One Week Hating You: One Week Series Book 2 (standalone)

by Roya Carmen

  Momma is carefully laying out the large flat noodles – she’s making her famous lasagna. “I keep telling him to get out more, but he doesn’t listen.”

  “You got a girlfriend yet?” I ask, ever the nosy big sister.

  He grins again. “Not yet.”

  I know for a fact that Mandy’s had a crush on him forever, and she’s not the only one.

  He settles down at the kitchen table, his usual seat. “So how long are you here for?”

  “Two more days,” I tell him. “I’ve already been here five days. You were apparently too busy, holed up in your cave.”

  He shakes his head. “Sorry, it’s been a crazy week.”

  “Come and help me with the Caesar salad,” Momma says.

  I hop over to the counter. “When are Marilyn and the gang coming over?”

  Momma is cooking up an old-fashioned family dinner in my honor. The whole family together again – it’s been a while. I’m really looking forward to it.

  She’s grating parmesan cheese furiously. “Around five,” she tells me. “I also invited Blake.”

  My eyes grow wide. “What?!”

  “What?” she scoffs. “Not this again… Get over it, Maeve. The man lives next door, and he’s part of our family. He always comes over, and I refuse to give him the cold shoulder just because you’re in town.”

  Well, there you go. She sure tore me a new one. She’s absolutely right, of course. I really need to get over myself, and stop acting so immature. It was years ago. We were both heart-broken. I’m still into him. Always will be. He’s fucking amazing in bed (or on the freezer, as it were).

  I need to get over myself.

  I shrug and turn on my heel, head to the washroom to freshen up my lipstick. Suddenly I care about how I look. I stare at myself in the mirror. My hair is wild again – I haven’t had a chance to style it. My make-up is natural, and I’m wearing a Hello Kitty t-shirt and ripped jeans. My feet are bare, toes painted red. I don’t look fabulous, but I’m not hideous either.

  This is perfect actually. This outfit doesn’t scream, “Fuck me over a freezer.” And besides, we don’t even have a chest freezer here – ours is a tall standing one. We’d have to lean against it and do it standing up – my mind starts to wander…

  Stop it.

  Actually this outfit says, “Let’s play Scrabble, like old times.”

  Perfect.

  So did you two do the deed yet? Corrie asks. I want all the juicy details.

  Typical Corrie. I smile and send her a winky face. She’ll know what that means – she’s not slow.

  She replies right away. OMG! You need to tell me EVERYTHING!

  I laugh and tap away. I’ll just say this: doggy style on an old rusty freezer. Mind-blowing!

  That’s all she’s getting, which is more than she should get. I’m sure Blake wouldn’t care anyway.

  I fucking love it! I’m so jealous, you lucky bitch!

  I laugh out loud.

  “What’s so funny?” Momma asks.

  “Oh, it’s just a text from Corrie,” I tell her. “She can be so funny sometimes.”

  She makes a tsk sound. “She sure can. She’s definitely interesting, that one.”

  I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult. I don’t ponder it too long.

  I’ve been so busy helping Momma get dinner and the table ready, I’ve barely had a moment to obsess about Blake. Yet, when he finally shows up, holding Jake in his arms, looking delicious in dark jeans and a blue knit sweater, my traitorous heart weeps. It whispers, you’re really not going there again? What a pity.

  “Auntie Maeve,” Maddie cheers as she throws herself into my arms. She’s always so full of energy – she takes that from her dad. Brian presses a large hand on my back and pulls me in. “Hey, Sis. Long time, no see.”

  Brian is as tall as Blake, but they don’t really look like brothers at all. Blake looks more like their father did; dark almond eyes, a strong nose, full lips, and a thick dark head of hair, whereas Brian looks like their late mother; light eyes, a small nose and mouth, and lighter hair.

  We catch up, and between playing with the kids and hearing about everyone’s lives, I barely have a chance to catch my breath, let alone focus on Blake. But every time I glance over in his direction, he’s watching me. He smiles, an impish grin that makes my knees weak and brings me right back there, on that old rusty freezer.

