The Boy I Hate

by Taylor Sullivan

  His lips moved closer, her silence inviting him in, telling him it was okay, that he could take the thing she’d built up to fairy tale proportions, because this moment felt like one. A fairy tale.

  His mouth came slowly, settling upon hers, warm, soft, and full. But he didn’t move at all after that, he just stayed there, right there, perfectly still. Their breaths mingled together, both hard and soft. Breaths that were full of excitement and anticipation, and made every nerve in her body abundantly aware of his every move.

  It was erotic. Invigorating. Made her whole stomach tighten with tiny flutters. Just the simple act of breathing the same air as someone else, not touching, or even really kissing. When she exhaled, he sucked it in, taking so much more of her than a breath. He was taking her girlhood, her hope and her dreams, and leading her down the path she’d never been before. Making her think she’d never really known her body, because it was doing things she’d never felt in her life.

  When his lips finally moved, her body melted. Like she’d been frozen, too afraid to do anything but breathe for fear she’d wake, but his lips were there, warm like a fire, slowly heating her from the inside out. He kissed her bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth slightly before letting it go. “Are you okay?” he whispered.

  Because goddammit, he was being a gentleman. Being everything she never thought he could be. Being everything she always wanted but never knew it until now. She nodded, her grip on the rocks loosening.

  He smiled against her mouth and took both her hands, relaxing them with his. “Relax,” he whispered, then slowly moved her hands until he laced them up around his neck. “Hold on to me.”

  She felt so silly, not knowing at all what to do, but he didn’t seem bothered at all. He kissed her bottom lip again, pulling a little harder until she opened her mouth. His lips were soft, full, and nothing like she thought they would be. His tongue entered her mouth, touching hers gently with the tip, as though he was coaxing her to do the same. He felt so wonderful, tasted like winter-mint gum, and she couldn’t resist kissing him back.

  He gripped her head on both sides, and her tongue touched his. A growl came from the back of his throat as his body shifted on top of hers. She may have been inexperienced, but she knew the reaction was a good one. She also knew his reaction was caused by her, and that made her feel more powerful than she’d ever felt in her life. His weight sank into her, anchoring her body to this very spot. His kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as his tongue pushed farther into her mouth, pulling out feelings she never even knew existed.

  She couldn’t think anymore; his mouth was all-encompassing, his lips soft and firm at the same time, his teeth occasionally clashing against hers, and his tongue softer than any material she’d ever felt in her life.

  Tristan Montgomery was kissing her, really kissing her, and she wasn’t holding anything back. The thought never entered her mind until the sounds of laughter and crunching leaves sounded from behind them.

  Pushing at his chest, she scrabbled to sit as fast as she could, but it was too late. When she whipped around, the girls from across the lake were making their way through the trees, and weren’t hiding the fact that they’d noticed them. Samantha pulled in a breath, squeezing her eyes shut. Thank God it’s not Renee. Thank God it’s them and not Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery.

  The girls continued to laugh, making their way down the path again and back to their cabin. But all Samantha could think about was her and Tristan’s kiss. About how easily it had happened, how quickly it had deepened, and what would have happened had the girls had not come along to stop it.

  Samantha sat forward, wrapping her arms around her thighs and resting her chin on her knees. All of a sudden there was a hard pit at the bottom of her stomach. One that was large, and growing rapidly by the second.

  Tristan moved beside her. His arm brushing her leg as he pulled himself to sit. “You okay?”

  She nodded. “Yeah.” But her mind kept rolling with fear. What would’ve happened had it been her best friend coming to look for her? What would she have said?

  “You?” she asked, trying to push the thoughts to the back of her mind.

  “I’m good,” he said. His voice low and textured, but there was something else. Curiosity, or maybe confusion.

  She took a deep breath, trying to figure things out. Why had he kissed her? Why now? Why her? The girl he’d never seemed to notice once until tonight. She began playing with the rocks again, because she was too inexperienced to know what was expected after a kiss like that. Too inexperienced to know if the tingles she felt all over her body was a normal reaction. If a kiss between practical strangers was always so mind consuming and passionate.

