The Boy I Hate

by Taylor Sullivan

  She smiled, shocked by the request, and glanced toward the small box of soap sitting on the side of the tub before leaning back again. “I’m not grabbing the soap,” she said firmly, but she couldn’t quite contain her grin.

  “Why? Do you not like soap?”

  “No.” She laughed. “I just know what you want me to do and I’m not about to do it.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “I’m not having phone sex with you, Tristan,” she whispered, grinning ear to ear.

  “I didn’t ask you for phone sex. I asked you to grab the soap.”

  “Why do I feel ‘soap’ is the code word for phone sex?”

  He laughed. “Because you’re a prude?”

  Her mouth fell open in shock. “I’m not a prude, I—”

  But before she could finish her sentence, he cut her off. “Then grab the soap, Samantha.”

  She narrowed her eyes, because there was no denying the blatant “I dare you” in his request. She bit her bottom lip again, begrudgingly leaning forward to grab the little box. “Fine. You win.”

  “Good,” he said in a cocky voice. “I like winning.”

  She smiled again, and slid the soap from its silver housing. “Well I like cocky men, so I guess we’re both winners.”

  He laughed again, but only for a second, because the mood had suddenly changed to something more serious. She slipped the soap under the water, getting it good and wet before she spoke again. “Now that I have the soap, sir, what do you want me to do with it?”

  He groaned, and she sunk deeper still, letting her head loll back until the tops of her breasts were all that could be seen above the water. But she could feel herself getting aroused, even though he hadn’t touched her at all. Even though he hadn’t even looked at her.

  “Rub it between your fingers, Samantha. Squeeze it, until a thick white foam builds between your hands.”

  She did as he said, manipulating the soap and building the suds between her fingers, until they were slick.

  He paused for a second, and she could hear his breath getting heavier. “Now place your hands at the top your knees. At the very top, where you have that one little freckle on the left side. Do you see it?”

  She glanced down, placing her hands on the spot he spoke about—but she was choking up inside, because she was sure he was the only person in the world who knew about it. “Okay,” she whispered. “It’s there.” How in two days had he memorized her so well? How in a matter of days could she love him this much?

  “Now slide your hands down, slowly,” he whispered. “Imagine my hands with yours, sliding the slick soap all the way down your thighs, until our fingers tangle in the hair between them, until we feel how wet you are.” He paused for a long moment, and she could hear him breathing. “Are you wet, Samantha?”

  Her body shuddered, and her stomach constricted as she touched herself. “Oh God, Tristan.”

  “Answer me.”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  A loud knock sounded at the door, and she almost dropped the phone. She sat up, letting the soap drop to the bottom of the tub and grabbed her robe off the floor.

  “I gotta go!” she said quickly. “Someone’s here.” She slid the phone across the bathroom floor, quickly rose out of the water, and stepped out of the tub. “Just a minute!” Then she pulled a fluffy white towel from the rack and wrapped it around her head.

  She was still tying the belt at her waist when she got to the door and stretched up on tiptoe to look out the peephole.

  A bellhop stood in the middle of the hall. There was a hopper full of luggage behind him, and she mentally cursed him for interrupting them.

  “What the hell does he want?” she whispered, but opened the door anyway and smiled. “Hi there. I think there must be a misunderstanding, because all my luggage is already here.”

  He glanced at his tablet, checking the room number, then back up to Samantha. “Are you Miss Smiles?” he asked, his brows rising as he waited for her response.

  “Well yes, but—”

  He then lowered a dolly from the hopper, and soon her bubble wrapped creation was positioned right in front of her door. “Is this not yours, Miss Smiles?”

  She covered her mouth, shocked she’d been able to forget such a thing. “Yes, that’s mine,” she clarified. “I—forgot.” She scratched the back of her head, and glanced around her hotel room, looking for a place to put it. “Would it be okay for you to put it in the bedroom? I don’t want my friend seeing it when she comes over.”