  The dinner conversation is lively as we enjoy Momma’s fabulous lasagna and apple pie. I can’t remember the last time it was this fun. These past few years, Peter has always been here, and my whole family doesn’t quite seem themselves around him, even the kids. They don’t joke around or laugh as much, as if they’re afraid he’ll judge them. Yes, Peter is a bit posh, from a more affluent background, but he can be pretty down-to-earth. They never gave him the chance, never really got to know him.

  And Blake was never invited to dinner when we visited. Momma knew better than to mix boyfriends and ex-boyfriends. Blake, as cocky as he is, is good with the kids, and is pretty funny. I hate to say it but he’s fun to have around.

  I’m munching on some after-dinner chocolate covered almonds. I’ve already had pie, but what the hell… life is short and I love chocolate. I watch the kids play Jenga, and I’m quite entertained. I’ve barely glanced at Blake since dinner – I don’t want to see what I’m missing.

  He sits down next to me on the old seventies velvet flower covered sofa. I can’t believe Momma hasn’t replaced this old thing yet. It probably holds sentimental value for her. It certainly does for me. Every time I sit on it, I remember reading stories or playing Scrabble with Daddy, or making out with Blake. Two polar opposite memories. Sweet and naughty.

  “You want to play Scrabble,” he jokes. Blake also used to be a fan of Scrabble.

  I look down at my t-shirt and smile. “Nah…”

  He nudges in closer… too close. “I could go for a nice cup of tea,” he whispers.

  I bite down a smile and squeeze my legs shut. Blake doesn’t drink tea. Cup of tea means sex in our little world. Back in the day, we used to take cups of tea to the old fashioned swing out back, the one my dad built, the one sheltered behind the trees. We’d never drink the tea, of course. We’d just make out on the swing until darkness came and the chill of the night cooled our bones.

  I close my eyes. I really want this. I want to make out on the swing again. I want to feel his touch, taste his lips. Yet I’m determined to stick to my guns. I pop another almond in my mouth. That’s it! I’ll eat the whole bowl and satisfy myself with chocolate instead. “No, thank you.”

  I’m really doing it. I’m resisting him and his beautiful mouth. The chocolate must be really working. I wonder if Momma has more of these in the cupboard. I might have to run out to the store.

  He leans closer, his mouth hot on my cheek. “You’re going to put on a skirt, and meet me in the back,” he whispers. “In five.”

  He pulls away and stands. He turns to look at me one last time. His eyes are as intense as they were just before he had me on the freezer. He turns on his heel and walks slowly out of the room.

  Darn, I was doing so well.

  19

  MY GAZE DARTS AROUND THE ROOM. The kids are still playing Jenga, Marilyn is chatting with Momma, and Brian is talking with Tim, something about an old vintage Mustang he saw for sale. No one has a clue. No one knows that I’ve just been propositioned. No one cares. No one will know. What’s the big deal?

  Just one more time…

  Life’s too short not to enjoy one of the most basic pleasures of being a mortal.

  I stand up casually and walk over to my bedroom. I dig into my dresser and find the polka-dot skirt. As I slip out of my jeans, I wonder if anyone will notice that I’ve changed. If they ask, I’ll simply say that the jeans were too tight, big lasagna dinner and all that.

  I dab on some more lipstick and tousle my hair. My heart is beating a mile a minute and my sex is practically screaming
, Hurry up already!

  I slip on my jacket and run to the backyard. No one can see me from the living room, but if someone were to venture to the kitchen and look out the window, they’d probably wonder what I’m up to.

  I round the corner around the large oak and the shed. There he is, leaning back casually on the swing chair, as if there was never a single doubt in his mind that I would come. The man obviously knows he has me wrapped around his long, skilled finger.

  “Hi,” I say quietly.

  “Hi,” he says. He doesn’t budge. He’s making me come to him. I inch closer, desperately wanting to touch him.

  “Come here,” he says, and extends his long arm to me. I grab his hand and let him pull me on top of him. I straddle him, already feeling his hardness on my sex. I clutch a handful of his hair and moan softly as I rub myself against him.