  She’d kissed her best friend’s brother, something she never would’ve expected in a million years. But that wasn’t the worst of it. What bothered her most was that she wanted to do it again. A thousand times over again.

  Tristan stood, grabbing her attention as he offered his hand and pulled her up to stand beside him. She wobbled slightly, her legs like soft rubber that refused to hold her. He reached out to wrap his fingers around her waist. To steady her at the small of her back before she fell. She swallowed, not sure what to say. He’d taken a part of her. A precious piece she’d been saving for that special person, but she herself had told him there was nothing owed after a simple kiss. Nothing promised.

  “We should get going,” he said softly, exerting the slightest amount of pressure to pull her forward. As though he wanted her next to him. As though he wanted her lips as much as she wanted his. “Before we get into trouble.”

  She looked up, knowing he was right. If she stayed out here much longer, she wasn’t sure what would happen. She could feel the pulsing of her body, the blood coursing through her veins in every spot where he’d touched her. She reluctantly moved away and walked steadily toward the dock, taking all her concentration to do so. She fetched her towel from the edge of the platform, only turning when she heard him move behind her. The red-striped towel clutched at her chest, her eyes vulnerable, but she didn’t see the boy she hated any longer. She saw Tristan. A guy who all the girls wanted, and who was misunderstood by the masses. He wasn’t the self-centered heartbreaker she’d always thought him to be. He was kind, he was thoughtful—and he was the first boy who had ever said she was beautiful.

  They walked back to the cabin in silence, but it was a different silence. Because under the surface was something else. A shared secret; a kiss she vowed to remember for all eternity.

  The porch light was still on, like it was earlier, but so much had changed since they left. She’d walked out that door as an innocent girl, and come back with that part of her missing.

  He walked ahead of her up the steps, pausing a moment before pushing the door open. As if he was waiting for something. For her to stop him, for her to tell him it was a mistake. But she remained silent, and eventually he walked into the house ahead of her.

  “Thanks for coming out tonight,” he said, as he held the door wide for her to enter.

  She ducked under his arm, careful not to get too close, then nodded. Because for the life of her, she couldn’t think of anything else do. Her mind was still mush, her pulse still racing. She tightened her grip on her towel and chewed her inner cheek. Because God help her, she was completely unaware of what happened next. Did they talk? Not talk? She looked up to the loft, where Renee’s faint snore still traveled down the staircase. Guilt washed over her and she turned back to Tristan.

  He stood against the closed door, his face intense, but his body relaxed like always. She wanted to explain, to tell him she should never have let it happen. But before she could, he pushed himself from the wall and walked down the steps to the basement. He didn’t say a word, and was gone from sight before she could even comprehend his leaving.

  But he left the door open—just a crack, and she knew what it was. An invitation for her to join him—and she couldn’t stop staring at it. Her stomach flip-flopped, and her knuck
les became white where she clutched her towel too hard at her chest. It was an invitation for another kiss. To get to know the man she’d never allowed herself to truly see. But as sure as she was about the invitation, as sure as she knew he wanted her to take it, she couldn’t do it.

  She turned toward the stairs, not allowing herself to think about what happened. Not allowing herself to wonder what would happen if she were to follow him down to his bed.

  She fetched her pajamas from her suitcase, slipped them on, all while hoping and praying Renee wouldn’t wake. She climbed into bed on the queen-sized mattress, thinking she’d just made it, when her best friend turned around and grumbled in her sleep.

  Renee’s expression was groggy and tired, and she slowly opened her eyes. “What time is it?” she asked, with a voice full of gravel.

  “Almost eleven,” Samantha whispered.

  Renee closed her eyes, but her lips transformed into a reluctant smile. “Those girls from the lake came over tonight,” she whispered. “Just a little while ago.”

