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

by Roya Carmen

  Oh shit… my legs!

  I’m so mortified, I can hardly look at him. I peek through one half shut eye. A huge smile stretches across his face.

  “It’s November,” I point out. “And you know… I’m single now.”

  He laughs as he keeps stroking my leg. “I kind of like it,” he says. “Very French bohemian. I bet you’re a firecracker in bed.”

  I laugh. “I am, of course.”

  He leans over me and presses his mouth to mine. “I know you are.”

  I tear myself away from him. “We can’t have sex. Not when my legs are this hairy.”

  He laughs again. Apparently, he finds my discomfort completely hilarious. He pulls me to him again. “I couldn’t care less, Maeve.”

  “I need to go shave.”

  He presses his mouth against my neck. “How ‘bout this… how ‘bout I draw you a bath, and I shave your legs? Could be fun.”

  I bite my lip. “I do like the sound of that.”

  The water is perfect. I have the tub all to myself, Blake is sitting on the edge, smiling down at me.

  “I’m going to miss this bathtub so much,” I tell him. “With my budget, I’ll be lucky if I can afford a bathtub at all.”

  He shoots me an exaggerated pout. “Well, you could always come over to my place. My tub is just as nice as this.”

  I raise a brow. “Really?”

  “Yep. Brian and I renovated the whole house, bathrooms, kitchen, and flooring. It’s what Brian does… he could whip up a bathroom in his sleep.”

  I think about Marilyn’s and Brian’s house. It is the envy of all who enter it, straight out of a decorating magazine. “Well, you are two hours away,” I point out. “Kind of a long drive for a bath.”

  “Not worth the trouble?” he says with a playful grin.

  I shake my head. “Not really. Do you know how much gasoline costs these days?”

  “How ‘bout a bath and a fuck then,” he teases. “Would that be worth it?”

  I laugh. “Well, now you’re talking. Definitely…” I imagine myself making the trek to my hometown every weekend, enjoying Blake’s bathtub, and his bed too.

  He hops off the edge of the bathtub. “Where do you keep your razors?”

  I lay my head back down on the slanted smooth tub. “In the cupboard, under the sink.”

  Blake comes back with shaving cream and a razor in hand. I smile up at him as I raise my hairy leg, and settle my foot on the edge of the tub. He takes a seat again, and very carefully, he applies the shaving cream down my leg, rubbing softly in long slow motions. I stare up at him, lost in every inch of him; the angle of his jaw, his long dark lashes, the strands of thick dark hair tickling the collar of his shirt, the smooth curves of his shoulders and pecks, visible through the fabric of his shirt, and those sensual lips of his, the color of red roses. He’s always been beautiful, even when he was a bratty kid, but never more than he is now. I don’t want to touch. I just want to take him in with my eyes, mark him to memory.

  Where is our story going? Are we friends again? Could we be more? Does Blake even have that in him? Am I ready for that? When I try to envision this scenario, my brain gets fuzzy. I throw my head back. Just enjoy the moment. Don’t overthink it. Enjoy his touch.

  He’s very careful with the razor as he glides it down my leg. “How ‘bout I paint your toe nails after?”

  I’m not sure if he’s joking or not. I wonder if this is a scenario he’s lived before. “Do you do this often?” I ask, curiosity getting the best of me. “You seem very good at it.”

  He smiles at me. “First time,” he says. “Believe it or not.”

  “I’m surprised,” I say. “I know you’re quite the Casanova.”

  He shakes his head. “You can’t always believe everything you hear, Freckles.”

  “Well, according to Mandy, you’re out with a different woman every single weekend.”

  He dips the razor in the water and shakes it, and goes right back to work. “Well, I think she might be exaggerating a bit. There are only so many women in Westbrooke.”

  I laugh. “And you’ve been through them all.”

  His smile fades and he focuses on the razor on my leg. “Is that really what you think of me?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know what to think, honestly.”

  “Yeah, I’ve had a few girlfriends,” he admits, “but none of them have ever worked out.”

  “Why not?” I know I’m being very nosy and rude, but I can’t help myself. I want to know. “What happened?”

