Hate

by Laurel Curtis

  He turned and walked away, and I watched. I watched every step he took, the flex of every muscle as he did. I watched the way the light reflected off of his skin and hair, and I smelled the lingering scent of him he’d left behind.

  And I could only think one thing.

  “I missed you too,” I whispered to the empty space where he’d just been.

  “DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT’S worth?” I sang, my earbuds blasting Belinda Carlisle’s Heaven Is A Place On Earth in my ears as I wiped the kitchen counter with a Clorox Wipe.

  My feet bounced back and forth and my ass swung to the beat. Dancing was the only way to get through cleaning, the bane of my existence, and since Gram was settled out on the deck with a bag of chips and a jar of salsa—her main source of sustenance—I was free to move about at will.

  Ratty shorts hugged my thighs and a thin camisole absorbed the sweat accumulating between my generous breasts. They bounced and swung as I moved, the thought of wearing a bra to do this job an unpleasant one.

  Gram was an early riser and she needed help in the mornings, so now I was too. I didn’t mind too much since I got so much more done than I used to. And luckily, she wanted some time to herself just as much as I did.

  So this had become part of our weekend routine.

  Only this weekend was different. Because last night Blane Hunt had shown up and thrown my carefully crafted routine for a loop. Thus necessitating me getting up even earlier.

  I rolled my neck, doing a spin to make my way over to the waiting garbage can. In went the wipe, a perfectly arced shot, the stance of a Pro Basketball player possessing my body.

  I swung my hips, lifting my knees in my best runway walk and then throwing myself forward, hinged at the hips and stretched to grab my windex from under the sink.

  I did a body roll back up, settling my weight into my hip and spinning, throwing the length of my hair over my shoulder in an arc a stripper would be proud of.

  Shock seized me as I lifted my eyes from the floor, and an amused and seriously heat-filled pair of blue eyes looked me up and down and back again.

  He had on a baby blue t-shirt, and the intensity with which it matched his eyes seemed like it should have been impossible. Just the front was tucked in, as if by accident, exposing a soft brown leather belt that matched his boots.

  Blane’s lips moved, the motion drawing me to them but leaving me completely confused. I still had my earbuds in and couldn’t hear a word he was saying.

  Yanking them out quickly, I felt the burn of my embarrassment working its way up my neck and northward until my entire face was engulfed.

  “What?” I asked, unwilling to stay in the dark about his comment.

  “I said,” he started, his eyes twinkling as he shoved his weight away from the wall holding it up. His ankles uncrossed, and he came directly toward me, his stride confident and quick. When his toes met mine, I looked up, way, way up, and his face tilted down toward mine. “Heaven is definitely a place on Earth.”

  My face jerked back, my eyes widening in surprise. “After watching that, there’s absolutely no doubt in my mind.”

  His eyes traveled down again, taking in my nearly exposed chest, my peaked, very turned on nipples practically waving to him. “Jee-zus,” he said in a tortured whisper. “God really, really loves me.”

  The urge to cover my chest was almost overpowering, but I tamped it down and lifted a challenging eyebrow instead.

  Using a finger under his chin, I tilted his head up enough to make his eyes meet mine again, and then shook it in front of his face. “God doesn’t love you that much, buddy.”

  His perfect smile, outlined by well-groomed, perfectly shaped scruff, told me I was wrong.

  Jesus. Commence swoon.

  My body swayed, just barely and the edges of my focus blurred. I felt myself drifting, getting lost in his eyes, lost in our connection, but I fought it.

  When I got myself under control, I questioned, “What are you doing here? And how did you get in?”

  His already award-winning smile deepened exponentially. “I told you I’d be back this morning.” He took in my outfit again, and then tugged on the flesh of his bottom lip with his teeth.

  “I didn’t think you’d be here at the crack of dawn,” I argued, forcing my eyes from the indention in his lip to his hypnotic eyes.

