Hate to Love You

by Isabelle Richards

  “Never.” He winks. “So tell me, Lamm, how are you? How are things with the doctor? You’re still going, yes?”

  I groan. “Yes, I’m still going. I’m not sure for how long though. My schedule is about to get hectic. I’m not sure how I’ll fit it in.” A group of minimally dressed women walk by behind Henrik. By the way that they’re walking and giggling, I’m guessing they’re as classy as their attire. “Where are you?”

  He tosses his head to clear a lock of shaggy blond hair from in front of his eye. “Brazil. We’re here checking out the new training facility. Then I go back to Madrid for a game, then back to South Africa. Thankfully this is my last game before we break for the Olympics. All this back and forth is making me crazy. But, Lamm, if you need me to come to you, I’ll make the time.”

  He’s so dramatic. He acts as though I need to be on suicide watch just because I was a little bit stressed. Henrik doesn’t get stressed¸ so it’s completely foreign to him.

  “I’m fine, really. I wish you wouldn’t worry.”

  He furrows his brow. “Of course I’m worried. Your father’s heart condition is serious. The poor man almost died and now you’re dealing with it all by yourself. It’s too much for one person.”

  A loud cheer and a chorus of “Woo!” echo through my speakers. Time to change the subject. I’m not talking about my father’s failing heart in front of a bunch of “Woo” girls. “Did Raimond get those contracts to look over? I ran into Mark from Adidas the other day, and he made it sound like they hadn’t heard back from you? You really need to get that firmed up before the Olympics.”

  He keeps looking away, and it sounds as if he’s in the middle of a party or in a bar. It’s next to impossible to keep his attention.

  I tap my nails on the microphone to get his attention. “Henrik? Are you listening?”

  His eyes are still focused on something happening to his left. “What? What was your question?”

  “Adidas? Have you gotten a contract?”

  His eyes go up and to the left, as if he’s trying to search his memory bank. “I haven’t heard, but I’m not concerned. If it happens, it happens. I just want to play soccer, Lamm. I couldn’t care less about sponsors. That was always your focus, not mine.”

  Fantastic. This conversation again. “It’s your career. I’m not trying to push you. I just wish you would hire an actual agent, not some guy who got cut from your team. You need someone looking out for you.”

  A big smile flashes across his face. “But that’s what I have you for. I play soccer, and you make sure everything else runs smoothly.”

  Wonderful, so I can be the nagging, hag of a girlfriend? No, thank you. If I wanted a child, I’d have one.

  Charlie enters my condo holding up a pregnancy test and points at the bathroom. “Hey, Riky.” She rushes into the bathroom and shuts the door.

  “Was that Charlie?” Henrik asks.

  “Yes, but focus, Henrik. What are you going to do about Adidas? If you flake on them, you won’t get them back.”

  His phone dings. I’ve lost his attention again.

  “Fantastic!” he says. “Looks like I’m all set to go caving while I’m in Spain. We’re going rafting in some underground river.”

  I rub my temples to fight off the impending migraine I’ll get from this conversation. “Should you really be doing that with the Olympics coming up? I wouldn’t be surprised if your contract has rules against extreme sports during the season.” He never thinks about stuff like this, and it drives me crazy. His team could break his contract, without pay, if he violates the terms. I’d bet him a million dollars that rafting violates the terms of his insurance policy—if he even has one. My stomach churns just thinking about that.

  He shakes his head. “That’s why I’m going caving instead of climbing. Caving is like taking a walk in the park. You need to stop stressing. You’re going to get worry lines.”

  Charlie comes out of the bathroom and shakes her head.

  I look at my laptop, and Henrik is texting someone. “Henrik, I’ve got to go.”

  He looks back at the screen. “We’ll talk soon. Please take care of yourself. You still look thin. I’m very worried. I mean it—I’ll drop everything and be there for you.”

  “Don’t worry, I promise I’m okay. Good night,” I say before closing my computer.

  Charlie collapses on the sofa. “No baby this month.”

  I get up from my desk and join her. I wrap my arms around her. “I’m sorry, babe.”

