One Week Hating You

by Roya Carmen

  He turns his attention back to his game. He’s on the eight ball and it seems like a relatively easy shot, but he misses. I gain surprising satisfaction from that – maybe I’ve rattled him a bit.

  “I can’t believe you used to go out with that, and you never let him pop your cherry,” Corrie quips.

  I nudge her in the ribs. “Shut up,” I scoff. “Besides, I was a different girl back then. I didn’t even know what sex was all about.”

  She snickers. “And now that you do, you’d totally let him have his way with you, I bet.”

  I smile. Totally… yes, in an alternate universe. “Never in a million years… he’s a dick.”

  “Too bad I can’t have a go.”

  I shoot her a sidelong glance. “No, you can’t.”

  She laughs.

  Mandy finally notices us, and as soon as she does, she hops over, squeals like a five-year old. “Yay! You’re here.” She swoops in for hugs.

  Jeff shoots me a smile and a wave. I’ve always liked him – he’s a good sidekick for Blake. Blake can be impulsive and wild. Jeff, on the other hand, has a good head on his shoulders and is pretty conservative. Without him, Blake might fly off the rails. I wonder if Jeff has settled down yet.

  Mystery guy eyes the both of us with curiosity – it’s that hunting look. It’s so easy to spot when a guy finds you attractive and surveys you carefully, most likely picturing you naked. He can’t seem to figure out which one of us he likes best.

  “You remember Jeff,” Mandy says. “And this is Rick.” She motions to leering mystery man.

  He offers a hand to the both of us, and his hand is sweaty… yuck! I’m nice about it, politely coming to terms with a stranger’s sweat on my hands, but not Corrie. She unapologetically wipes her hand on her jeans right after he shakes her hand. I do it too, but in a more inconspicuous way.

  I can’t help but stare at Blake; he’s looking good in a plain white tee and dark jeans. Every now and then, he quickly throws me a glance too. It’s like we’re playing hide and seek with our eyes.

  It’s down to the eight ball again. Blake leans in, a lock of hair falls over his eye. He doesn’t swipe it away so it must not be messing up his game. Get a haircut, I want to shout, but I remain quiet as a mouse. I watch him intently as he sinks the ball.

  He stands straight again and turns to me. He surveys me intently – his eyes dance slowly over the curves of my body, from the swell of my breasts, all the way down to my tall booties. When Rick surveyed me in exactly the same manner, just a minute ago, it made me feel nasty, yet with Blake, it arouses me. Funny how that works.

  “Nice outfit, Freckles,” he quips. “I barely recognized you.” He shifts his gaze to Corrie. “You ladies on the prowl tonight?”

  Corrie laughs. “Not exactly. You calling us cougars, boy?”

  Blake chuckles. “No… just curious. My friend, Rick, here, is single.”

  We both laugh – we can’t help it. Rick is kind of repulsive.

  “Actually,” Corrie starts. “We have a proposition for you, Blake,” she says in a sing-song tone.

  Blake smiles mischievously. His gaze shifts to me and it lingers there. “Go on… I’m curious.”

  I nudge her discreetly. “No, we don’t. Forget she said anything.”

  She turns to me. “Well, he needs to be in on it if this is going to work.”

  I bury my face in my hands, mortified.

  “You see, we have a little plan for tonight, just something fun,” she goes on. “As you know, Freckle’s fiancé was kind of a dick, and left her at the altar.”

  Blake is stifling a smile. “How rude.”

  I want to kill them both. How can I make this look like bar-fight-gone-wrong?

  “Anyway, to add insult to injury, he sends her this email and tells her she’s too boring for him. Apparently he can’t settle down yet. He wants to have fun.”

  I want to crawl under a rock. Maybe I can crawl under a pub table?

  “I’m not following,” Blake says, clearly intrigued.

  “Well, we want to prove him wrong. We want to make him see that Maeve can be just as fun and wild as the next girl, and we want to make him jealous,” she explains. “We want him to run back to her and beg.”

  Yes.

  “Oh.” He cocks a brow, and his gaze surveys me once more. “That explains the outfit,” he says.

  I smirk at him.

  “I love it.” He winks at me. “But I think I prefer the flowers and polka-dots.”