  Reaching out and tugging a sweat dampened lock of my hair, he responded, “It’s hardly dawn. The sun’s been up for hours.”

  His mouth moved toward mine, and I retreated a step back but rammed into the island. He moved forward with me, swiftly and without hesitation, and I was sure he would kiss me. But when he was just two inches away, just enough to let me look at him, he whispered, “And I couldn’t wait any longer. I missed you.”

  Man. I was so screwed.

  “Blane,” I breathed softly. I didn’t plan to speak, I just did.

  His chest moved into mine, making it swell to two times its size thanks to the indrawn breath and the swell of my arousal. I could feel his chest through my shirt, the thin barrier just barely pretending to keep me unexposed.

  I watched as his lips descended, just before the scent of him flooded my nostrils and made my eyes flutter closed.

  Chiclets. Their sweetness was obvious in both taste and smell.

  I thought he’d drink deep, but he didn’t. His lips and tongue made contact at once, just barely whispering over the seam of mine. I desperately wanted him to lick his way inside, but before I could open my mouth to invite him, it was over.

  His body stayed close and his hands settled aggressively onto my barely covered ass, his pinky fingers just skimming my bare flesh directly.

  The sound of his hoarse voice wove its way effortlessly to my ears, “Finish up, baby. Trust me, I don’t mind watching you.”

  I bit into my bottom lip, heat clawing its way out of my cheeks once again. “I don’t think I can do it, knowing you’re there.”

  “Then just put your earbuds back in, and pretend I’m not.”

  “Why don’t you go out on the deck and sit with Gram,” I offered. “I’ll be done cleaning soon, and then I’ll take a quick shower.”

  His face came forward without warning, and his teeth tugged playfully at my plump bottom lip. When he pulled back, he agreed. “Okay.”

  With one last squeeze of my ass he stepped away and headed for the door that led to the deck. It took me a while to come out of the alternate universe I was convinced I had to be living in, but when I glanced over my shoulder, he was gone.

  I looked around, glanced over my shoulder, and when I finally convinced myself he was gone, only then did I put my earbuds back in and press play.

  I was still majorly aroused, so when “Seduces Me” by Celine Dion hit my ears, I channeled it all into my movement. The tempo was slow, and the sex wasn’t obvious, but to me, if you listened and let yourself feel the music, it was one of the sexiest songs I’d ever heard.

  Maybe other people didn’t dance around their houses like this, certainly not as a way to work off unused sexual energy, but I never claimed to be like other people.

  My head dropped back as the melody began, a soft sway setting into my hips without prompting. I grabbed the windex off of the counter, spraying the glass window of the microwave and wiping it with my paper towel.

  As the tempo elevated slightly, so did my arms, finding their way over my head and moving with the roll of my body. I could imagine Blane’s hands on my body, running from ribcage to hip, and it just made my movement even stronger.

  I moved to the oven, wiping the window to it clean as well, once again bending sharply at the hips, an arch in my swaying back.

  When I was done, I set the bottle and the paper towel on the counter and got lost in the song.

  My hands worked my hair pulling up and around and back again. I spun, the palms of my hands sliding down the sides of my body and my eyes just resting shut.

  As the last chords came to an end, I slowed to a stop, my he
art beating rapidly in my chest and the sweat between my breasts renewed.

  My eyes opened, and I half expected not to be alone again. But I was.

  But I didn’t have to be for long.

  I grabbed the dirty paper towel and tossed it, and then returned the bottle of windex to the cabinet.

  Immediately, I headed for my room, anxious to shower away the pulsing ache between my legs.

  MY ARMS HELD TIGHTLY TO Blane’s torso, and my bent legs forced my thighs closer to his body.

  It was date time. And I was on the back of Blane’s motorcycle for the very first time in my life.

  Destination unknown.

  I’d made quick work of my shower, scrubbing my over-sensitized skin softly and rinsing with cooler than normal water.