  He nodded quickly, then disappeared to the bedroom a moment before Renee appeared at the door.

  “What’s going on?” Renee said, grabbing hold of a strand of Samantha’s still dripping hair that had escaped from her towel. “You ruined your hair.”

  Samantha closed the door behind them, and stepped into the room. “It’s not ruined. I took a bath.”

  Renee shrugged, just as the bellhop came back from the bedroom with the empty dolly. She raised her brows suggestively, then hung her garment bag up on the back of the bathroom door. “Sowing your oats already?”

  The bellhop turned bright red, but came to stand in front of Samantha anyway. “Ma’am,” he began. “Is there anything else you’ll be needing this evening?”

  Samantha shook her head, not knowing if she should tip him or not, but after Renee’s comment, she fetched a twenty off her dresser and curled it up in his hand. “Thank you,” she said. “I really appreciate it.” She then escorted him to the hall, locked the door, and turned around, seeing her best friend lounging on the couch with her feet up.

  “What are you doing here, anyway?” she asked Renee. “I thought you were taking a nap?”

  Renee shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep. Plus, I thought it would be more fun to get ready together.” She rose to her feet and unzipped the garment bag before turning around. “I brought you something to wear.”

  Samantha laughed. “I brought my own clothes, you know.”

  Renee bit her bottom lip, “But your clothes are boring. Besides, I brought you something special. Something hot.” She pulled a wooden hanger from the bag, and Samantha gazed at the small piece of black fabric that hung by straps as thin as spaghetti.

  She raised her brows before looking at her best friend again. Because it barely looked large enough to fit Renee, and Samantha was much more voluptuous. “That’s not going to fit me.”

  Renee pulled a pair of five-inch heels out of the bag. “Don’t be silly.” She then took Samantha’s hand and began pulling her toward the bathroom. “Now, let’s get your hair blown out and get you ready.”

  “Shouldn’t I be the one getting you ready? Tonight is about you, Ren, not me.”

  Renee positioned Samantha in front of the mirror and shook her head at their reflection. “You’re single for the first time in six years, and there happens to be some really hot groomsmen.”

  “Ren—” she tried to protest, but Renee only pushed her down in the chair and pulled the towel from her head “You’re going to let loose tonight, Samantha. That’s all I want. And yes, I’m using my bride status to get you to conform to my will. Get over it.”

  Samantha was barely able to control her giggles as Renee began to work her magic.

  For all the creativity Samantha had with clay, Renee had just as much when it came to beauty. She brushed, curled, and teased Samantha’s hair until it hung in large, glossy waves down her back. Then she worked on Samantha’s makeup, giving her skin a dewy, flawless finish, with smoky eyes and a pouty, nude lip that made her almost giddy.

  “There,” Renee said to her reflection. “Now you can go get dressed.”

  Samantha stood up from the chair, and Renee immediately took her place and began doing her own makeup.

  The romper still hung on the back of the door, and she took it from its hanger before turning back to Renee. “I don’t know, Ren. I don’t think I can wear a bra with this.”

  Renee barely glanced up from applying he
r mascara. “You don’t. There are pasties in the bag, just put those on.”

  Samantha wiped over her face, thinking Renee was crazy, but then she started to imagine what Tristan would think if he saw her like this. What he would say, or not say—and that was all it took for her to grab the romper and head out of the room. Immediately, she went to her bedroom, fetched a minuscule black thong and put it on with the pasties. She’d never worn such a thing in her life, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel sexy.

  After stepping into the romper, she pulled the thin straps over her shoulders, and just like Renee said, it fit her perfectly, though there was barely enough fabric to cover her ass. She bent over, testing it out as she watched herself in the mirror. Luckily the bottom was shorts, because there was no way she’d be able to bend over otherwise.

  She stepped into the five-inch heels and did a spin in front of the mirror to check all angles. Her back was almost bare, all the way down to the top of her panty line. The only thing covering it was the thin straps that crossed in the back in an X, and left no question about what was underneath…or what wasn’t.