  Samantha’s throat went dry, and her stomach churned with sour grapes. They told her. They told Renee what they saw. Told her about her and Tristan.

  Renee rolled to the nightstand and grabbed a red and white can of soup from the bedside table, before turning back. “They brought me this,” she said, shaking the can half-heartedly in her hand. “Chicken noodle.” She studied the label, tracing the words over and over with her fingertip. “Do you want to guess how long it took them to ask about Tristan?”

  Samantha shook her head, her eyes shut as hot tears threatened to spill through her lids. A thousand excuses rushed to her mind, but none of them were good enough. None of them would make a difference. She’d kissed Tristan willingly. She’d kissed her friend’s brother, and the only reason she’d stopped was because those girls had interrupted them.

  “Do they think I don’t know?” Renee asked, her head tilted to one side as her face filled with disgust. “Do they think I’m so stupid that I don’t realize what they’re doing?” She placed the can back on the end table, the frustration and emotions oozing from her skin. “I’m so sick of people being nice to me just to get to my brother.” Her voice was harsh and broken, but there was something else there, too. She was defeated.

  Samantha pulled in a sharp breath, realizing what her friend was telling her. That those girls hadn’t told her what they’d seen in the woods. In fact, they’d probably come from seeing Renee when they found her and Tristan on the rocks.

  Renee closed her eyes, sandwiching her hands beneath her head and pillow as she faced Samantha. “At least I have you.” She yawned. “The only person I can trust.”

  A hundred bricks landed on Samantha’s shoulders. She knew exactly what Renee was trying to say. Because up until this point, Samantha was the only girl who hated Tristan as much as she did.

  “Will you get the light?” Renee whispered then.

  Tears burned in Samantha’s eyes, but she nodded and turned to switch off the light.

  “Night, Sam,” Renee said in a groggy voice.

  “Night, Ren,” Samantha whispered back, squeezing her eyes shut, but the tears fell to her cheeks anyway. Right now, she thought to herself. Right now would be the perfect time to confess. To let it out. Right now, before it festered. But she couldn’t. She flipped over, facing the stairs that would take her back to Tristan’s, and more tears slipped down to her cheeks and fell to her chin.

  “I love you,” Renee whispered through the darkness. Her voice was half asleep, so quiet Samantha would’ve never been able to make out the words had she not heard them a million times before.

  She swallowed, barely able to contain her own sorrow. “I love you too.”

  7

  Chapter Seven

  Present Day

  She looked into his eyes, her heart pounding. What did she remember? Is that what he wanted to know? Her eyes shifted to the pavement, where the “I dare you” in the question didn’t feel quite so loud. “Not much,” she said softly.

  He flashed one of his panty dropping smiles and adjusted his stance. “Well that’s good.”

  She titled her head to the side. “Is it?”

  “Yeah.” He tucked his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and relaxed. “I don’t remember much about you, either. This trip would have been extremely awkward had you remembered me.” He looked to the open trunk and moved his suitcase over a few inches. “The good news is, we have three thousand miles to change all that.”

  Her heart pinched at his easy grin and she adjusted her stance. It shouldn’t have affected her. Especially when he’d confessed to not remembering her just the second before, but he was so damned attractive she couldn’t help it. The reaction was much like her mouth watering at the scent of a lemon, or her nose retreating when she smelled something foul. It was one of those involuntary actions she had no control over.

  But she still didn’t like it.

  Especially when she knew what happened when you got too close to Tristan Montgomery.

  She looked back toward the sculpture, trying to regain composure. “I have a lot of reading to catch up on,” she said sweetly, then turned toward the sculpture and squatted down to get ready to lift. “I’m afraid getting to know you isn’t one of my top priorities.”

  He grinned slightly, raising his brows as he grabbed the other end. “Suit yourself,” he replied, lifting, and moving the sculpture toward the trunk. But then his eyes narrowed, as though he was aware the tension between them was not one of strangers.