  Other than blow drying my hair, I didn’t do much, opting for a slouchy t-shirt and jeans rather than going all out. The thought had entered my mind for one brief moment before I’d raised my imaginary shotgun and blasted it right out of my head.

  This was Blane.

  Feeding him any kind of bullshit would do absolutely no good. He knew me, and when he didn’t, he could read the answers on my face.

  I’d gone straight for the deck, and a delicious mingling of Blane’s and Gram’s laughter hit my ears as soon as I broke the seal on the door.

  My heart felt like it floated in my chest, the buoyancy I got from hearing two people I loved enjoying something, loving something, beyond compare.

  And it was almost half as good as the feeling I got when Blane heard me approach and looked up and smiled.

  His eyes had still been hot, and all of the effort in the shower to lessen my own arousal had been wasted. Because with one look from him, I was having trouble regulating my breathing.

  When I finally looked at something other than him, I realized he’d been holding court with one of my neighbors. In the yard he’d described the night before, a beautiful but slightly tired-looking young woman stood with a young little girl on her hip while a little boy played on the swing set. “This is Cynthia,” Blane had said, introducing me to her as if he’d known her all his life.

  She had a sweet smile and kind eyes, and in that moment, when I looked into the blue eyes of the man in front of me, I saw the boy I’d met back in seventh grade. Warm and friendly and completely irresistible.

  Cynthia was upbeat and completely understanding of the fact that I’d neglected to introduce myself in the years that we’d lived right next to one another.

  She made excuses for me, saying life was just too busy sometimes, citing her own recent separation as an example of her own busyness (Blane proves his perception anyone?), but I knew that wasn’t it.

  It was me.

  Cold and closed off and unwilling to let new people in.

  But Blane made me want to change that in a way that no one had since I first met him.

  I promised to talk to her soon, and Blane left her swooning with one of his genuine bad boy smiles.

  We’d spent the rest of the day inside, laughing along with Gram and rolling our eyes behind her back. She talked about her years of youth—and how crazy she’d been during them—and I’d made sandwiches using my leftovers from the night before for lunch.

  As afternoon ticked into evening, Blane had looked at me expectantly, and before I knew it, Gram forced me out the door with him with a pledge to stay in her room watching Soap Operas on demand.

  Even with all the hours that had passed, I felt like Blane had just gotten there. I was firmly stuck wishing the day would never end.

  Now that I was on the back of Blane’s bike, the roar of it between my legs, the wind in my face, and the warmth of the back of his big body pressed into my front, that feeling had amplified exponentially.

  I didn’t know where we were going, but I knew the area well, watching as the Atlantic ocean whipped by on our left side as we headed south.

  Blane eased back on the throttle, cracking it open a couple of times and making the bike roar as we turned into a driveway for a little beach bungalow in Belmar and came to a stop behind his big, silver truck. The smell of salt water was strong, and my arms tightened involuntarily as I breathed in a deep gulp of it.

  His boots left the pegs and hit the ground, the flex in his thigh muscles drawing my attention. I watched as he killed the ignition, prying my arms free and leaning back just as he pulled his helmet off and eased down the kickstand. I balanced my weight in his shoulders and swung one leg over the back of the bike to climb off.

  He stayed seated and accepted his spare helmet as I handed it to him.

  “So that’s what it’s like?” I asked, running my hands through my wind-blown wild hair.

  He looked at me, his smile wrinkling the corners of his eyes. “What what’s like?”

  “Being on your bike,” I clarified, shaking out my hair all the way to the ends and studying the beast he still sat astride.

  “It’s different,” I noted, a hint of question in my voice.

  He nodded, hanging my helmet off of the handle bar and turning back to face me. “It was my dad’s.”

  My eyes widened, and I looked at it with renewed perspective, taking in its details and getting a little teary-eyed while I did.

  Blane swung his leg over and grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the house. I went with no complaints, my legs working double time to keep up with his long ones.