  His gaze lingers on mine for a few seconds, then it travels down the length of my body, and finally settles at the window looking out to the city skyline, and the dancing lights in the night. “None of them were you,” he finally says, his words barely a whisper.

  He’s not smiling, not teasing, not flirting or feeding me a line. He turns back to me, and shoots me a soft smile. “So what do you think?” he asks. “Good job?”

  I’m still reeling from his words. It takes me a few seconds to get back to the moment, and realize he’s talking about my leg, stretched across the bathtub, smooth and shiny. It looks much better than my left one, still hairy and unsightly.

  “Perfect job,” I cheer, stretching out my hairy leg. “Now do the other one.”

  He winces and pulls a face. “I should get paid for this,” he jokes. “I mean, look at that thing. I think I deserve some kind of compensation.”

  I laugh. “Oh, you’ll get yours soon enough,” I promise.

  38

  HE GETS TO WORK and I think about how I’ll thank him. I imagine undressing him, slowly exploring every inch of that perfect body. I imagine running my fingers through his hair. I imagine sliding my tongue down his torso, and taking him in my mouth.

  Before long, he’s all done, and I tell him that I want him in the bath with me. I pull myself to a stand, and it’s cold. My nipples are hard and my body is covered with goosebumps. I desperately want him to warm me up. I grab a handful of his sweater and pull him to me. “I want you naked,” I say and waste no time. I tear off his sweater over his head, and pull his pants down. He helps me along, as eager as I am. In no time, he’s completely naked in front of me, a gorgeous specimen. I study him for the longest time; the hard curves, the smooth skin, the dark line below his navel, leading to a spectacular hard-on.

  He grabs the back of my head, and steals my breath away. A few seconds later, he’s in the bath with me, water is splashing all around us. “Is your tub this big?” I ask.

  He slides his tongue around the curves of my breasts. “Bigger.”

  “I can’t wait to see it,” I tell him as I glide down his torso. A loud growl escapes him when I take him in my mouth. I cling to him, tasting him. He moans as he pulls me in for another kiss. I hike up a leg around his hips, hanging on him like a baby monkey to its mother. He crouches into the warm water and takes us both down. I grasp the edge of the tub, still clinging to him as he sinks inside me.

  He feels larger today, too big. “Slow,” I moan, breathless. “Go slow.” He does but before long, he loses control again, and pushes harder to me. My body is soft now and welcomes him eagerly. As the weight of his body presses into mine, over and over, the water rocks over the tub edges and the bathroom quickly becomes a flood zone. I couldn’t care less. That’s what towels are for.

  He tenses as he reaches his climax. He bites my shoulder softly. He smiles at me. “I’m sorry,” he says. “You’re just so damn sexy. I couldn’t help myself.”

  I smile. He knows I haven’t climaxed. “I’m fine.”

  He grins playfully. “You might be fine, but I’m not. I need to see you come. That’s my favorite thing in the world, even better than a sunset.”

  I laugh. “Wow, even better than a sunset,” I joke. “It must be something.”

  He settles me between his legs, my back is comfy against his hard chest. I stretch out my smooth legs as much as I can. The bubbles have all disappeared. He slides a hand along t
he inside of my thigh. “Spread your legs for me, baby.”

  A few words is all it takes to start me up. I feel the familiar pulsing throb of anticipation as I open my legs slowly for him, shy.

  “Wider,” he says. “I want to see those legs wide and open.”

  I rest my head against his shoulder and open wide, as wide as I can under the restrictions of the bathtub.

  “You’re beautiful,” he says as he glides a long finger along my sex. His fingers dance around my sweet spot, teasing. They travel down my sex, and back up again. When he feels me growing impatient and jittery, clinging to his hand, he finally gives me what I crave, and brings me to the edge easily.

  “I love the look on your face when I make you come,” he says softly.

  My heart is still beating hard when I come down and melt into him. “Damn, you’re good at that,” I say, still breathless.

  “Well, I’ve had all that practice,” he points out. “Those thousands of women I’ve been with.”

  I know he’s joking. He’s always joking, and that’s what I love about him.

