehow. I can’t be bothered to figure out why. All I know is I want you gone. Out of my system. And the only way I’m getting you out of my system is when you give me what I really want.”
“And what do you really want?” I asked. I hated that my voice came out as a whisper, that I hoped against all good judgment that he was going to say me. My heart. My body. I didn’t care, but I wanted him to want me, no matter how little sense that made.
“Take a wild fucking guess,” he growled.
I swallowed. Waited. Waited.
He stepped closer until his body was between where my legs dangled over the edge of the bed. Our eyes met, and for the briefest moment, it was like I saw the perpetual storm in those eyes give way to something softer and calmer, but it was gone in an instant.
He planted his hands beside my hips, coming closer and leaning down until our faces were only inches apart.
He smelled intoxicating. It was a scent without a name, something that simply screamed sex, a smell that I knew would never leave my memory banks and I’d never find anywhere else. It was pheremonal, something thousands of years of evolution had taught my body to want, to crave.
“Ask me to do it,” he whispered, breath brushing against my lips.
“Kiss me,” I breathed.
He pressed his lips to mine. They were warm. Soft, wet but not too wet. Perfect. He took my bottom lip between his and pulled slightly, giving me the slightest nip with his teeth. It ignited something wild in me, something that had me clutching the back of his head, and pulling him closer as our lips worked together with bruising intensity, tongues swirling.
He kissed away my doubts. My worries. My hatred.
I knew they would come back as soon as it was done, but that knowledge was distant and unimportant. All that mattered was him. His smell. His taste. I needed it like I needed to breathe, and I couldn’t stop. I knew where this was going, too. I could already feel more of his weight pressing down on me as he climbed on the bed, pushing me down and letting his hands explore me.
And then the door opened.
“What the fuck?” Mandy asked. “Ari?” she asked again, voice shrill and full of disbelief. She sounded like she had just caught me making out with a monster, and I guessed she wasn’t entirely wrong.
Zach stood, grinning down at me with lips that were already red and slightly swollen. “Well?” he asked.
“Well what?” Mandy said, even though Zach was ignoring her. “Get the fuck out of here. You don’t go anywhere near her.” She was thrusting her finger out the doorway like she was a teacher and Zach was a misbehaving student.
“I need my answer, Gardener Girl.”
“I hated it,” I said, quietly enough that I hoped Mandy couldn’t hear. It had the unintended side-effect of making Zach lean closer until his lips were nearly against mine again.
“Liar,” he said, and his smirk was wide enough that I knew it didn’t matter what I said. He knew as well as I did that the kiss was electric. Soul-shattering. It was the kind of kiss they wrote about in books and dramatized in movies. The kind that changed lives and could alter the course of a thousand-ton ship in a single moment.
For better or worse, it was a kiss that forged a connection between us, and I knew I had made a horrible, beautiful mistake.
Present Day
Pittsburg was unseasonably cold, which seemed to fit the industrial, kind of dirty look of the city. I had been on tour with Zach for almost a week now, and he hadn’t once made any effort to use me as his muse, unless his little comment after our kiss counted. He’d only made me clean his wound once. He also hadn’t exercised his right to have a meal with me, even though he made a point of listing it in our twisted little contract. I felt like an afterthought, like the kiss really hadn’t felt special to him, and he was bored with me already, maybe considering just dropping me off at a stop along the way and never looking back.
I had dreamed of the kiss all those years ago last night. Except in my dream, the background kept flickering between my bedroom and the stage, the soundtrack between Jose Gonzalez and Zach Thornwood. This whole thing felt like a distorted echo of the past, like I was trapped in a subtle version of the movie Groundhog’s Day and had to keep replaying the same events again and again until I finally got it right. Until I got it perfect.
If I made it through these six months and nothing changed between Zach and I, would he find his way back into my life in another eight years? Another sixteen? Was this my own personal hell?
Splashing water in my face helped blast away some of the drowsy philosophical ramblings that seemed to dominate my mind that morning. This wasn’t fate or the universe trying to push us together. It was just me having shitty luck, Zach being too gorgeous for his own good, and my inexplicable taste for brooding, damaged men.
Our hotel in Pittsburg was fancy like the Peabody, and I could already see how the glamour of staying in five-star hotels must have run so thin by now for the guys. Instead of peeling wallpaper and stained carpets that looked like they were designed in the 70s, you got natural wood accented walls, pretentious paintings, and rugs that probably cost more than I'd make in five years. You also traded out the sometimes charming lady or guy who worked the front desk and wished you a safe trip for someone who would look down their nose at you with disdain, like you were a bug that had found its way in and unfortunately had enough money to avoid being kicked out.