  He pulled me in the door, drawing me toward his body and settling his hand on the small of my back to guide me now that we were inside.

  “Are you living here?” I asked inanely, turning back to look at him. Obviously, he was.

  “I’m renting it for the summer,” he confirmed with a wink.

  We headed straight for the living room and settled on the couch in front of a big, flatscreen TV.

  It took me all that time to realize that I was forgetting something. Looking around comically and then back at Blane, I pointed out, “Um, I thought we were going on a date.”

  He smiled huge, settling next to me, so close that we were touching from hip to thigh, and informed me, “We are. You’re on it.”

  I looked around again, when the sight of Chinese takeout menus on the coffee table hit me.

  As I turned back to look at him, he turned on the TV, pulled up his on demand programming and selected Project Runway.

  Jesus. The man listened.

  It was such a weird thing, getting choked up over Chinese food and Project Runway, but it was happening nonetheless.

  “Blane,” I whispered, my hand finding his and lacing our fingers together.

  “You said this is what you wanted out of a date. I’m giving it to you.”

  I looked back to the TV and then to him. “You’re really going to watch Project Runway with me?” My voice sounded dubious.

  “Fuck yeah,” he answered immediately. “I don’t give a shit what we’re watching as long as your doing it next to me.”

  The TV flashed with the opening, views of New York City and the logo swirling in time with one another. It flashed to the last episode, the outfits that they’d created and the drama that had ensued, making me shake my head and look back at Blane.

  “What’s this gonna do to your reputation?” I joked, avoiding the very sappy feelings I was seconds away from expressing.

  “I only care about my reputation with one person, and if the look on her face is any indication, I’m pretty sure this is elevating it.”

  I loved the way his lips felt when I crushed mine down on them.

  And I loved the way he kissed me back.

  Most of all, I loved that I couldn’t think of one single thing to hate.

  CHINESE FOOD CONTAINERS LITTERED THE coffee table in front of us, our fifth episode of Project Runway in a row was coming to a close, and my legs were draped over Blane’s lap, the rest of my body snuggled securely into his side.

  I was cuddled in my comfort zone, all snuggly and warm, so when he spoke, I was surprised when his words yanked me out. />
  “I wanna dance with you to whatever song you were dancing to when I left the kitchen today.”

  Oh my God. Had he been watching me?

  I sat up slowly, breathing a chiding, “Blane,” before my upper body was fully vertical.

  He didn’t give me a chance to get away, and he didn’t give me a chance to say anything else, pulling me up and over until I was straddling his lap and facing him.

  “You could literally torture me until I died, Whit, and I’d never apologize for watching you. That was literally the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” His hands squeezed my thighs, and his nose ran seductively along my jaw. On the way back¸ he replaced it with his tongue.

  My head dropped back, and my eyes rolled their way back in my head.

  “Come on, baby,” he coaxed softly. “What song was it?”

  My tongue struggled to find the right place in my mouth as he kissed his way down my neck. All that came out was a moan.

  “What?” he asked, a smirk evident in his voice and in the feeling on my neck.

  “Seduces Me,” I breathed roughly. “Celine Dion.”

  He chuckled into my throat, the vibrations running all the way down to my chest, and reached for his back pocket. “Thank fuck I grabbed your iPod then, huh? Because I don’t have even one Celine Dion song in this whole damn place.”

  I smiled and bit my lip as the majority of my hair fell and cascaded over my right shoulder.

  He stood up, lifting my weight with him instead of moving me off of his lap, and let my body slide slowly down the front of his until my toes just barely touched the ground.

  I swayed as he placed a kiss on the hinge of my jaw and moved away, plugging my iPod into his sound system quickly before grabbing the remote and coming back to me.

  The first few plucks of the guitar took me straight back to my kitchen, where’d I’d been imagining this very thing, his hands and mouth moving on my body to the beat.

  Hooking an arm around my waist, he pulled me close and started moving to the music, his body guiding mine until I was ready for it to follow.