  The front was actually the most conservative of the piece. The fabric extended all the way up to her neck, draping sensually over her breasts. She had to admit, it was sexy as hell.

  She found Renee leaning against the doorjamb watching her. Her nose wrinkled like a raisin as she grinned from ear to ear. “You look hot,” Renee said, pushing off the wall to stand beside Samantha. She wore a dress equally as short as Samantha’s but made of a white lace. The color was a gorgeous contrast against her golden skin, and together they crossed the whole spectrum of sexual beasts. Day vs. Night. Light vs. Dark. Angel vs. Devil.

  Renee handed her a couple of gold bangles and a pair of earrings. “Put these on. We should get going in a few minutes.”

  Samantha did as she was told, but before they left for the party, she excused herself once again to the bathroom. There on the floor, under a fallen towel, she found her cell phone.

  Wild Stallion: Have you ever heard the term ‘Blue balls’?”

  27

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  The rooftop was already decorated when they got there. It was like a scene fitting of a James Bond movie. All elegance, class, and lights. Ten or so cocktail tables surrounded by dark wooden stools were arranged around the dance floor. Twinkling lights were strung along the rooftop, creating a canopy above them, and giving the illusion of stars.

  Samantha and Renee walked down the steps to the dance floor, where Phin stood waiting. He had on a tailored suit, with a white dress shirt open at the throat, and looked sexy as hell. He raked his eyes up and down his future bride, and Samantha quickly turned around, wanting to give them some sense of privacy.

  They would have perfect babies. Beautiful, strong, elegant babies.

  The rooftop was already packed with people, maybe forty or so, all dressed to the nines. She immediately scanned the space looking for Tristan, but he was nowhere to be seen. She took her phone out of her purse and sent him a text.

  Mona: Where are you?

  She waited a few seconds for a reply that never came, then tucked the phone back into her bag and began walking toward the bar. Soft music played through the loudspeakers, and people were laughing and mingling all around her. She sat down at one of the oak seats at the bar and signaled for the bartender. She felt slightly naked, having never worn something quite so revealing out in public. But she held her head high, and tried not to imagine what everyone else was thinking.

  “What can I get you?” the bartender asked, bracing his arms on the counter in front of her.

  She cleared her throat and resisted the urge to cross her arms at her chest. “A martini, please. Extra olives.”

  He nodded, and she quickly turned around to look over the patio. There was a dark haired man sitting just two seats over, and she decided it wouldn’t hurt to introduce herself.

  She hooked her heeled shoe on the rung of the barstool and crossed her legs. “Hi,” she began. “I’m Samantha. The maid of honor.” After all, she’d be spending the next few days with these people. She might as well get to know them.

  He grinned slightly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose before nodding. “Devon Montgomery,” he stated. “The bride’s cousin. We’ve met before.”

  She bit her bottom lip, narrowing her eyes to get a better look. His eyes were dark, and he was very handsome, but he looked nothing like his blond haired cousin. “Devon? Oh my gosh, I haven’t seen you…in, well… Since that summer you threw dirt in my ear.”

  He scrunched up his nose and took a large gulp of his drink. “I was hoping you’d forgotten about that.”

  She laughed. “I have a memory like an elephant. You’re pretty much screwed.”

  He bit his lower lip and looked down to his feet. “I was afraid of that.”

  She ginned at him, then lifted her shoulders in a “Sorry to tell ya” motion, as the bartender set her drink down before her. Devon was older—maybe by five or six years, but the last time she’d seen him he was a scrawny teenager. One both she and Renee had a crush on.

  “You look…” He eyed her up and down. “All grown up, Samantha.”

  She took a long sip of her Martini and smiled. “Do you live around here?” she asked, taking the cocktail stick and scraping an olive off with her teeth.

  He nodded. “Manhattan, and you?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I’m still in LA, though I’m not sure why at the moment. This city is beautiful.”

