The Hating Game (13 page)

“I want you to do something for me. I want you to have your cute little date with Danny, and I want you to kiss him.”

Even as he says it, his mouth twists in distaste. I drop back down to my regular height. We've said some fucking unbelievable things to each other recently, but that was completely out of left field.

“What? Why?” I drop my hands from his shoulders.

The sinking feeling has started. He's been messing with me all along. He sees the alarm in my eyes and halts my retreat with a hand on my elbow.

“If it's better than our elevator kiss, case closed. Date him. Plan a spring wedding in a gazebo at Sky Diamond Strawberries.”

I begin to protest but he cuts me off. “If it isn't as good, you have to admit it to me. To my face. Verbally. Honestly. With no sarcasm.” Every loophole is neatly closed.

“It's weird you want me to.” I take a step back and knock over a broom.

“The Or Something Game doesn't resume until you tell me that no one kisses you like I do.”

“Can I just tell you now?” I tiptoe up again but he won't have a bar of it.

“No way am I going to be your little experiment before you choose Mr. Nice Guy. So yes, I want you to kiss Danny Fletcher tonight and report back on the result. If it goes great, then good luck to you.”

“You certainly are biased against nice guys.”

He adds one more caveat. “One last thing. If kissing him isn't as good as kissing me, you can't kiss him again.” He opens the door and pushes me out. Mr. Bexley is clomping along sullenly, so I pull the door shut quickly behind me. He does a double take when he sees me come out of the janitor's closet.

“I was looking for some glass cleaner. There are fingerprints all over the office.”

“Have you seen Josh? He's not anywhere. Everything's falling apart and he's gone.”

“He's gone to get you coffee and donuts. You've been so busy. Promise you'll act surprised.”

Mr. Bexley perks up, puffs, and grumbles all in one guttural sound. Then he looks at my dress and its contents with such a leisurely perusal I put my hands on my hips in annoyance. He doesn't notice.

“You're looking a little flustered, Miss Hutton. I don't mind a young lady looking a bit pink in the cheeks. You should smile more, though.”

“Oops, my phone is ringing,” I say, even though it isn't. “Remember, act surprised when Josh gets back.”

“I can be surprised,” he tells me and heads to the men's bathrooms. He's got a newspaper in one hand. Josh can take a leisurely meander downstairs now.

I keep my composure until I get back to my desk, but then I let myself do what I've desperately needed to: I pant for air. I huff like I've run a half marathon. Sweat is beading on the back of my neck and my face is dewy. My fingers are burning hot from touching the cotton covering his skin. I fog up half the shiny surfaces of the tenth floor before I am composed enough to even sit.

I'm so turned on I wish I could knock myself unconscious until it passes.

Joshua returns twenty minutes later, bearing donuts and coffee. He still beats Mr. Bexley back from the bathroom.

“Nice save,” Joshua tells me, putting a hot chocolate and a strawberry donut beside my mouse pad. “Impressive thinking on your feet.”

I stare at the gorgeous pink donut like we've fallen through a wormhole while he disappears into his boss's office. In the space of twenty minutes self-doubt has begun to erode my confidence that I can handle the Or Something Game. He's too big, too clever, and my body likes him way too much. I'm desperate to try to lay some kind of ground rules. When he sits at his desk and sips his coffee, it all comes out in a vulgar blurt.

“If the Or Something Game involves sex, it'll be a one-time deal. Once. One meaningless time only.” I clap my hand over my mouth.

He narrows an eye cynically and begins eating the strawberries I gave him. It's mesmerizing. I never see him eat anything.

“One.” I hold up one finger.

“Just once? You're sure? Would you at least buy me dinner first?” He leans back in his chair, enjoying this exchange. He bites, chews, swallows, and I have to look away because frankly, it's sexy as hell.

“Sure, we can hit the drive-thru for a Happy Meal.”

“Gee, thanks. A burger meal and toy before we went and did it. Once.” He sips at his coffee and looks at the ceiling. “Couldn't you at least spring for a fancy Italian restaurant? Or do you
want
me feeling cheap?”

“Once.” I put several knuckles into my mouth and bite them until it hurts.
Shut your mouth, Lucy.

“Can you define what one time would involve?” He rests his chin on his palm and closes his eyes, yawning. You'd think we were talking about a work presentation, not a naked, dirty game in my bed.

“Did your parents never give you the birds and bees talk?” I sip my hot chocolate.

“I'm trying to understand the rules upfront. You make up an awful lot as you go along. Could you email them to me?”

Mr. Bexley walks between us, breaking the moment, and makes an unconvincing sound of surprise when he sees his coffee and donuts on his desk.

“I'll be in, one minute,” Joshua calls to him.

To me he says, “Once, huh? You'd restrain yourself?” I see the edge of his mouth lift in a little smile, and he begins to click on his computer screen.

