Hate to Love

by R. S. Lively

  Maybe I should have gone with the black sequin mini dress with a train of peacock feathers like Bindi had tried to convince me to wear.

  I can't believe I agreed to come here as Shane’s date. I understand where he was coming from saying he couldn't just show up to a party like this alone, and that he needs me to buffer him in his first social event since the scandal broke. But I'm supposed to be the one in control. I'm supposed to be the one who knows what I'm doing, yet as I stand here in the middle of a parade of festive, exuberant people, I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I've been struck dumb by the dazzling combination of glitter and sequins, and suddenly I can't remember anything I had planned for the gala.

  "I think I missed something about the invitation," I say to Shane as a man wearing a black satin version of a masquerade mask walks past.

  "That's a pretty safe bet. That's OK. You still look incredible tonight."

  I glance over at him, and the look in his eyes makes me shiver.

  "You should mingle," I say, hoping he doesn't hear the slight breathlessness I'm trying to keep out of my voice. "Go talk to people. Smile. Be nice."

  "Aren't you coming?" he asks.

  I shake my head.

  "No. You need to do this on your own. It may be good for you to be seen with someone occasionally during the party, but you don't want to look too closely linked to another woman. That will turn into its own new set of rumors and complaints about you. You don't want to look like you're clinging to me, or that I'm for show." Even though I am, in fact, here for show. "Remember, confident, casual, and nothing to be uncomfortable about. We'll meet up later."

  I'm not sure if anything I'm saying actually makes sense. I'd like to think I have some sort of strategy going, but I feel it's much more likely I'm just saying whatever words find their way into my mouth. Finally, Shane nods his agreement and heads deeper into the party. Now I'm left not sure what I should be doing. I spent the first half an hour sipping a glass of champagne handed to me by one of the costumed waiters roaming the room. As I sip, I find creative ways to duck away from people trying to approach me. My plan, for now, is to avoid any conversations that could result in me inadvertently causing problems. Tonight is about appearances and getting back to normal, not about making official statements or trying to defend Shane. At least, that's what I'm telling myself.

  After a while, I start looking for Shane. It seems like a good time for us to spend a few minutes being seen together. The more I wander around the gala, however, the more aware I am of how out of place I am. Even with a thousand bobby pins creating a structure of my hair that defies physics, a truly stunning amount of makeup, and the fabulous dress, this isn't the type of place I belong. I feel like the nerdy girl who became a makeover project and crashed a party for the popular kids. I start feeling overwhelmed, and soon I'm searching for somewhere to hide so I can breathe for a minute.

  Finally, I notice what looks like an old-fashioned train car sitting on one side of the ballroom. I make a beeline toward it before I can even start to ponder how it connects with the rest of the event’s theme. I pause for a moment outside the door to listen and make sure no one’s inside, before slipping through a gap into the back of the car. I feel like I've almost escaped, but the heel of one of my shoes catches in the step, and I tumble forward.

  This is it. I'm positive this is the moment I'm going to break at least one bone, not be able to stand up, and have to face the emergency responders dragging me ass-first out of an inexplicable train car. The only thing that would save my dignity is if they somehow don't discover I'm not wearing any panties under my dress. It’s not something I intentionally planned. Instead, I realized after leaving my apartment that the skirt of my gown was clinging to my cotton underwear. I should have bought some of the lingerie the clerk recommended at the upscale boutique I bought it at. Instead, I ended up dipping back into my car and shimmying out of my underwear to let the dress fall properly.

  I prepare myself for impact, but just before I hit the floor of the train car someone catches me. Strong arms scoop me up and support me while I wiggle my heel free, before helping me steady myself.

  "Are you OK?"

  Shane is gripping my arms tightly and holding me close to him. My eyes lift and meet his dreamy blue gaze. I open my mouth, but no words come out.

  Speak, Julie. Say something.

  "Julie? Are you alright?" he repeats, sounding more concerned.

  Say something. Anything. Just pick some words and say something.

  "I'm fine."

  Did I do it?

  "Good. I’m glad."

  Perfect.

  Shane is still holding me close, and I step back from his grip, sitting on the bench before I manage to get myself trapped again.

  "What are you doing in here?" he asks.

  "I'm hiding," I say. "You?"

  "Same. What are you hiding from?"

  "The whole situation, mostly."

  "That's thorough."

  "How about you? What are you hiding from in here?"

  "Mostly the woman over there dressed as a buffet of sushi. She keeps offering me tuna sashimi, but I don't see any of those on her skirt."

  "That is two women tonight who have tried to seduce you with culinary metaphors. Is that something that happens to you a lot?"

  "From time to time."

  "Is that a trend that I’ve missed somehow?"

  "I don't think so," Shane says.

  "Good to know. I'd hate to embarrass myself by not trying it."

  I realize Shane is staring at me, and I turn my attention away from the door back to him.

  "Is there someone you intend on seducing soon?" he asks.

  I know I'm blushing, and I can only hope the interior of the train car is too dark for him to see.

  "Not specifically," I say. "It's just a hypothetical. In case the situation happens to arise."

  I feel like I'm sinking into Shane's slightly deepened voice.

