P.S. I Hate You

by Winter Renshaw

  “Aw …” Rowan leans closer, kissing me softly, her palm pressed against my cheek. It’s a sweet moment. And she’s a sweet girl. “I’m beginning to think I was wrong about you.”

  The roar of another plane steals our attention and silences our conversation if only temporarily.

  “I wish I could feel a hundred of these,” she says, exhaling.

  “Three down,” I say before pointing upward. “And there’s four.”

  “How much time do you have?”

  “For you? All the time in the world.” I pull her close, into my arm, and kiss her forehead. Somewhere inside, somewhere deep and hidden and buried, I know I should feel bad about this.

  And maybe someday I will.

  I’m going to hurt her.

  There’s no question.

  But right now, I can’t think about that.

  I have a job to do.

  Rowan rests against her apartment door Saturday night, covering her yawn with the back of her hand. Her eyes are glassy, half-closed. It’s been a long day. I don’t know if I’ve ever spent this much time with someone in one long stretch.

  After breakfast and plane spotting, she took me to Union Market where we ate from food carts, browsed homemade pottery and paintings, and talked one of my agents into snapping a half a dozen ridiculous photos of us in front of the infamous Heart Wall mural.

  “I had a nice time with you today, Montgomery.” She gazes up at me, hands clasped in front of her waist.

  “I know.”

  “Oh, you know, do you?” She chuckles. “So sure of yourself.”

  “Told you, I’m not good at being humble.”

  Her full mouth tugs upward. “At least you’re honest.”

  I chuff. “Right.”

  “You going to kiss me goodnight or what?” her voice is a sweet whisper and our gazes hold.

  Rowan is beautiful and kind and effervescent.

  And I don’t deserve her.

  But this isn’t about merit.

  My hands circle her waist and she smiles as I lean closer, claiming her sleepy grin for the millionth time today.

  I’ve done a lot of that today—kissing her.

  And I kind of like it.

  She’s easy to kiss. She’s easy to want to kiss. The way her face lights and she does a little jump. I don’t even think she knows she’s doing it half the time.

  “Goodnight, Keir,” she says, placing her hand on my chest and ending the kiss.

  “Rowan.”

  “Yes?”

  “What made you change your mind about me?” I ask the question that’s been tucked away in the back of my mind for the better part of today.

  I knew it would come to this, I just didn’t know it would be this instant.

  Her eyes widen and her mouth is slightly agape. “Oh. Um …”

  I’ll wait. I’ll wait as long as it takes to get my answer. If I don’t, curiosity will bore into me all night and I won’t get so much as an hour of sleep.

  “I just …” she hesitates. “I like spending time with you.”

  “But you said you didn’t want a relationship and then suddenly you’re calling me ‘babe’ and making me breakfast,” I say. “Not that I don’t like those things. I fucking love that you’re all about me. I’m just wondering what made you go from zero to sixty.”

  “Does it matter?” She smiles, shrugging.

  “It does to me.”

  Her expression fades. “Do we really know why we do what we do half the time?”

  “Now you’re getting all philosophical on me just so you can avoid a simple question?” I ask.

  “I like you, okay?” she says, arms folded. “I tried not to. I really did. But you’re so persistent. And good looking. And nice. And amazing in bed.”

  “Go on.” I smirk.

  Rowan smacks my arm. “There. You got your answer, okay? I think you’re incredible, Keir. And I want to date you. I want to spend every second of every day with you because you’re the only thing I think about anymore, and when I’m with you, I’m thinking about my future in a way that makes me excited. And I haven’t felt that way with anyone else. Not in a while.”

  “You see yourself with me?” I ask, teeth raking my bottom lip. “In the future?”

  I mentally calculate the number of days since we first met. It hasn’t even been a month yet.

  This is insane.

  She nods. “I do … no pun intended.”

  My exterior is a carefully crafted veneer of calm, but inside it’s taking everything I have not to walk away and never look back. And if she were any other woman, I would do just that.