  He laughed heartily, sounding exactly how she remembered him. Robust and sincere… and possibly a little bit nerdy if that was possible.

  She turned in her seat to take another drink, as another man came to fill the seat between them—but she barely noticed. Because Tristan appeared on the rooftop at that exact moment.

  His eyes locked on hers right away. Possessive, brilliant blue, and caused a physical reaction to form in her belly. He raked his eyes up and down her figure, then began walking down the steps toward her. He looked as though he wanted to ravish her, though she didn’t blame him. She wanted to ravage him as well. Because for every inch Tristan Montgomery lacked in polish, he made up for in pure sex appeal. He wore tight faded jeans, a tight white V-neck t-shirt, and a black blazer that somehow made his shoulders look even broader.

  “Where in LA do you live?” the man who’d joined them said to her.

  She turned in her seat to give him her attention. “Sherman Oaks.” She swallowed. “Are you familiar?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I was just trying to steal your attention away from whoever stole it.” He grinned. “I’m Mark, by the way. One of the groomsmen.”

  She glanced down to the bar, knowing she was blushing, and downed the rest of her martini. “Samantha,” she replied.

  “Ahhhh… The maid of honor. Renee has told me about you.” He held out his hand, and leaned back against the bar.

  Suddenly, Samantha realized Mark was the one of the men Renee was trying to set her up with. She could see why. He was built, good looking, and had a voice like shredded sandpaper. Husky, sexy… She shook his hand.

  “You’re the artist, right?” he asked then, cutting off her train of thought.

  She nodded, catching a glimpse of Tristan out of the corner of her eye. He already had at least three girls around him. One a ballerina that danced in Renee’s company, a brunette who looked harmless enough, and a redheaded hussy.

  “I’m a sculptor. How about you?”

  “Firefighter.”

  Devon leaned forward again, butting into her new conversation. “I think I remember hearing about that. What type of sculptures do you do?”

  She cleared her throat, slightly thrown from watching Tristan… But then she turned around, and a sense of calmness overtook her. “Modern—yet recognizable.” She grinned. That was one of the quotes written about her work at the gallery opening. Modern—yet recognizable. She love
d it. Because that’s always what she strived to be.

  “I like that,” Mark stated. “Do you happen to have any images of your work?”

  Her brows furrowed, and she opened her clutch to pull out her phone, but quickly remembered. “No, actually—normally I do, but my phone got wet…” But her words trailed away as she saw Tristan watching her again. “All I have with me is the piece in my room that I made for Renee—it’s their wedding gift.”

  Mark took a sip of his beer, almost studying her. “I’d love to see that, later.”

  She raised her eyebrows, aware he was asking to come to her room, and she shook her head. But just then the DJ’s voice sounded through the speakers, saving her from giving any sort of reply. He was calling everyone to the dance floor, beckoning them, with his arms above his head, to come closer. Samantha immediately rose from her seat, excusing herself from the two men, and weaved her way through the crowd.

  The DJ was standing in the middle of the dance floor and waited until most everyone had moved closer. “Good evening, ladies and gentleman. As you all may know, we’re here to celebrate the last single days of both Phin and Renee. Untraditionally, they have decided to join their parties together, and share their last night with all of you. Every one of you is special to them, and they want you to get to know one another. So look around, say hello, and find a new best friend. To help you get started, we have a game! I have a couple of assistants walking around handing out pen and paper. Take one. Walk around the room and get to know one another. You’ll need to gather both first and last names, plus the answer to one simple question: how do they know the bride or groom? Easy, right? Though if you’d noticed, there are no clipboards provided. Get creative. Backs—or fronts, make a perfectly acceptable surface.”

  A roar erupted from the crowd, and a guy across the stage ripped his shirt off and pointed to his chest.

  The DJ laughed and patted him on the back. “To sweeten the pot, the person with the most correct information at the end of the night will win a prize. A two week, all-expenses paid trip to Europe, graciously donated by the groom’s parents.”