I began the morning like I began the last four mornings of my servitude to Z
ach. I put my hands on the counter in front of my bathroom mirror, closed my eyes, and ran through the mental checklist of reasons I should, under no circumstances, ever let my heart start to thaw for Zach. The kiss had messed with my brain, but the effect was fading. I could see things more clearly again.
He made me leave my family behind. He broke Brent and me up because he was jealous. He started a rumor that I cheated on Brent and got me a black eye and a barrage of bullying. He came back as an adult and blackmailed me. He dragged me across the country and was still sleeping with other girls right across the hall from me.
I couldn’t get entirely upset about that last part. I had literally told him to do it, but he would have been an idiot to think I meant it, so I was still going to hold it against him, whether it was fully fair or not.
No matter how many times I ran through the list, I couldn’t stop a little part of my mind from replaying the kiss. That night. With José Gonzalez on the stereo and his soft lips on mine. There were no walls between us then. He meant to do something cruel and he accidentally let his guard down. I knew he would never admit it, but I felt it. He felt it too. I saw it in his eyes.
I tried dating. I kissed dozens of guys. Failed dates, failed attempts for friends to set me up. I even tried casual sex, thinking maybe the fact that I knew I was doing something bad was what made the kiss with Zach feel so electric.
Nothing had ever come close. I just wish I knew why he ran from it. He may have still pursued me after the kiss, but I always sensed that he just wanted to get me out of his system. Maybe I was so reluctant to give in because I was scared that it would work—that he’d sleep with me and realize I wasn’t anything special after all. I was just another girl and the kiss was a freak occurrence, some glitch in our brain’s that tricked us into thinking there was something special between us.
My phone buzzed on the countertop and slid into the sink. I snagged it quickly, swearing and rubbing it with a towel to try to get any moisture off before it could settle in and do damage.
I picked up the phone, slid my finger across, and answered without looking at who was calling.
“Any updates?” Mandy asked.
I regretted calling her, but I had felt so lost and weak. Now I just wanted to pretend none of last night had ever happened, including me admitting I still had feelings for Zach. “Nope. Everything is good. Just trying to survive through this weirdness.”
“Great,” Mandy said. “So now that you don’t sound on the verge of an emotional breakdown, can I get pissed at you for dodging my calls for three days?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, sighing. “This has all felt like a nightmare. I think I knew if I talked to you, it’d wipe away any doubt that I was dreaming.”
“Bullshit. You put off calling me for so long because you didn’t want to admit that you’ve already let Zach seduce you.”
I grinned. “Very funny. No. My chastity belt is still locked tightly and the key is hidden.”
A pause. “Really? I’m proud, Ari. Seriously. I’m not trying to patronize you. I thought with the way you were talking last night that maybe you had done something silly.”
It was a sad thing to be praised for, and even sadder that I felt a rush of satisfaction at the recognition. I resisted Zach Thornwood for a few days. Woo-freaking-hoo. Only one kiss did count as resistance, right? “Maybe they’ll send my medal of honor in the mail.”
She laughed. “If they are handing out medals for not getting any, they must not know my address. I could’ve melted them down and built a skyscraper by now.”
“Oh come on. It’s not that bad.” It wasn’t a question, because frankly, I didn’t want to talk or think about my sister’s sex life. All I know is she’s drop-dead gorgeous and she lives in California. I find it hard to imagine she’s not getting her fair share of attention from guys, unless she’s been beating them away with a nail-studded baseball bat.
“Yeah, well, stupid me started looking for a guy who might actually be worth starting a family with. Ever since I added that little clause to the agreement, nobody has survived the first date. Go figure. Anyway, I’m happy to know you’re not dead or pregnant.”
I rolled my eyes. “Are those my only two options?”
“They are the most likely.”
“Oh ye of little faith. I can handle myself, Mandy. I’m not a dumb high schooler anymore. I’m a dumb adult, and Zach showed me most of the tricks up his sleeve back in Belvedere. He’s in for a rough six months if he’s trying to get me pregnant.”
“And if he’s trying to get you dead?”
“Well, he never tried that back in high school, so maybe he could pull it off.”