  I don’t wake up in his arms. No, I wake up clutched to my giant bed pillow on my side of the bed. Force of habit, I suppose. He’s still sleeping, on Peter’s side. It’s strange to see him there instead of Peter. Strange but not in a bad way. I watch him sleep – he’s actually not the most attractive sleeper. His chin is tilted up to the ceiling, and his mouth hangs open. He snores lightly as he clutches the pillow. His mussed up hair is pretty hot though.

  I slither closer to him, and wrap a leg around him. He doesn’t stir. I know it’s cruel but I want to see his eyes. I kiss his nose and his forehead, and play with his messy hair, trying to wake him gently. He’s a pretty hard sleeper. He fusses and turns from me. I draw circles on his back and slide my nails down to his rear. Mmm… He tosses again. I reach around and wrap my hand around him – he has a morning stiffy.

  He turns around then, all smiles. I’ve finally managed to wake him up, and all I had to do was grab his penis. Such a guy.

  “Good morning,” he says.

  “Morning.” I smile but I don’t cuddle too close because I don’t want him to smell my morning breath, nor do I want to smell his.

  He fusses with his pillow and looks toward the window. “Well, what do we have here?” he says. “Look who’s decided to join us.”

  I look over and there’s Kitty, sitting at the end of our bed, tucked cozily into a ball. I’m so excited but as soon as I reach for him, he shoots me the evil eye and jumps off the bed.

  “One day at a time,” Blake says.

  I turn around and burrow into him. I fit perfectly in the crook of his body, just like I did before. We used to spoon like this for hours when we were young. “How’s your cat?” I ask. “Who’s looking after her right now?”

  “No one,” he says. “I should get back. He’s a he, by the way. He’s awesome. Always wants to play.”

  “Not brooding and anti-social like mine,” I say. “What’s his name?”

  He runs his fingers through my hair, plays with my curls. “I haven’t come up with one.”

  “We should call them Jekyll and Hyde,” I suggest, half-joking.

  “Which one is the evil one again?” he asks.

  “Mr. Hyde. Dr. Jekyll is the good one.”

  “Jekyll,” he says. “I like that. Yours is obviously the evil Mr. Hyde.”

  I laugh. “Definitely.”

  I was joking but he seems to like the idea. “It’s perfect. Jekyll, it is,” he says.

  I shake my head. “I should probably go check if Hyde still has food,” I tell him.

  He holds me tighter. “I don’t want to let you go.”

  A huge smile stretches across my face. I probably have a really goofy expression. “Just for a minute. I’ll check his food, and brush my teeth, and I’m all yours.”

  He finally lets me go. “Okay, I’ll brush mine too and then I’m having my way with you again, Miss Gallagher.”

  “Oh, are you now, Mr. Taylor?” I tease. “I can’t wait.”

  We make love once more, share a quick breakfast, then he’s off to check on Jekyll and go to work. As soon as he’s gone, I feel a little lonely again. It’s been so long since I’ve been on my own like this. I finally decide to clean the apartment, I get my job application papers in order, and I’m just about to start a load of laundry when my phone rings. I’m expecting it to be one of my friends or Momma, but an unfamiliar voice greets me when I say hello.

  “Hello, is this Maeve Gallagher.”

  My breath hitches. “Yes, this is she.”

  “Hello Mrs. Gallagher. This is Rebecca Fry. I’m Charlene Ross’ assistant, head of children’s clothing marketing and promotions at Macy’s. I’m calling about the Buyer position you applied for.”

  My heart goes into overdrive. Oh. My. God.

  “Hello, Mrs. Gallagher?”

  “Yes, sorry.” I catch my breath. “I’m here. I’m so happy you called.”

  “Great! Well, we’ve gone through the applications and we were quite impressed with yours. We were wondering if you could make the trip out here for an interview.”

  I’ve already Googled Chicago. I know it’s a fifteen hour drive away – too far. I’ll need to fly there and stay at a hotel for a night. And I don’t have much savings. Yet… this could be the opportunity of a lifetime.

  “Mrs. Gallagher?”

  “Sorry, yes,” I say. “Yes. I’d love to come. I just need to work out my travel plans.”

