As Long As You Hate Me

by Carrie Aarons

  And with his other hand, he pumps a woman’s head up and down in his lap.

  I don’t know why I’m shocked, frozen stock still to the spot I’m being a voyeur in. Anger roils in my gut, disrespect and disgust mixing like a dangerous cocktail. How dare he do this … bring a woman back here to fuck when I’m sleeping in the room down the hall.

  You’re not a real couple, a whining voice mocks me in the back of my skull.

  “Stroke my balls,” he instructs her.

  That makes me gasp, heat pooling in my core and making me clench my legs. It’s so wrong, that I burn below the waist watching him get his rocks off. But I find myself growing wetter by the moment.

  Dean’s eyes flash open, finding mine between the crack of the door and its jamb. I suck in a breath, my heart pounding out of my chest.

  He doesn’t stop her. Instead, he fists a handful of brown hair in his fingers, and more forcefully moves her head.

  As a smirk blooms on his face, putting on a show for me.

  Tears burn at the corners of my eyes as I turn on my heel and sprint for my room.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dean

  I’m a piece of shit.

  I know this, it’s a fact I’ve resigned myself to in recent years. Then how come I feel lower than scum in the day following the incident where Kara caught me getting my knob polished?

  I was horny, my cock couldn’t take it anymore. And plus, she had made it clear, in no uncertain terms, over our dinner at Nobu that the two of us would never fall into bed under any pretense ever again. I had to rub at my chest from the ache still lingering over her bringing up that night so many years ago, the one she thought she knew the whole story on.

  Willow wasn’t necessarily a friend, but she also wasn’t a fuck buddy. No, I didn’t pay her, she was in the industry as a B-list TV actress and made a very nice living for herself. She was just someone who also enjoyed having fun, kept her mouth shut, and didn’t mind not having any strings attached. We fucked when we felt like it, didn’t get jealous of each other, and there was no awkwardness or expectation to spend the night.

  Except after Kara had run out of the doorway like a scared little mouse, my dick had instantly gone soft. Like my genitalia felt bad for being an asshole, even though my fake girlfriend wanted absolutely nothing to do with me. I was pathetic, and mixed up, and I sent Willow home as I almost ripped my hair out in frustration.

  The one woman I had but couldn’t touch thought I was a cheater and a liar, yet I couldn’t get my rocks off with another female because my conscience decided to kick in at that moment.

  When I walk into the kitchen, Kara is chatting openly with my chef, Skylar.

  “And then we fold it over, as so.” Skylar maneuvers something in a frying pan with a spatula, his thick middle jiggling as he laughs at something I don’t hear Kara say.

  “Can I bring you home with me to New Jersey? I swear, Sky, I’ve never eaten better food than I have here.” She props her chin on her hand while sitting at the large marble island, her posture completely relaxed.

  Annoyance flickers through my heart knowing that she’ll never be that relaxed with me ever again.

  “If I wasn’t such a fame whore, maybe I’d run away with you to the Dirty Jerz,” he teases her.

  “You’ll have to at least come for a visit and let me show you that my great state is more than traffic and wasteland. Where I live is practically the boondocks.”

  “Good morning,” I announce myself, smiling at Kara in what I hope is a disarming way.

  She turns her head, looking out the window and refusing to acknowledge my presence.

  “‘Sup, boss? Overnight oats with caramel and pecans? I just bought fresh ones, they’re so sweet I could eat the entire container.” Skylar fist bumps me as I walk past him to the fridge, grabbing the milk out of it and pouring myself a glass.

  “That sounds awesome, man, thanks.” I turn to Kara. “So, I need you to come shopping with me today.”

  I’m met by a swish of her black hair, tousled from sleep.

  “I need to get a suit for this opening of a movie I wrote a song for … and I’d love to take you shopping for a dress.” I try to plead with her with Skylar also in the room.

  He sets her breakfast in front of her, and then sets to work on mine. Once he sets my bowl in front of me, I think he gets the hint and exits the kitchen.

  “I’m sorry you had to see that last night. But I was in my bedroom, and you made it clear the other night that there was not going to be anything of that nature between us.” I sit on the stool across from her, forcing her to look at me.

  “That doesn’t mean I’m comfortable with you bringing skanks to the house I’m staying in, pretending to be your girlfriend. What would happen if that girl blabbed to the media?” Her tone is pure anger.

  I tuck into my oats, too hungry to have this discussion on an empty stomach. After a few bites, I look her square in the eyes again.

  “Her name is Willow, and she won’t say anything to anyone. She’s a friend.”

  “A friend who lets you put your dick in her mouth.” Kara’s lower lip wobbles.

  I realize that this has affected her more than I thought, in an emotional sense. Maybe she was bluffing when she said those things at dinner the other night.

  I sigh. “I apologize, I really am sorry. It was inconsiderate of me, and if it happens again, I’ll take my activities off campus so to speak. I would be upset if you did the same, and I should have thought about that.”

  “I wouldn’t do that, since it says in the contract that I can have no male visitors or friends during this period of time we’re pretending.”

  She’s right, and I feel even more like a dick. What a double standard. “Then I won’t either.”