  I melt a little. Why do I let him do this to me? Why do I give him that power?

  “Anyway,” Corrie goes on. “We need you to make him jealous.”

  He shakes his head and cracks up.

  We both watch him patiently as his little laugh-fest comes to a close.

  “So what do I need to do?” he asks. “I can’t wait to find out. I’m game for anything.” Another wink in my direction.

  I sigh.

  She points to an empty booth at the back of the pub. “Just sit there and look pretty,” she commands as she leads him to the booth and instructs him exactly how to sit. “You look hot,” she says. “Perfect.”

  Meanwhile, he’s still laughing his head off, and I am dying of mortification. I can’t believe we’re doing this. My heart is hammering wildly against my ribcage.

  Mandy comes over. “Do you gals want something from the bar?” she asks. “I’m getting the first round.”

  Corrie turns to her, her attention momentarily shifted. “Oh, thanks. I’ll have a gin and tonic.”

  I mull it over and spot a girl a few feet away nursing a Smirnoff vodka cooler. “I’ll have what she’s having.” I shoot her a smile. “Thanks, Mandy.”

  I’m not a big drinker, but that’s exactly what I need to settle my nerves.

  Blake is nursing a beer. One long leg stretched out, a hand resting on his thigh, the other holding on to his bottle on the table – he does look pretty sexy.

  Corrie waves me over. “Your turn, Freckles.”

  I trudge over to her and whisper in her ear, “You call me that one more time, and I will murder you in your sleep.”

  She cracks up. “Okay, Freckles. You sit on his lap.”

  Oh crap…

  7

  BLAKE PLAYFULLY BITES HIS LIP. He’s totally into it. I shake my head and stare at the floor as I slowly close the distance between us. I hesitate for a moment before settling on his lap. For just a second, I see the same eyes I used to be so familiar with, the laughs we shared, the moments we lived together, and I feel like I belong there, on his lap. Yet when I finally settle my tush down, it feels awkward. I study him for a beat – his smile has faded and his eyes have darkened. He doesn’t think this is funny anymore. Neither do I.

  His gaze sticks to mine. His dark brown eyes are as beautiful as ever, and I wonder what he sees in me. Am I just the way I was to him? Or am I someone completely different? Someone he doesn’t like anymore?

  “Okay, lovebirds.” Corrie fiddles with her phone. “We need to kick it up a notch.”

  We both turn our attention to her.

  “Maeve, I want you to wrap your arm around his neck.”

  I do as I’m told, and smile tightly at Blake – this is so awkward.

  “For the love of God, he doesn’t have cooties. Draw him closer.”

  I inch closer, and I spot a hint of a smile on his lips – all that cocky bravado seems to have disappeared. I like him better this way.

  “Now Blake, put your hand on her thigh.”

  Oh… Lordy.

  He slowly draws his large hand to my thigh, and the warmth of it feels so nice on my skin. I venture a look up at him. His eyes are dark, his lips parted. I want to reach out and trace the tips of my fingers along his beard, but I don’t. Of course I don’t. He’s turned on – I can tell. I could always tell.

  So am I.

  “The hand needs to go further up the thigh,” Corrie calls out. We’re not paying attention to her anymore. There�
�s just the two of us in this pub.

  Blake’s hand slowly travels up my thigh, hiking up my mini skirt along the way. His gaze never leaves mine. I close my eyes, reveling in the sensation of arousal. I’d fuck him right here if it were just the two of us, in another reality.

  He presses his mouth close to my ear. “You look fucking amazing tonight,” he whispers. “God, I’d have you in nothing but those shoes.”

  I open my eyes again, my mouth dry.

  “Okay, that’s good,” Corrie yells. “Perfect. Pretend we’re shooting a porno, guys.”

  His hand stops abruptly.

  I draw my hand to his face and surrender to the temptation of touching him – his beard feels prickly.

  “Oh, that’s good, Maeve. Leave your hand there.” Corrie is pointing her phone at us, completely wrapped up in Operation Let’s-Make-Peter-Squirm. She snaps a few shots. “Don’t move,” she barks. She peruses the photos quickly. “Okay, perfect. These are good. Let’s do a few smiling shots.”

  We smile for the camera obediently.

  “You two look awkward,” Corrie snaps. “Snuggle in closer, and Blake, make her laugh.”