  She sighs and wipes away a tear. “At least Spencer isn’t here. He gets so upset but then tries to hide how upset he is. Then he just looks constipated, and I can’t take him seriously, so I laugh, and he gets sad. Thank heaven for business trips.” She brushes away a few more tears. “No more baby talk tonight, okay?”

  I nod and hug her again. Her phone dings. She smirks and shows it to me.

  Henrik: Take care of my lamm.

  “Does he know he spells lamb wrong?” she asks, flipping through her emails.

  “Lamm is lamb in German. He was born in South Africa, but he’s spent the majority of his life in Germany.”

  She clucks her tongue. “Ah ha. That’s why his accent is all over the place.” She looks up from her phone. “So why is he playing for South Africa in the Olympics?”

  “It’s a long story from his first Olympics, like twelve years ago. Right after he signed with Munich. Since he was born in South Africa, he could play for either Germany or South Africa, but once you sign allegiance with one country, you can’t switch down the road. Something happened between his father and the German coach. I’m not sure of the details, but I think the German coach made a pass at his mother. So, now every four years he plays for South Africa. They’re ecstatic for their chances in the Olympics this year.”

  “I can see that,” she replies. “Mrs. Jensen is a hottie. I bet in her day, she was a total MILF.” Her phone chimes four times, all messages from Henrik. “It looks like Henrik is still in full panic mode over you and your delicate condition. You should just let him come and see you. He’ll settle down then.”

  I shake my head. “No way in hell. First, Henrik does not settle down. Ever. Second, while he’s well meaning, he’s so freaking high maintenance. He’ll come here under the guise of supporting me, but ten seconds later, I’ll have to play cruise director. That boy needs to be entertained every minute of the day, and when he isn’t in a structured plan, he gets impulsive. That never turns out well.”

  She pulls a throw pillow from behind her back and sets it on her lap. “I thought you liked his spontaneity.”

  “Spontaneity is great. Impulsivity is the problem. Impulsivity like ‘let’s crash someone’s wedding and see how long it takes before someone realizes we don’t know anyone.’ Or ‘let’s buy a vineyard that’s gone bankrupt and all the vines have disease because we like the label.’ Or ‘let’s go backpacking across Antarctica only wearing boots and boxers.’”

  She looks at me critically with raised eyebrows. “You exaggerate.”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “He’s done all those things. That boy is so damn ADD, if you don’t keep him on a structured schedule, he’ll end up calling you from Iceland where he’s bought a ruby claim. True story.”

  “He does kind of remind me of a puppy. One second you’re talking to him, and then boom. Squirrel! You’ve lost him.” She laughs. “Doesn’t he have soccer to keep him on track? Or does he just hop from one adventure to the next?”

  “He loves soccer like a little boy loves soccer. When he’s in the moment, playing makes him the happiest that he could ever be, and that passion and enthusiasm makes him great. But once that moment is gone, he’s distracted by the next high. He doesn’t take his commitment to the game seriously. Soccer only comes into his field of vision when it doesn’t interfere with living. He eats like crap and only works out when I’m around to force him to do so. He lives moment to moment, which was what drew me to him. He was just
what I needed to snap out of my post-injury funk, but now that I’m out of my funk…”

  She nods. “He got you out of the damn training room and back into the real world. I’ll always be thankful for that. When you sent me pictures of you rafting down the North Johnstone River, I almost didn’t believe it was you.”

  “Just being around him makes me feel high because he has energy seeping out of his pores. I’ve never felt more alive than I did when he was dragging me to the ends of the earth to do something insane. You start to crave the adrenaline rush he takes you on—until it goes too far. Then you feel like you’re crashing and burning, suffocating from the smoke.”

  “You say it’s crashing and burning, others would say it’s having him proposing to you in front of two hundred thousand screaming soccer fans with Snow Patrol serenading you, begging you to just say yes.”

  I look at the ring on my finger. “Exactly.”

  She pouts. “Spencer didn’t get me Snow Patrol or any of my other favorite bands, and I’ve been screwing him since I was fifteen.”