  "Are you having fun?" he asks.

  I let out a breath as I use one finger to push back the curtain hanging over a small window on the opposite side of the car as the door. The people dancing and laughing a few yards away seem to be having the time of their lives, but I feel like they are in a different world.

  "No," I admit. "Did you enjoy talking to anyone at least?"

  He shakes his head.

  "I couldn't find anyone I recognized," he says. "I mean, a lot of people out there are in masks, so it’s possible that I walked right past them, and they just didn't want to talk to me, but it’s weird."

  Something's wrong. This doesn't make sense. I hadn't recognized anyone when I was walking around, but that wasn’t much of a surprise. I've only just gotten involved in the world of football, and only to the extent necessary to help Shane. The sound of Shane's phone buzzing in his pocket startles me. He pulls it out, and I see his expression change as he looks at the screen.

  "What is it?" I ask.

  "Coach," he says.

  "Is he here?" I ask.

  He's one whose face I would recognize if I saw it.

  "He's somewhere," Shane says.

  "What do you mean?" I ask.

  "'Where are you?'" he reads. "'I thought you were coming to this thing tonight.'"

  He types something.

  "What did you say?"

  "That I'm in the train car."

  Almost instantly, he receives a response.

  "'What train car?'"

  "Oh, no."

  Shane looks at me and we both smile. I cover my mouth with my hand to muffle the laugh coming up my throat.

  "Are we in the wrong place?" Shane whispers as if he suddenly needs to know that we've been outed as party crashers.

  I laugh against my hand.

  "I think so," I say.

  He laughs softly.

  I reach into the top of my dress where I've tucked my phone. Shane's eyes lock on my hand.

  "What? I didn't have a purse to go with the dress."<
br />
  "Do you have anything else hiding in there?"

  I narrow my eyes at him slightly, then look back at my phone. Pulling up the note I'd written to myself with the information about the gala, I scan over it, then nod.

  "See, Venetian Hotel Ballroom. That's where we are."

  Shane shakes his head.

  "No," he says. "We're at the Hotel Venetian."

  "The what?" I ask, my voice creeping up slightly higher than I intend.

  "We're not at the Venetian Hotel. You said to meet you at the Hotel Venetian, so that is where we are."

  "All I noticed was Venetian. How was I supposed to know there would be two fucking hotels in the same city that have 'Venetian' in their name?"

  Shane's head drops back, and he laughs even louder. I swipe at him, trying to shush him.

  "No wonder this party is so ridiculous. It's not the fundraiser. I thought the hotel seemed a little off for one of these events. Good job fitting right in, though."

  "Shut up," I say, batting at him. "I notice you walked around without realizing it, either."

  "You said I have to do whatever you tell me to."

  "Yeah, because you've done so well following through with that."

  "So, what do we do now?" he asks. "Do we go find the actual gala?"

  "We should probably make an appearance," I say reluctantly.

  An hour later we're in another ballroom, surrounded by the imagery I had envisioned before going into the first gala. We've greeted a few people. I've watched Shane pose for pictures with his coach and teammates. Now, I’m nibbling on tiny hors d'oeuvres that barely make a dent in the hunger rumbling in my stomach. Shane gives a masterful social laugh, pats a man I don't recognize on the shoulder, and steps away from the conversation. As he makes his way toward me, he rolls his eyes.

  "What was that all about?" I ask. "Who was that guy?"

  "An investor," he says. "He's been throwing money at the organization for years, and every time I see him, he tries to marry me off to one of his daughters."

  "Well, that's not creepy at all. You can't take one for the team and let them use you as a bartering chip for more support?"

  I try to keep a straight face but fail and giggle. Shane's lips curve up into a smile, and once again, the unwanted thought of how delectably kissable they look crosses my mind.

  "The owners have more money than they know what to do with. These people just like feeling like they're a part of something by pitching in.”

  "Where does the money go?"

  "Programs like the youth cheerleading camps, the team museum in the home stadium, building improvements. A lot of it ends up being funneled through fundraisers to organizations that matter to the owners, like tonight."

  "Fascinating," I say, taking another nibble of a pastry shell filled with some sort of curry.

  "Really?"

  "Not at all."

  "Are you enjoying your snack?"

  "Not at all."

  Shane gives a short laugh.

  "I don't know about you, but I'm done with this whole thing. I have a better idea for the rest of the evening."

  I look at him suspiciously.

  "Like what?"

  He shrugs and starts toward the door to the ballroom.

  As curious as I am cautious, I follow him.

  Chapter Ten

  Shane

  "Better?" I ask.

  Julie gives a moan of acknowledgment and leans her head back. We are sitting on the floor in the suite I reserved for the night, half the room service menu spread out in front of us. We've nearly eaten our way through all the dishes, and I finally feel full.

  "That was delicious," she sighs.

  "That's one of the things I can't stand about galas like this. A few years ago, all the events were dinners. You might have a cocktail hour, but there would always be a formal dinner, and then maybe dancing after. Most of them were long and boring, but at least I got to eat. I guess there's some sort of trend going on now though of catering with only little snack foods. Party planners must think it's sophisticated."