“Not funny. You be careful, okay? I don’t want to go to jail for multiple homicides. I’m too pretty for jail. They’d eat me alive.”
I grinned. “Multiple homicides? How many people do you think you’d have to kill if something happened to me?”
“Every last one of them,” she deadpanned.
“I love you,” I said, feeling suddenly sad and so homesick it hurt. I held the phone tighter and leaned forward until my forehead rested against the mirror.
“I love you too. Don’t dodge my calls anymore, or I’ll be the one to kill you. Got it?”
“Got it,” I said.
Zach came by my room when I was eating a room service omelet that was so big it probably could've fed a family of four. Zach still wore the boot on one foot, but it hardly seemed to slow him down now.
“Hungry? That thing is the size of your head.” Zach seemed to have no problem letting himself into my room without waiting for permission. I made a mental note to stay fully dressed at all times. I scanned him quickly, searching for any lingering feelings from last night and finding only his usual cocky and detached exterior.
“I didn’t know it was going to be this big,” I said, motioning to my plate.
“Yeah, most people don’t,” he said, making it clear from his tone that he wasn’t talking about my breakfast. “But trust me, it goes down easier than it looks like it would.”
I chose not to dignify that with a response.
He walked over and sat on the bed beside me. He plucked the fork from my hand and scooped himself a big bite of my food and chewed thoughtfully. “Could use a little salt,” he said, handing me the fork back.
I took it from him and felt a girlish tingling from the casual way he had shared my fork and my food.
“Does this count as one of my mandatory meals with you?” I asked.
I wanted to bring up the girl in his room. I had no right to bring it up, though, so I made a monumental effort to pretend nothing was wrong.
“I’ve been saving them up,” he said. “That means I have four more meals with you now, if we count this as one. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, and then breakfast the following morning, since you’ll already be in my room.”
“That’s definitely not how it was worded in the contract,” I said, carefully ignoring his not-so-subtle implication. The truth was that I enjoyed his flirtation. It was like an old, familiar game, and if Zach wasn’t so cold most of the time, the little fragments of his affection buried in the flirtation wouldn’t feel so precious.
“Didn’t realize you were a lawyer. You know the contract is bullshit, right? I can change it whenever I want. It’s not like you can challenge me on it.”
I sighed. “Do you have to always be such a dick?”
“Would you rather I pretend to be Mr. Nice Guy like your drummer boy?”
“He’s not mine. And no. You should keep being yourself, because it makes it easier to hate you.”
He leaned closer, planting his hand behind me on the bed close enough to my ass that I could feel the bed sink in a little. “Hate is a powerful emotion. Inject a little lust, a little passion, and you might find yourself confused. It would only take a moment for all that energy to get misdirected into something you might regret.”
“Are you speaking from experience?” I asked.
The confidence in his eyes faltered. "Maybe," he said, leaning away from me and hopping up off the bed. "I said I would show you Pittsburg. And you owe me lunch. And dinner. And breakfast. So you can either hang out with me today or I'll keep dragging you out for meals anyway. Your choice." He snatched the fork from my hand again and took another bite of my omelet.
“I almost forgot,” he said, tapping his forehead and plopping down on my bed on his back. “Nurse, my wound needs cleaning.”
I groaned. “It’s not even that bad anymore,” I said, prodding it.
He winced, glaring at me. “Speak for yourself. You’re a shitty nurse. It definitely hurts when you fucking poke it.”
I rolled my eyes, but grinned. “Baby.” I grabbed a wet paper towel from the bathroom and sat beside him, trying not to notice how his shirt had ridden up over his stomach and was giving a tantalizing view of tanned flesh and his happy trail. I saw it like a blur from the corner of my eyes, and keeping my gaze from sliding down for a better look was like torture. He was watching me like he knew exactly what was going through my head.
“You can keep kidding yourself, Gardener Girl. We both know the truth. The only difference is you’re deluding yourself. I’m honest.”
“What truth is that?” I asked, trying to sound disinterested.
“You know it wouldn’t work out between us. You think you want me to change? To become some reformed asshole? Unless you have a time machine in that giant ass warehouse you call a purse, you’re shit out of luck.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means your purse is ridiculous. What the fuck do you keep in there, a paper towel roll? A bazooka?”
I sighed. “You know that’s not what I was asking.”
He shrugged. “It means it’s none of your business.”
“Next time you want something to be none of my business, you might consider not teasing like a freakin’ news anchor before a commercial break.”
Hate at First Sight Page 12