  “Spencer took you on a scavenger hunt to all of the significant places in your life together,” I said. “Considering you’ve been together for a million years, that was a huge undertaking that took way more thought, time, effort, and love. The only reason Henrik proposed was because Harry Winston and Tiffany’s both started hounding him after I supposedly moved in after my retirement. Mr. Impulsive just jumped on it without thinking. I don’t even like Snow Patrol.” Okay, that’s a lie. I really like them, but not liking them makes my point far more effective. “Spencer’s your soul mate. What you have with him is amazing. Never doubt that.”

  She smiles that girl-in-love smile. “Nah, I’m just using him for the great sex.”

  “Must be nice,” I mutter.

  She leans back and raises an eyebrow. “What’s this you say? You can’t be saying doing the nasty with Mr. Impulsive isn’t explosive, because I don’t buy that. Impulsive boys like to do crazy stuff like drench you in chocolate sauce and screw you in the back of a limo because they can’t wait another second. I always figured he was six feet of hell-raising fun in the sack.”

  “More often than not, he’s all about instant gratification. I’m not sure how you work, but nothing about me comes in an instant.”

  “I’m shocked. A man that gorgeous oozes sex appeal. I can’t imagine that he isn’t mind blowing.”

  “Looks can be deceiving. It’s mind blowing for him, but not as much for me. He used to try, but after a while of not getting anywhere, he kind of gave up.”

  “I’m still confused,” she says.

  I’m sure she’s not, but she wants to draw this out.

  “Damn, Charlie. I have never had an orgasm with him.”

  She brings her hands to her face like Macaulay Culkin. “What? How is that possible?”

  “You’re really a riot. I’d love to live in your ‘I married my high school sweetheart who still brings me flowers every day’ bubble. I shouldn’t make this sound like it’s his fault though. I’m broken. ”

  She grabs my hand. “Broken? Have you never…?”

  “Oh, no. I have. Lots. But… we shouldn’t talk about this.” I should have known better than to discuss this with her. Nothing good comes from thinking about this.

  She grips my hand and shakes her head. “You can’t stop there. I’m curious. How have we not talked about this before?”

  “Because this is the first time since I lost my virginity that we’ve been in the same zip code for more than a night or two. I’ve been traveling nonstop for the last seven years.”

  She nods.

  She opens her mouth to ask another question, but I interrupt. “Really, Charlie, you don’t want to have this conversation.”

  She looks insulted. “I’m not a prude Arianna. Clearly my sex life is more exciting than yours, so I’m not sure why you think you need to shield me from this.” She’s not going to give up.

  “Okay. Remember you asked for it.” I exhale to release my stress. “No one has been able to get me off except your brother.”

  She covers her ears and gasps. “You’re right. I don’t want to talk about this.”

  I can’t help but laugh. Watching her squirm is actually fun after all of her prodding. “I tried to warn you!”

  “I don’t want to talk about this, but I will say that is so sad, Ari.”

  “I’ve only been with two guys, so it isn’t like I think Chase is the only one who ever could. My sample size is just too limited. Well, that’s what I hope. How awful would it be if the only one who can master my nether regions is someone I can’t be around without wanting to bludgeon him with a heavy object?”

  “I bet he wants to bludgeon you with his heavy object,” she quips.

  “Charlie! This is your brother we’re talking about!”

  “Sorry, you just set it up so perfectly. I couldn’t let it pass. I’m trying to pretend we’re talking about anyone other than my brother.” She gags as a shiver runs through her.

  “Enough of this conversation. Do you want a drink?”

  She jumps up and follows me to the kitchen. “Anything strong. I found out I’m not pregnant and that my brother broke my best friend’s vajayjay. I need a double.” She stops and stares at the Leroy Neiman painting of me playing tennis. “When did you get this done? How have I not noticed it before?”

  I really need to take that down or give it to Daddy. “Chase commissioned it for me, and you’re not here very often.”

  She turns on the hall light and steps back to look at the painting. “It came out amazing. My brother has good taste.”