  “Great,” she says. “I have your email, and I can send you Mrs. Ross’ schedule openings. You can work out a good time for you, and get back to me. She will be interviewing for the next two weeks.”

  My heart is still beating a mile a minute. “Sounds good.”

  We say goodbye and I fire up my laptop. I need to get on this sooner than later. I’m sure they’re not going to sit around and wait for me to make up my mind.

  Blake suddenly pops into my head. If I do this, if I get a job in Chicago, I’ll never get to see him, or Momma, my family. Chicago is just too far. Sure, I’ll be able to fly in once in a while, but flights are expensive, and I’ll need to also rent a car to drive to Westbrooke. What a nightmare. I won’t know anyone in Chicago.

  But this would be a fresh start. Isn’t that what I’ve been searching for?

  I check flights and hotel accommodation, but I just can’t bring myself to buy a ticket. I’m just not ready yet.

  “How’s the job search going?” Kayla asks. Out of all my friends, Kayla is the most caring, and the least self-centered. Not that Corrie and Gabbie are self-centered. They just seem more preoccupied with their own lives than mine. And when Corrie asks you something, it’s usually because she wants juicy gossip. Regardless, I still love her to death.

  “Well, the job at the women’s store fell through,” I tell her. I perk up when I add, “but the Buyer position in Chicago might be up for grabs… they called me in for an interview.”

  Corrie is wide-eyed. “Really? But we don’t want you to go to Chicago. We’ll never see you again if you move out there.”

  She does have a point. “I know… I probably won’t make it out here much.”

  Gabbie smiles at me. “But if it’s what you need to do, Maeve, do it. Don’t let us stop you.”

  “Yes, you’ve been through a lot lately,” Kayla chimes in. “And you probably have the urge to start over, but make sure you’re not running away before you make any big moves.”

  I ponder her advice. Am I running away? I don’t have time to consider it too long before Corrie is pestering me with more questions.

  “So you and Peter are definitely over?”

  “Yep.” I bring my cup of tea to my lips. “Definitely.”

  “Good,” she says. “Serves the little fucker right.”

  “What about Blake?” Corrie wants to know.

  I smile. “Blake and I… it’s just fun. We could never…”

  “Why not?
” Gabbie asks.

  “Too much history,” I say. “He lives there. I live here. It would be crazy.”

  “So you’re going to jet off all alone to Chicago,” Corrie says. “You better bring your vibrator.”

  I shake my head and laugh. But yes, I better. My vibrator, and my memories of Blake.

  39

  HYDE HAS BEEN A LITTLE BIT friendlier today. He hasn’t looked at me sideways once – we’re making progress. He probably just likes me because I feed him. “Here you go,” I say as I set his food bowl on the tiled floor. “Enjoy!”

  I check my phone again, awaiting confirmation from Rebecca Fry about her boss’ schedule. I need to confirm an appointment before I book my flight and hotel room. There’s no emails. To my dismay, there are no messages from Blake either.

  I quickly check my Instagram. There’s Peter again. He’s in Costa Rica. He’d told me he was too busy with work for a proper honeymoon, and there he is zip lining in Costa Rica with a buddy. At least he’s not with some hot blonde. I check my Facebook, for no other reason than I’m bored. Not having a job leaves you way too much time on your hands. I need to start reading more.

  My stomach drops when I see a picture of Blake on my feed. He’s sitting at a bar stool, beer in hand, looking as hot and dishevelled as ever. There’s a leggy brunette on his lap, throwing her head back and laughing. She’s wearing a tight little black dress and worn riding boots. She has a martini glass in her hand, her nails painted red. You can tell she’s one of those women men love, the kind who can rock a tight dress and heels, but also knows how to gut a fish. It’s just one picture, but it’s official… I hate her.

  I want to crawl under a rock and die.

  Her name is Melanie Sullivan. I remember her name. She’s changed a lot. She’s apparently tagged him in a post, taken just the night before. The caption reads: Having so much fun at The Spot with my good pal, Blake. <3 <3 <3 <3 Watsit Jig. Lol!!!