  “Goodnight, Rowan.” I kiss her again, my mouth lingering on hers, and then I watch her disappear inside her apartment. As soon as she’s gone, I make my way to the elevator and drag my hands through my hair, releasing a breath I’d been holding far too long. “Fuck.”

  Pulling my phone from my pocket, I call Connor.

  “What’s up?” He answers on the fourth ring, yelling over what sounds like a cheap sports bar in the background. “Keir?”

  “Where the hell are you? Why is it so loud?”

  “Virginia Tech is playing,” he says. “Give me a second.”

  “I don’t have all night.” The elevator doors part and my guys are standing, waiting on the other side.

  “Okay, I’m here. What’s going on?” It’s quieter now. He must have gone outside, thank God.

  “She’s crazy,” I say. “She’s out of her fucking mind.”

  “What?” He laughs, like he thinks I’m kidding.

  “This morning she made me breakfast, she’s been calling me ‘babe’ all day, and tonight she said she sees a future with me.” I exhale as I climb into the back of my SUV. “A week ago she wanted nothing to do with me and now she wants to fucking marry me? What’s wrong with her, Connor? She’s defective or something. You wanted a nice, normal-looking relationship? There’s nothing normal about this. She’s—”

  “—Keir, Keir. Slow down. Stop. Time out,” Connor says. “This is okay. This is what we want. Okay, yeah. At first, she tried to resist you, but she’s clearly accepted the fact that she’s crazy about you. All your perseverance paid off. She likes you. Congrats.”

  “What if …” My thoughts trail. I don’t even want to finish them. Not out loud.

  “What if what?”

  “Nothing.” I exhale.

  “What were you going to say?” He won’t let it go.

  “What if she’s … using me? And all of this is fake? Or some kind of joke to her?” I ask. “I know it sounds crazy, but this whole thing is so over the top. I can’t help but wonder.”

  “What reason would she have to use you?”

  Pinching the bridge of my nose, I tuck my chin and release an annoyed breath. “Seriously, Connor?”

  “Oh, wait. I forgot. You’re God’s gift.” He chuckles. “Anyway, just … keep going with it. We’re announcing in less than a month and you need to show your district you’ve settled down with a nice girl and that you’re going to take your job very seriously.”

  My car stops outside my building a moment later. “All right. Fine. But if I find her collecting strands of my hair or gets my name tattooed on her ass, I’m walking.”

  “Fair enough,” he says. “Anyway, just keep it going. Invite her to brunch or something tomorrow so she can meet your parents. Fast track this just as much as she is.”

  “You’re just as crazy as she is.”

  Connor laughs. “Just do it. It’s what ‘normal’ people do when they like someone. They introduce them to their future in-laws.”

  “Fuck you.” I chuckle, shaking my head before hanging up.

  Heading to my apartment, I fire off a text to Rowan, inviting her to brunch tomorrow morning.

  She replies in under thirty seconds with a giant “YES!” alongside a bunch of heart emojis.

  Oh, God.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  Chapter Twenty
-One

  Rowan

  My mother would be proud. Smoothing my hands down my floral Lilly Pulitzer sheath dress, I ensure it’s pressed and wrinkle-free as I climb out of the back of Keir’s Cadillac and head toward a wide walkway at a back entrance to The White House.

  I don’t know what most people wear when meeting the President of the United States and First Lady, but I imagine this is what my mother might wear; something New England-y and respectable.

  “Are you nervous?” Keir asks, slipping his hand in mine as we walk.

  Shaking my head, I give him a wink. “Not really. Parents usually love me.”

  “Cocky much?”

  We’re escorted inside a moment later and led down several hallways. Everything from the carpet to the wallpaper to the presidential oil paintings and crystal chandeliers and soaring ceilings makes me wish I were here for a grand tour instead of here to woo Keir’s parents, but if I’m lucky, maybe he’ll show me around later.