  She followed after him, ready to be rid of this task, and on the road.

  An hour later, her hair whipping around like the tail of rattlesnake, Samantha dug through her oversized bag looking for a hair tie. The top of the convertible was down, blowing her hair in every which direction, but Tristan didn’t seem to notice. His arm was braced out the open window, his aviator glasses darkening his eyes, but the rest of his expression looked very much like a man who didn’t give a shit.

  She heaved a heavy sigh, hoping he’d hear it and take the hint. That he’d sense her annoyance and close the top. But he seemed oblivious, caught up in his own thoughts—his own world. They’d loaded the rest of her belongings without much hassle. Filling the trunk and half of the back seat with luggage, garment bags, and pillows. But they hadn’t spoken at all, beyond what was necessary. Which was just fine with her. She didn’t want to talk to Tristan. He was her means of getting from point A to point B. To bring her sculpture to Renee on her wedding day. That was it.

  Samantha finally found a tie at the bottom of the bag and began braiding her hair over one shoulder. Her eyes focused on the horizon as she tried to settle herself down.

  Traffic was light, which allowed them to fly down the highway. She kicked off her shoes and dragged one leg into her lap before slouching forward to retrieve her audiobook. It was impossible to find comfort. To be at ease sitting next to the man who’d stolen her first kiss. Her mind had been spinning ever since the moment she first saw him. Because the night she’d come home from the cabin, she’d made a vow. To forget Tristan Montgomery, to forget the kiss that had rocked her harder than an earthquake—and to never tell Renee her secret.

  She’d been successful for the most part. Because most of the time she pretended he didn’t exist, and it worked. Except for those tiny moments, when a lingering snippet would sneak into her subconscious. Triggered by the oddest things: a falling star, a twig floating in a puddle of water, or even the scent of winter-mint gum. She’d always been able to stuff it down again, as effortlessly as pulling a wily hair. But now the subject of her reverie was sitting beside her, completely silent, yet very much present.

  She opened her eyes and glared at his profile, unable to keep her gaze from lingering. His nose was crooked—not badly, but almost in a Matthew McConaughey kind of way. His jaw was square—chiseled, with a shadow of scruff that hadn’t been there last she’d seen him.

  His hair was lighter now.
Probably from driving around with the top down like this. It was about two shades darker than her own. Not brown or blond, but that shade right in between where she knew he must have been a towhead when he was little. But it was his mouth she couldn’t pull her eyes from. The soft, full shape she still remembered to this day.

  She closed her eyes and turned back to window. She’d be kidding herself if she said he wasn’t handsome. He was honestly one of the best looking men she’d ever seen in her life. Strong features, strong body, bronzed skin, which only made his blue eyes more vibrant. But handsome wouldn’t be the first word she’d use to describe Tristan Montgomery. Big. That would be the word. Not big in size. Though yes, he was over six feet tall—much larger than Samantha’s five-foot-two-inch frame. But it was his sheer presence that made up the volume, more powerful than the roar of the mustang below them. More expansive than the wind blowing in her face.

  But he didn’t remember. His words kept whirling in Samantha’s mind. The kiss that had been her first, which she’d unwillingly compared with every other kiss she’d had since, was too insignificant to take up his brain space. She leaned forward again, retrieved her laptop out of her bag, and sat it on her lap. She needed to write, to focus on anything but the man who sat beside her.

  Her narrative was a diary of sorts, the way to get things out of her head so she could let them go.

  Dear Renee,

  She began as she always did—though Renee rarely ever received them. Samantha had hundreds of messages like this, if not thousands. Some were letters of excitement and joy, others fears and anxiety. But many were confessions. Too many. They were unedited, unanswered, unsent. Letters from a teenage girl who was confused, heartbroken, and needing someone to talk to. Letters from a drunken newly twenty-one-year-old woman, who for some reason was thinking of Tristan when on a romantic getaway with her boyfriend.