  “Yeah, right.” Kara snorts like I just told her I’m hiding a unicorn in my bathroom.

  “I promise.” I hold a pinky out to her, like I had in high school the time I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone about her fear of the dark. “No other women, my hand will be my only company for the next couple of months.”

  She studies my pinky where it extends to her across the island. Finally, she reaches out, latching hers around it. “Only because it will be so fun to watch you squirm.”

  The tailor sticks another pin the cuff of the pant leg I’m wearing, and I scroll through my Instagram feed, bored as I get fitted in the Hugo Boss three piece.

  “How about this one?” Kara’s voice comes from behind me, and I look up in the mirror.

  Behind me, but so I can see her next to my own reflection in the surface, she stands just outside the dressing room.

  In the sexiest, silkiest red dress that hugs every curve of her body. Black curls spill over one shoulder, and the straps of material around her shoulders barely contain the perkiest set of tits I’ve ever seen. I wish I had the privilege of exploring this version of Kara. Of course, discovering her sexuality as a teenager had been an extremely arousing experience, but the man in me appreciated this mature body she sported now.

  “I mean … it’s fucking spectacular.” My voice cracked.

  Kara actually smiles shyly, examining herself in the mirror.

  “But, I think Patrick, my agent, wouldn’t approve of it for the premiere. Maybe something a little more reserved, but still sexy,” I tell the last part to the personal shopper helping Kara.

  She nods curtly and walks back out of our little VIP dressing room area.

  “I think you’re right, although this is the most beautiful dress I’ve ever worn. Actually, all of the ones I’ve tried on are better than the last.” She fingers the material on her body.

  “You can get multiple dresses, but I want the perfect one for the premiere. It’s going to be a big night.”

  She doesn’t yet know it, but Patrick and I think it’ll be the best opportunity to debut our engagement. Not only will she be wearing a new dress, but she’ll have an added five carats on her left finger.

 
“I feel like Julia Roberts.” Kara laughs.

  “Do you have something you need to tell me about your profession?” I raise an eyebrow at her as the tailor chalks a line on the outside of the jacket I’m wearing.

  Violet eyes roll dramatically. “No, you jerk. But I do feel as though I should belittle some sales clerk for making me feel small. Not that everyone here hasn’t been entirely wonderful!” She adds the last part just in case anyone is listening.

  “Maybe you should add some hats and a tie to that order. And a dress to stomp divots in.”

  She chuckles. “I made you watch that movie far too many times, apparently.”

  I laugh too. “You think? I could recite Richard Gere’s lines by memory, to be honest. You were obsessed.”

  Kara shrugs. “I liked a good romantic comedy.”

  “Liked?! Do you know how much money I spent on movies in high school? I almost had to get a second minimum wage job because you loved a good love story.”

  The smiles between us warm the ice that had frozen over our connection from the night before, and it takes a minute or two before Kara turns to go back into the smaller dressing room off of the private area we occupy.

  It may be a small interaction, but it feels like I just climbed Everest. We finally had a conversation that didn’t end in insults or someone storming out, and it made me think that there was light at the end of this tunnel.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Kara

  There is definitely an image one has when they think about a Hollywood party. Secret back doors, dark corners, eccentric entertainers, drugs, top shelf alcohol, debauchery. There is something almost mystical about it, like a secret society that you have to have the password to to be a part of.

  In reality, it was a little like that ... but mostly, it was just a party. Sure, the clothes and hair were better than your average New Jersey bar, the drinks were more expensive, the vibe had the expense I’d imagined. But ... it was just a bunch of people, who made more money than most, sitting around judging each other, drinking, and generally just being assholes as the liquor invades their blood.

  “And then she had the gall to wear the same Dior shoes, I could have killed her.”

  The girl sitting in our VIP area, a brunette with the longest legs I’d ever seen, rolls her eyes as she talks to two blondes across from her. I think I’d seen them all somewhere before ... as in, on television or a billboard in New York City.

  “What a THOT!” One of the blondes cackles, moving her hair over a shoulder that was quite literally the size of my pinky.

  Staring down at my own shoes, they’d probably die if they knew the cheetah-print heels were the most expensive pair I owned ... and that they were from Banana Republic.

  “Have another glass of Dom.” Dean’s friend Neil passes me a glass of bubbly-looking liquid, and I take it cautiously.

  It’s only my second drink, and I’m not even sure I should be sipping it. Although I am taking a liking to Neil, the down to earth drummer that Dean seems to hang out with the most.

  “Thanks. So, you and Dean, you’re close?” I don’t really feel like talking to the women in the VIP section, so I might as well make allies with someone decent.

  He nods his head, his expression shuttered by the massive red beard he sports. Neil looks like that quirky ginger bodyguard on Game of Thrones, only with a lumberjack vibe. I both am intimidated by him, and simultaneously want to be his friend.

  “Go back almost to about the time he came out here. So … I’ve heard about you.” His pale green eyes hold some kind of … judgment? Maybe a secret?