  It feels like forever until we make it to the Sky Parlor, where Keir says his parents host brunch every Sunday when they’re stateside. His father likes to cook and his mother likes to run the show, or so he says.

  “My goodness, Keir.” Busy Montgomery herself strides across the parlor, her hand over her heart and her mouth drawn into a wide smile. “I had no idea you were bringing a guest.”

  “Really? Because I had it cleared …”

  She waves her hand. “You know how things get lost in the shuffle around here most days. Anyway, are you going to introduce her?”

  Keir gives my hand a squeeze. “Mother, this is Rowan Aldridge. Rowan, this is my mother, Busy.”

  “So lovely to meet you.” I offer a warm smile and extend my hand.

  “Aldridge?” Her forehead is covered in wrinkles. “You’re … oh! Yes. You’re Deb and Doug’s daughter, aren’t you?”

  I nod. “I am.”

  “They’ve always been such wonderful supporters of ours,” she says, her tone warm and sincere. “So very generous.”

  I know. I’ve seen the yearly accounting audit. My parents donated enough toward the last two Montgomery campaigns to feed a village for a lifetime.

  “How are your parents anyway?” She motions toward a floral sofa. “Here. Sit. Let’s chat.”

  Keir releases me and I follow Busy, taking the spot beside her and crossing my legs at the knee when one of the staff offers me a cup and saucer and my choice of twenty different types of tea.

  “My parents are doing well,” I say. “Just working. I think my mother’s getting ready to release her twenty-fifth book next year?”

  “Twenty-five. My goodness. I don’t know how she does it.”

  I don’t either.

  She’s truly a miracle worker.

  She makes raising a child sound like astrophysics when really it’s quite simple. They need love, attention, guidance, healthy food, clean clothes, and a warm bed. That’s literally it.

  Hell, I should write a book.

  “I think she just signed another three-book deal,” I add.

  “How does she find time to write these books? I know she travels all over and gives speeches and workshops.”

  When the First Lady, whose children are in their thirties, knows all about my mother and her global influence, it only confirms the fact that she’s kind of a big deal.

  “She finds ways.” I shrug, taking a sip of my steeped oolong tea. And by finding ways, I mean cutting corners and hiring a staff of five to raise her children.

  “Well I’d love to see her again soon. Tell her not to be a stranger, will you?” Busy smiles wide, her helmet hair sprayed tight and tucked behind one ear.

  “Will be sure to let her know,” I say, taking another sip.

  From where I’m seated, I spot Keir standing outside next to his father’s grill. He smiles and waves and Busy watches the exchange between the two of us.

  “So how did you two meet, if I may ask?” Her lashes bat and she wears a smile, but her question is loaded.

  I can’t tell her we met at a bar—not if I want her to like me.

  The sliding door whooshes and Keir and his father walk in with plates of various breakfast meats, and a member of the kitchen staff wheels in a cart of fresh pastries, muffins, and scones.

  Busy stands, pressing her hand on her stomach. “I’m famished. Shall we?”

  Keir moves toward me, his hand moving toward my chin as he leans down and gives me a tender kiss, right there, in front of everyone.

  Busy’s across the room, fixing her plate, and I lean in. “She wants to know how we met.”

  He huffs, smiling. “I bet she does.”

  “So,” President Montgomery says, walking past me. He’s still wearing his apron, and his plate is piled high with bacon and potatoes and a giant blueberry muffin. “I don’t believe my son has properly introduced us.” He extends a free hand. “I’m Harris.”

  “Rowan Aldridge,” I say, meeting his gesture.

  “Keir says you’re Doug’s daughter.” His mouth presses flat, as if we’re discussing something serious, and I wonder if his face is just permanently etched that way. “Your parents are good people. We know them well. Been a long time since we’ve seen them, but we’ll never forget all the work they poured into our campaigns.”

  “They speak very highly of the two of you,” I say.