  “Don’t remind me.” I look at the painting, trying to quash the feelings threatening to bubble over me. “He practically decorated this condo.”

  She looks at me as if I’m crazy. “My brother?”

  I shrug. “I know. It surprised me too, but he has an eye, and our tastes are similar. When I bought this place, it was more or less to keep our relationship on the DL. Whenever I was in town, we were here. A lot. I used to think of it as our place, not my place. So we picked stuff out together.” Chase will make one hell of a husband one day. To someone else.

  “That’s sweet and so surprising. When I helped him with his place it was like pulling teeth. I almost beat him with a curtain rod when we were picking window coverings.”

  I pat her shoulder. “I know he’s your twin, but I promise there’re things about him that would surprise you. It was really sweet at the time. Now I want to gut the place because everything here reminds me of him. It’s like a damn mausoleum to our relationship.”

  I wake up to the alarm clock he picked out, so he’s the first thing I think about. I avoid the recycled glass plates we found when we were in Sweden together, so I end up eating on paper plates. Everywhere I look, there’s a memory, but I can’t seem to part with any of it. The relationship ended, yet the ghost of it remains, and she’s a bitch of a roommate. There’s a reason I stayed away for two years. Suddenly my pony tail feels too tight. I pull the elastic out of my hair. It does nothing to relieve the tension. I think it’s time for a subject change.

  “I’ve got water, cranberry juice, and OJ,” I call from the kitchen.

  She stomps down the hall. “Who the hell drinks cranberry juice when they aren’t having sex or using it to cut the taste of vodka? UTIs and martinis are the only purposes of cranberry juice.” She opens all my cabinets. “Sometimes I don’t know how we’re friends. All these cabinets and not a drop of alcohol.”

  I open the freezer.

  “Oh, hello, lover,” she says, pulling out the container from Humphry Slocombe, the best ice cream shop in the world. Their specialty is unique flavor combinations. She opens the lid. “What did you get this time? I can’t tell.”

  Reaching into the silverware drawer, I take out a spoon, then hand it to her. “It’s Secret Breakfast.” Bourbon and cornflakes. I hadn’t expected it to be good, but it’s amazing.

&nbs
p; “I now forgive you for making me think about my brother having sex.” She hugs the container. “You do realize you’re not getting any of this, right?”

  I hand her a spoon as we walk toward the living room. “It’s all yours.”

  She grabs a throw blanket before curling up on the sofa with my ice cream. “So let me ask this and may we never speak of it again.” With the way she’s chowing down, you’d think that test had been positive. “So you’re realizing you can’t let go of my brother, and sex with anyone else has been mediocre. Do you think that maybe it’s a sign you belong with Chase?”

  I pull the spoon from her hand and steal her bite. “Maybe it’s a sign I need to have more sex. Maybe sex with Chase wasn’t really that good, but I just don’t know any better.”

  She yanks the spoon back and growls. “Maybe. Or maybe he’s your Spencer. Good sex happens when you can completely let yourself go with someone. Give him everything you have and take everything he’s willing to give in return. Clearly you had this”—she fake gags—“with my brother. That tells me something.”

  “Okay. Your point being? I can never be with anyone the way I was with Chase? It’s a one-shot deal?”

  “I heard you and Henrik earlier. You sound more like his mother than his fiancé. That’s probably why your sex sucks. It’s hard to be attracted to someone you feel like you need to parent.”

  She’s not wrong. I can’t count how many times I’ve felt more like Henrik’s guardian than his girlfriend. I’ve never been able to completely let my guard down with him. Charlie may have a point, but it still doesn’t mean Chase is the only one for me.

  Chapter Nine

  February 2014

  Munich, Germany

  Arianna

  I’ve read romance novels where the sex was so powerful she could “feel him in her womb,” and that always scared the crap out of me. If some guy impaled my cervix and actually entered my uterus, that would be dreadfully painful and probably deadly. But I think that Henrik’s been reading his PA’s Kindle again, because he’s acting as though he thinks my cervix is his mortal enemy and it’s his mission to destroy it.