  Blake holds me tighter and pokes a finger in my ribs, making me squirm and laugh. “Remember the time we went to Karaoke for your birthday, and you fell off the stage,” he mutters in my ear.

  The memory of that day traces a big grin across my face. My sixteenth birthday. We’d sneaked some booze at his place, and it had been my first time drinking. I was more than a little tipsy.

  Corrie snaps a few more photos. “That’s perfect.”

  Finally, she turns her back to us. “These shots are great!” She turns on her heel. “But maybe just a selfie or two.” She hands her phone to Blake. “Hurry, I’ve set the timer.”

  Five, four, three, two, one…

  Snap.

  I grab the phone from his hands, eager to see it. It’s a great pic. My face rests comfortably against his. Our hair is wild and free. We both have big genuine smiles on our faces, and our eyes are full of life. In that split second, we don’t have a care in the world. We’re crazy happy.

  The selfie is perfect.

  As soon as we realize our little exercise of deception is over, it gets awkward again. I reluctantly pull from him, his words still in my head.

  God, I’d have you in nothing but those shoes.

  Damn, yes… please.

  I stare down at my booties, not quite able to look him in the eye. “Thank you,” I mutter.

  After a beat, I dare to gaze up at him. He’s watching me intently as he downs a sip of beer. “My pleasure,” he finally says, with that familiar cocky grin. Clearly, he enjoyed it as much as I did.

  I wave awkwardly, and walk away without a word.

  Corrie is poring over her phone. “These are perfect. I’m just fixing up the lightning and cropping, and then we can post them.”

  “I don’t know about that, Corrie,” I say. It all feels a little juvenile, a little underhanded. “I don’t know if I want to play those kind of games.”

  “C’mon,” she says. “Peter deserves it. He was a total dick to you. We’re just having some fun.”

  Conflicting thoughts fill my mind. The thought of Peter not showing up, leaving me at the church without as much as an explanation, leaving me wondering what the hell was happening, and embarrassing me in front of all my friends and family. He’s responsible for one of the worst days of my life. The memory of his e-mail, of him telling me I’m not good enough for him, not exciting enough, not worth it.

  I do really want to hurt him back. But is Blake the answer? It seems wrong to use him as a pawn in my little game.

  “I just don’t know if I want Blake in the middle of this.”

  “Blake doesn’t care,” she says.

  I glance over at him. He’s already chatting up a blonde. Yep, I’m sure he couldn’t care less. “Aw, what the hell. Let’s do this.”

  Corrie smiles wide and calls Mandy over. “Selfie!” she cheers. We all cuddle in close, and she snaps a photo.

  We sign into my Instagram account, and she taps eagerly on my phone. About a minute later, she chirps, “Done!”

  I grab the mobile from her and sneak a peek. She’s posted four pics; a shot of Spanky working the bar, the selfie of the three of us – we all look great. She’s also posted two pics of Blake and I, and baby Jesus, we look hot. In one, we’re both looking at the camera but not quite smiling, his hand is hiked up my skirt, and he looks like he’s planning to have his way with me. I, with my smoky eyes and bed hair, look like I’ve just had the best orgasm of my life. Seriously, we look like a Guess ad. And the other is the selfie he took, the both of us smiling for the camera. We look like we’re having a blast. You’d never guess that this was all a setup – pictures can be so deceiving.

  The caption below the photos reads: Having a blast hanging out in my hometown with old friends. #tgif #girlsgonewild #highschoolsweetheart #sloshed #hometown

  “I’ve posted it on Insta and Facebook,” she tells me. “He will definitely see it.”

  “And so will my grandmother,” I tell her. I’m mildly embarrassed by the post – it’s so not me. Everyone is going to think I’ve lost my mind and gone wild because I was dumped at the altar. Which, let’s face it, is kind of true.

  “Damn, you two look good together,” Corrie says. “Peter is going to go wild with jealousy.”

  I laugh. “If you say so.”

  Mandy takes a look. “Hot,” she says. “By the way, your drinks are waiting for you. Let’s go shoot a game.”

  “Sorry,” Corrie says. “We just had to finish up our little project. We’re all yours.”