  “I like her, Keir.” President Montgomery bursts into a rare smile, patting my shoulder. “She’s from good stock. Keep this one around.”

  “That’s the plan,” he says, speaking to his father but looking at me.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Keir

  “That son of a bitch.” I toss my phone, letting it skid across the coffee table. Burying my face in my hands, I release a hard breath. “Why is he starting with the PR so early?”

  Connor yanks his glasses off before leaning back against the sofa. “Because he’s a dick. That’s why. Anyway, did you see? Did you read the entire article?”

  I huff. “Yeah.”

  Hunter’s front-page Washington Post interview included a small section from a local Maryland political analyst who provided a list of five potential contenders.

  I was number one.

  Grabbing my phone again, I pull up the online article, scoping out my competition and trying to read between the lines. Scrolling down, there’s a photo album of Hunter with Mary Kate. In one photo, they’re feeding ducks at a pond. In another, they’re volunteering at a soup kitchen. There’s even a photo of the two of them from high school, she’s sitting on his lap at a football game, her face painted and ribbons in her hair.

  A-fucking-dorable.

  Slapping my phone down again, I lean back. I need to think.

  “He’s good,” Connor says. “Most people don’t even announce they’re running until November. It’s fucking September. Why the hell does he need a two-month head start?”

  “Because he knows he doesn’t stand a chance. His father is a loser. He’s a loser. Nobody knows the Harringtons and if they do, they can’t fucking stand them.”

  Connor shrugs. “Hate to burst your bubble, Keir, but he’s doing all right in the preliminaries.”

  I smirk. “Yeah, until they find out who he’s running against. I’ll sweep him.”

  “If you’re so sure you’re going to sweep him, why are you so worked up?”

  “Because I can’t stand that asshole.” He’s truly the most deplorable human being I’ve ever known. I only wish Rowan knew just how big of a bullet she dodged.

  Rowan.

  I swear every other thought cycling through my head has to do with her lately. When I’m not with her, I’m smelling her on my clothes, I’m wondering what she’s doing.

  I need to stop caring. Caring is going to get me in trouble, throw me off my game.

  My phone buzzes on the table, and I flip it over. The screen is filled with a text from Rowan.

  “That her?” Connor asks.

  I nod.

  �
��What’d she say?” He peers across the room at me.

  “That she misses me,” I say. “And that she enjoyed meeting my parents this morning.”

  His thin lips draw into a smirk. “Ask what she’s doing this week. Plan your next date. You’ve got to keep this going. Just … do something. We’ve got to fast-track this in case we need to move our timeline up. Hunter’s throwing off my plan a little bit.”

  Fucking Hunter.

  Texting her back, I tell her I miss her too, and that she deserves a gold medal for tolerating brunch with my parents.

  Her response comes back a minute later and I sit the phone down.

  “What?” Connor asks. “What is it?”

  “She just asked me to meet her parents,” I say. “This shit’s getting too real.”

  “No, this is good. This is what we want.” He rises, sliding his glasses over his nose and strutting around my living room like a goddamned peacock. Or a factory worker out of Idaho who just won a mega millions jackpot. “You’re doing it, Keir. Text her back. You’re meeting her parents.”

  Slumping forward, I rest my elbows on my knees, gathering my composure before I send my response.

  “Guess this means she’s your girlfriend now,” Connor says. “You’re definitely taking things to the next level.”

  Typing my message, I hesitate before hitting send—not like I have a choice in the matter.

  “I’d love to,” I tell her via text.

  She replies with a dozen emoji hearts in varying colors.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Rowan

  “He said ‘yes,’” I tell Hannah.

  She glances up from the Cosmo magazine on her lap, but she doesn’t seem the least bit fazed. “Told you he likes you.”

  “What man in his right mind would want to meet a girls’ parents when he’s only been casually seeing her for a week or two?”

  “A guy who’s absolutely crazy about you. That’s who.” She licks a finger before flicking to the next page.