  He groans and grabs my head hard. He pulls my mouth down to his and kisses me deeply. His kiss is amazing, everything I should want; hot, intense, and wild. Yet I don’t want his kiss. I don’t want to fall deeper. This is just sex, and that’s all it will ever be.

  I tear myself away. I don’t want to but I need to. His face falls. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that I’ve hurt him. But this is Blake Taylor. This is sex. He knows it, and I know it.

  “No kissing,” I remind him. “Just make me come.”

  His hand slides the length of my thighs to my ass where he discovers that I’m not wearing panties. “You just want another fuck?” He traces slow soft circles on my bum. He’s teasing again, but this time it’s not playful, it’s angry. He’s being a bully.

  I nod slowly, slightly embarrassed. Yes, I’m using him. And he’s using me. We’ll both get off and get this out of our system. I don’t see what the problem is.

  “What if I don’t want to fuck you?” he says. “What if I throw you off me right now, and walk away?”

  “You wouldn’t.” I smile, reach for his crotch and fiddle with his fly. “You want to… the evidence is right here.” Thankfully, what we’re up to is hidden under my billowing skirt.

  When I take him in my hand, he throws his head back and groans.

  “You have a condom?” I ask, knowing that he most likely does. He reaches into his pocket and hands it to me. I’m in charge here – he’s completely surrendered to me.

  I fiddle with the packet, and finally wrap it over him, burning with anticipation. I can’t wait to feel him inside me again, and I love sex this way.

  Our gazes dance as we try not to look at each other. His mouth begs me to kiss him, but lovemaking is not what I want. I don’t want to get in deeper than I already am. I’m new to this whole casual sex thing, and I want to get it right. I close my eyes as I slowly guide him inside me. I press my mouth against his neck and taste his skin as I push down hard on him, slowly and deeply. His hands press softly on my hips as he struggles to behave. Every thrust is soft and deep, and he hits my g-spot every time. My eyes practically roll back in my head from the pleasure.

  “I want to hear you,” he whispers in my ear. A pleading moan escapes me as I reach for that peak. The climb to my climax takes no time, and I’m quiet as I can be when I get there, my moans muffled into Blake’s soft sweater. A second later, he grabs the flesh of my ass hard, and presses himself deeper inside me. He’s hurting me again, but it feels so damn good.

  He’s winded, and I love the ragged sound of his breathing. I lay my head against his chest and listen as his heartrate slows. It’s comfortable there, but as soon as he settles, he pushes me off him. I’m hurt, but what did I expect? He’s treating me exactly like I’ve treated him.

  I turn around, not wanting to look at him. “We should get back. Everyone will wonder where we are.”

  He laughs. “You’ve been gone about five minutes. I’m sure they’re not calling the missing persons’ unit yet.”

  I smile. “Yeah, that was even faster than last time.”

  We head back to the house, walking side by side. “You’re pretty quick to please,” he says, “but that’s not surprising at all because I’m just that good.”

  I smirk. “Get over yourself, Taylor.”

  When we get back, everything is as it was. No one seems to have noticed our absence. I let out a breath of relief. Although when I walk in the kitchen, Marilyn is busy cleaning up and I wonder if she saw us walking back from the backyard.

  “You need any help?”

  She turns to me with a smile. “Sure.” She hands me a dishcloth. “Can you wipe the table?”

  I grab the hot cloth and get right to work.

  “You’ve changed.” She wipes a large pot dry. “I like that skirt.”

  I blush. She knows. “Thanks.”

  She cocks a brow. “So you and Blake…”

  I’m not admitting anything. “We’re actually sort of getting along. Can you believe it?”

  She smiles, but it’s not a happy smile, it’s an I’m worried about you smile, tight and strained.

  She inches closer, the large pot still in her hands. She settles it against her hip as she keeps wiping it. “What are you two up to?” she asks in hushed tones.

  I shake my head and fiddle with the centerpiece on the table, a pretty autumn arrangement. “Nothing.”

  “C’mon, Maeve,” she says. “It’s your big Sis you’re talking to here. I’m not stupid.”