  When Dean had moved out to Hollywood, we were still together. In fact, we were together for two years while he slept on dirty couches and shopped his demo all over the recording industry out here. Two years of phone calls, miscommunication, horrible loneliness, wishing and hoping he would hit it big. Two years of me going to college parties alone, dodging guys when they hit on me, staying in on Friday nights to talk to my boyfriend who was across the country instead of making friends and experiencing higher education at its finest.

  I would have done it for another five years, the separation, if it meant Dean was happy and chasing his dreams. But then he had to go and screw it all up.

  “Oh yeah? So, you knew him before he was the Dean Jacobs. Not very many of us, huh?” I smirk as I sip some of the delicious bubbly.

  “No, there aren’t. I guess that’s why he’s my best mate, we knew each other before these types corrupted us.” He points to the skinny girls cackling in our section.

  The first time I’d heard Dean’s music on the radio, or shared on the Internet, I’d flipped out. Been over the moon happy. It was about a year and a half into him living out here, and he finally caught the eye of a label who said they could make him a star. And then they did. And the entire universe of our relationship came crashing down on my head.

  “How are you enjoying your stay here? Do you like the job Dean found?” Neil has a way of making uncomfortable eye contact, and I squirm.

  Even though no one besides Dean and I are supposed to know that this relationship is built on a lie, I’m pretty sure Neil is clued into the fact that we’re not doing the horizontal hula every night, or dancing under sunny skies during the day.

  The music changes and some of the people in our section leave, going to the dance floor on drunken legs. Dean is still standing over in the corner, chatting with two guys he didn’t bother introducing me to. In fact, he hasn’t really bothered to pay any attention to me all night. We arrived together, he held my hand and posed for cutesy PDA pictures outside in full view of the tabloid photographers, but as soon as we got to the section assigned to us, he dropped my hand and his interest in me entirely.

  I didn’t want to admit that after our shopping trip, I was actually enjoying spending time with him. And was disappointed that I was basically just a fly on the wall to him and his friends’ activities tonight.

  It also didn’t help that he looked like Thor reincarnated. I had never really been into long hair on guys, and in high school that sunflower blond hair had been cropped close to his scalp. But this raggedy, tucked behind the ears, surfer look did things that were dangerous to the sensitive place between my thighs. The black T-shirt and jeans he wore stuck to every lean muscle on his body, and all of those tattoos I could never get close enough to examine showed in the dim lights of the club.

  “It’s been good, getting some great experience at the hospital and the private practice I’ve been working at. And I love walking the beach in Malibu.”

  That wasn’t a lie, I went for a walk almost every day on the beach right outside the back doors of Dean’s house. It was a private community, which meant no paparazzi, and I hardly ran into anyone while I walked past the coves on the white sand beach. It allowed me to think, to get out of my own way and de-stress from the day.

  “Dean was telling me all of the cool work you do, can’t imagine being a doctor. If I ever need anything, I’m coming to you.” He tips his beer bottle in my direction.

  I roll my eyes. “I’m a dermatologist, not a heart surgeon. I couldn’t save your life if it came down to it.”

  Neil tilts his head to the side, eyeing me. “Yeah … Dean mentioned you always like to downplay your strengths. Did you ever think that’s why you doubted yourself the night he was photographed here? The night you broke up?”

  The fact that he just came right out and spoke openly about the night of our demise shook me so hard that I almost couldn’t breathe. I could barely talk to my closest friends and family about how Dean and I had ended, and here was this complete stranger to me bringing it up so casually that he might as well be talking about his favorite kind of pizza.

  And then another light bulb goes off. “This … this was the club he was at?”

  I look around, trying to find something with the name of the establishment on it. I’d seared the name into my brain after reading so many stories on that night.

 
; “Yeah, seven years ago he was here. Incognito, that is the name of the club. Not a very good place to hide your secrets though, apparently. Not that you listened to him about what actually happened.” There is a hint of disdain in Neil’s voice, and I’m confused as to why it’s directed at me.

  I can’t focus on that anymore. My ears ring, my throat goes dry. How fucking dare he? Bring me to the club that he was with that whore in? The one place that I never wished to step foot in in my entire life … he brought me here? It’s got to be some kind of sick joke.

  I march up to him, not caring who is around to hear or what conversation he is in the middle of.

  “You’re a fucking piece of shit.”

  And then I’m running.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dean

  Kara’s long black curls whip me in the face before her back is retreating, and fast.

  I run after her, the bass of the club jarring me with every thump, as if I’m on a rocking cruise ship and can’t find my footing. She makes the rookie mistake of running for the front door, only I know what’s lying in wait for her there.

  Grabbing her elbow just as she opens the door and the shutterbugs start, she gasps as flashes of light slither through the tiny opening in the entrance way.

  “Get off me!” She may not want her picture taken by the paps, but she also doesn’t want me to touch her.

  “You’re welcome for just saving you from the likes of them.” I point angrily at the now closed door, my temper spiking.

  She has absolutely no gratitude toward me still, but then again, I guess I am like her captor. Have we developed such Stockholm Syndrome toward each other in such a short period of time that we don’t even realize it? Her sympathies lie with getting me out of a rape charge, and I can’t help but protect the one woman who threw loyalty to the wind at the first sign of complication.