  "Maybe it's to make sure people don't try to linger too long at the events. If they only give you a little bit to eat, you might not be so keen on stretching out the night," Julie says.

  "I never thought of it like that," I say.

  "This is much better, anyway," she says.

  "I agree," I tell her. I turn back to the TV in front of us. "OK. I'm lost again. Tell me again what's going on."

  "That's Jessica's 'I know who the killer is' face. She's just heard something or seen something that magically made her figure out the whole mystery, even though no one else around her has pieced any of it together."

  "And she always does that?"

  "Yep," Julie says, nodding as she tears off a piece of a mozzarella stick and eats it. "Some fans of the show back in the day figured out that her little coastal Maine town would be the murder capital of the world. The murder rate is something like once and a half that of Honduras."

  I laugh.

  "Are you serious?"

  "Absolutely. That little English teacher right there dealt with almost 300 murders in that town."

  "Did they ever start to think she was the one doing it? I mean, once somebody I knew encountered their second or third dead body when nobody else was around, I'd be cutting some social ties."

  "Yeah. I think four is probably my limit before I take you off my Christmas card list," Julie says.

  She reaches up and starts pulling pins out of the complex twist her hair is styled in.

  "Wow. You're pretty understanding."

  "Living on the edge."

  As the pins come out, her slick brown hair starts tumbling down her shoulders in graceful waves. I involuntarily reach out and run my fingers through a strand before resting it on her back. When I look at her, she's gazing back at me with a hint of uncertainty and desire in her eyes.

  "You look beautiful tonight," I say.

  "You've already told me that," Julie says.

  I nod.

  "I know," I say. "But it bears repeating. You look amazing."

  "Definitely different than usual," she says.

  "I like you that way, too."

  A breath slides between her lips, and I notice a slight flush form over the swells of her breasts peeking over the neckline of her gown.

  "I remember the last time I saw you," I say.

  "Me, too," she says softly. "You and Joe had been practicing, and you came to our house. Somehow in all the years the two of you were friends, you hadn't ever come over."

  "You were sitting in that awful recliner," I laugh. "I've never seen anything like that chair."

  "Our father loved it. It was his favorite place to sit." She sounds sad for a few seconds, then laughs. "Joe still has it in the living room."

  I reach out to touch her hair again. The strands feel like silk between my fingers.

  "You were playing with your hair while you read. I had trouble not staring at your lips."

  "No, you didn't," she says. "You barely even realized I existed."

  "That's not true," I say. "I definitely knew you existed. That wasn't the first time I saw you, you know."

  I comb my fingers back through her hair and stroke her cheek softly with my thumb. My stomach tightens, and I feel my breath deepen.

  "It wasn't?" she asks.

  I shake my head.

  "No," I say. "I saw you before that. You didn't even realize I was there."

  "When was that?" Julie asks.

  "Just a few weeks before that," I admit. "I came over, and Joe had to do something. He told me to just wait outside, that he would only be a few minutes. While I was standing there, though, I got bored and wandered into the backyard. That's when I saw you. You were on a lounge chair. With a book, of course. You were only sitting there in the chair for a few seconds, then you got up and went over to that treehouse. The one in the huge Oak."

  "That's still there, too," she says. "I loved going up
there. I felt like I was in my own world. I could just be alone, and nobody would question me, or bother me."

  "I remember wondering what you were doing up there," I murmur, leaning slightly closer to her.

  Julie slides closer and leans to bring her mouth close enough to my ear that I can feel her lips just brush my skin as she speaks.

  "I was reading," she whispers, then giggles.

  Unable to resist any longer, I turn and catch her mouth with mine. Julie gasps slightly, then presses forward, resting into the kiss before I pull back and look at her. Our mouths play against each other slowly at first, then with greater confidence. When they part, I stand and reach my hand down to her. Julie hesitates for a second before taking my hand, letting me help her to her feet. Without saying a word, I guide her toward the bedroom. We step inside, and even though it's only the two of us in the suite, I close the door behind us. I want the privacy. I want to give us our own space completely closed off from everything going on in the outside world.

  I step up to Julie and trace the side of her face with my fingertips before tucking one beneath her chin, tilting her face up as I lower my mouth to hers.

  Julie

  Pushing all logic and hesitation from my mind, I draw Shane closer to me with a forceful kiss. Despite the intensity, I don't feel any urgency in how he approaches me or the way we explore each other. This is something I've never experienced. I've never felt the rush of need I feel for Shane, or the indescribable desire running through my mind. I don't let myself hurry. As desperately as I want him to touch me, I also feel like I'm getting lost in the delirious pleasure of his kiss, and the warmth of his hand, as Shane cups his palms around my face to hold me closer.

  Shane pulls away from the kiss just long enough to run his hands down my body and wrap them around my waist. He draws me even closer to his body and holds me tightly, pressing deeper into our kiss. I trail my fingertips down his chest, enjoying his hard muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. I'm glad he has already cast aside his jacket, and it's only this single garment between my hands and his strong chest. The intensity of Shane's breathing tells me that he feels the same lust and desire for me, and this sends a thrill through me.