  I sigh. “Well, it’s all your fault,” I tell her. “It all started when we went camping. You throw us together in a small camper knowing we have a history. What did you expect?”

  Her eyes grow wide, and her hand jerks to her mouth. “Did you? With the kids?!” She looks thoroughly scandalized.

  “Oh no,” I’m quick to clarify. “No, we didn’t. Not then.”

  She exhales a breath of relief. “But you are now, right?”

  I nod and roll my eyes to the ceiling, readying myself for the speech.

  “I don’t think this is a great idea, Maeve,” she says. “What is this exactly?”

  I blush again. I really don’t want to share the details of my love life with my sister. “It’s just sex,” I whisper. “That’s all it is.”

  She raises a brow. “Really? Knowing you, I find that hard to believe.”

  I huff and turn on my heel. “Why does everyone think I can’t handle a little casual sex?”

  She nips at my heels. “Because you can’t. You’re a romantic.”

  “Well, Blake isn’t. He’s a total player.”

  “Really? Is he?” she says skeptically. “I don’t see him that way. He has a big heart. I know he hides it well, but he’s a sensitive one.”

  I mull over her words. Is he? I’m brought back to about fifteen minutes ago when he pushed me off him. There was so much pain in his eyes. Did I hurt him? What did I do?

  “I just worry that you’re jumping too fast into this thing because of what happened with Peter,” she’s saying. “You’re not yourself right now, and you’re not making the best decisions.”

  I let out a soft growl, just like I used to when we were kids. She’s always been like this, self-righteous and all knowing, like she’s an expert at life. None of us are. We’re all winging it. I know I certainly am.

  “So he’s a rebound,” I argue. “Who cares?”

  “He does,” she says. “You’re going to end up breaking his heart, and probably yours too.”

  Breaking his heart…

  Can Blake Taylor’s heart really be broken? Does a player ever care enough to be hurt?

  “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” I rinse the cloth and hang it to dry. “I think we’re all done here.”

  “The kids are going mini-golfing tomorrow after school,” she tells me. “They were hoping you’d come along.”

  “Are you going too?”

  She shakes her head. “No, I need to go into the office. The business is great but the better it does, the more work there is.”

  “Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”

  She shru
gs as she tucks the pot in the cupboard. “I guess.”

  “So who’s all going?”

  “Blake,” she says with a smile.

  I laugh. “You’re complaining about us, yet here you are, throwing us back together again.”

  She smiles playfully. “It’s not me, it’s Maddie. I think she’s trying to play matchmaker. She’s just a kid. She doesn’t know about your history.”

  I draw in a breath. “I do love mini-golf.”

  “I bet you could beat his ass,” she says. “I don’t think Blake has ever played golf in his life.”

  I have. Many times. With Peter.

  I do love the idea of destroying Blake. He’s always so full of himself, so confident.

  I can’t help but smile. “It could be fun.”

  20

  HELLO SWEETHEART,

  So is this over? Did the last seven years mean nothing to you? Are you ever coming back?

  I admit it… I got cold feet. I panicked. That doesn’t mean I don’t love you, Maeve. I want to start over.

  Please give me a second chance. After seven years, I think I deserve at least that.

  Yours always,

  Peter

  P.S. I miss you.

  Progress is impossible without change, and those who cannot change their minds cannot change anything. – George Bernard Shaw

  Dear journal,

  I’m so confused. Every time Peter messages me, he pulls at my heart. I’m still so angry at him, yet I agree with him… seven years is not nothing. A part of me tells me that I should give him a second chance, that he deserves it. Before our wedding day, he’d always been a good boyfriend. I can see our life together – it’s clear and in Technicolor.

  But on the other hand, the other part of me tells me that he’s hurt me too much, that he doesn’t love me enough. Am I asking for too much? Should one really expect crazy passionate love from a partner, or is that just fairy tale stuff?

  And what about Blake? I get crazy passion with him, but is it real? The picture of the two of us is so fuzzy. What we have now is fun. Could we ever have more? Does Blake have that in him? His life is here in our hometown, and my life is back in Burlington.