  I notice Blake slip away with the blonde, and it stings a bit. His gaze catches mine one last time, and I see that same intensity in his eyes I saw when I was sitting on his lap. After a beat, he tears his gaze away and rests a hand on the small of the blonde’s back. He leads her out the door with a charming smile. Here, I thought we’d just shared something special, but it obviously meant nothing to him. I’m sure he has women hanging off him every night. I’m nothing special – I’m just his childhood friend and neighbor, his first love, the goody-two-shoes who wouldn’t let him pop her cherry.

  We spend the night shooting pool, and chatting up a few guys who try to pick us up, but they’re completely out of our league, and the last thing I want to do right now is hook up with some random guy. Even Corrie, who is very sexual, has high standards. If the guy is not classy and hot, he’s not worthy. She loves to flirt, but she won’t give it up for just anyone. Mandy has always been a good girl like me. She’s only had three relationships, and the last one ended not long ago – I don’t think she’s ready to hook up with anyone either.

  We take a cab back home, wobbly on our heels. Corrie is completely wasted, and Mandy and I are a little tipsy. Mandy gets dropped off first. She waves us goodbye as she trudges up her walkway. A minute later, we’re at Momma’s house. I fiddle with my wallet and pay the driver.

  I hold Corrie up as we make our way in. The lights are off – Momma’s already in bed. I practically carry Corrie to her room – thankfully, she’s small. I slip off her heels and make sure she lies face down on the bed, in the event that she should vomit.

  “Goodnight, sss-sweetie,” she slurs, her words slow. “Had soooo much fun. You look soooo hot. Pete-er’s going to fucking jerk off when… this bed is soooo comfy. I’m soooo tired.”

  “Goodnight, Corrie. You have a good sleep. Please don’t puke on my brother’s bed.”

  I leave the door open, head to the washroom, and quickly brush my teeth. I pull off the sexy booties, and my feet silently thank me. I slip out of my leather skirt and peel off my t-shirt. I unclasp my push-up bra and my breasts thank me too. The air is chilly and my nipples harden. I slide under the cool sheets in nothing but my undies.

  I stare up at the stick-on stars on my ceiling and the old posters on my wall. This room is full of memories: Marilyn barging in
to my room at all hours, always wanting to borrow something; nail polish, jeans, shoes. She and I have always been exactly the same size. Memories of Mandy and I chatting, playing cards on the bed, watching movies on my laptop, and talking about crushes. But mostly, this room reminds me of Blake: cuddling on the bed, making out on the bed, watching The Sopranos in secret (Blake’s parents had the whole series on DVD but we were forbidden to watch it), playing Scrabble (Blake has always been good with words). He’d even paint my toes and brush my hair sometimes.

  He’s all I’ve been thinking about all night, ever since I sat on his lap. Before then, I was consumed with thoughts of Peter, with ‘the plan’. But once I got lost in Blake’s eyes, I was a goner.

  I know he’s not thinking about me right now. He’s probably doing that blonde every which way. My hand travels slowly along the curve of my stomach. I’m still wired – I can’t fall asleep. I can’t stop thinking about his hand on my thigh, about the way he looked at me, like he wanted to take me right there in that booth.

  God, I’d have you in nothing but those shoes.

  My fingers dance over my breasts. I stroke them softly, rubbing the peeks under the pads of my fingers. I close my eyes and imagine Blake. He’s the one touching me. I imagine his lips on my skin, my hands in his hair. I spread my legs, and my hand travels to the band of my panties. I dig in with nothing on my mind but him.

  8

  LIFE ISN'T ABOUT FINDING YOURSELF. Life is about creating yourself. – George Bernard Shaw.

  Dear Journal,

  I know I’ve been acting kind of immature, but desperate times call for desperate measures, as they say. I’m desperate to get back at Peter. I’ve never been a particularly vengeful person, but then again, I’ve never been so angry. The last time I felt this horrible was when Blake cheated on me in high school. He didn’t have the respect to break up with me first, but by that time, we were pretty much done anyway. I just wanted to run away, and I didn’t feel the need to prove myself to him. Blake knows me so well – I could never fool him. We’ve known each other since we were five years old, when my family moved into this house. With Peter, it’s different. I want to show him that I’m not who he’s decided I am. I can be anyone I want to be.