“Don't look so self-satisfied,” I hiss as quietly as I can. “It's not a guarantee it'll ever happen.”

“Don't act like it's only me who wants this. This isn't some favor you'd be doing me. It's the pretty big favor you'd be doing yourself.”

He doesn't seem to be making a sleazy reference to what lies beneath his zipper, but I look there anyway. I can't seem to stop talking.

“To kill off this weird sexual tension between us, then yes, it would be only once. Like I said, what does it matter?”

He blinks hard, opens his mouth to speak, then seems to reconsider. For a guy who's just been told by a woman she's considering having sex with him, he looks a little disappointed.

“Then I guess I'd better make it count, Shortcake.” A promise and a warning. I bite my donut nearly in half so I don't have to reply.

I got the upper hand, defining the terms a little. He stands and picks up his coffee. It's a signal of retreat. But then he slams the tennis ball back into my court, forcing the decision back onto me so squarely I have to admit, I'm impressed.

He writes something on a blue Post-it note. His spiky black letters swoop and slash; ink spreading a little into the veins of paper.

He writes down something I never dreamed I'd ever know. I have no idea if it's for the purpose of picking him up before the wedding,
or something.
I can't ask because my mouth is so full.

He sticks it onto my computer screen. His home address.

I
keep half expecting your big brother to storm in here any moment, and haul you off. You're out on a school night and all,” Danny says as I slush my spoon halfheartedly in lemon gelato.

“I'm sure he's idling his car out front, ready to run you over.” It only comes out half like a joke. The waitress comes to check on us. Again, we reassure her of how delicious everything is. Everything's flippin' perfect. Checked tablecloth and candles. Romantic music and me cleaned up nicely in a red dress and lipstick. The only thing keeping me from dozing off is the little sharp nervous feeling in my stomach when I think of the near-inevitable kiss tonight.

“I need to ask. Are you . . . single? Available? I'm getting a vibe. You and he aren't . . . ?”

“Yes, no. No! No vibe. Absolutely no vibe. I'm single.” Then I repeat it a couple more times. Danny's expression is doubtful. The lady doth protest way, way too much.

A slice of panic opens in my gut. If anyone suspected me and Josh of being involved in any way, there'd be repercussions. Reputation-wise. HR-wise. Dignity-wise. I remember the amused
looks and nudges at the post-paintball meeting and cringe to think the horse may have bolted.

“There's been heaps of office hookups. Samantha and Glen. Phew, that was a disaster.” Danny grins. He's a gossip, I can tell. He raises his eyebrows, hoping I'll have my own juicy scandal to share, but I shake my head.

“No one talks to me at work. They think I'll snitch.”

“Is it true Josh completed first-year medical school?”

“I don't know. His parents and brother are doctors, though.”

“We always lived in hope he'd quit Bexley Books and go be a proctologist or whatever.”

I have to laugh.

“So, did you have a bad breakup in the past or something?” Danny looks genuinely curious. “I guess I'm trying to work out why you're single.”

“I haven't had any time to date and I haven't put in enough effort to make new friends after losing touch with people from Gamin after the merger. My job has taken over my life. Working for a CEO isn't your typical nine-to-five.”

“So, what was that rose on your desk?” He raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“It was a joke.”

He waits for me to elaborate but when I don't, he gives up and changes the subject. “Did you get your application in for the new exec position?”

“It's in. Interviews are next week.”

“Is there a big field?”

“The shortlist for interviews is just me, a couple of externals, and my good buddy Joshua Templeman. Four applicants in total.”

“You've been waiting a long time for this,” Danny surmises. Maybe I've got my crazy-intense eyes on again.

“Helene has been big on developing me. When we were Gamin Publishing, I was earmarked to transfer into the editorial team after a year of working for her.” I hear how bitter my voice is.

Danny considers. “It's not uncommon to get into publishing any way you can. Even if it means taking an admin role. Half the people here didn't start out in their dream job. It was smart to jump on any opening you could.”

“No, that's not my issue. I really am glad I've moved into a business role.”

“But then the merger happened.”

“Yes. So many people lost jobs; I was lucky to keep mine. Even if it's meant staying in the same role. I lost my best friend.” I make it sound like she's dead now.

“Chief of operations will look pretty impressive on your CV, especially at your age.”

“Yes.” I breathe, imagining it in Arial font. Then I imagine it on Joshua's CV, and the delicious daydream turns sour. “I'm preparing a presentation for the interview. It's something I've been thinking about for a long time. I haven't been in the position to be as influential as I'd like. The timing's always been off. I want to set up a formal project to get the backlist into ebook format. Repackaging the whole book, covers, the works. I think getting this new role will give me the leverage I've been lacking.”

“Sounds like you'll be needing lots of support in terms of cover design. Keep me in mind,” Danny says. He rummages in his pocket and gives me his new business card. A lady at the next table looks at him sideways like,
What a douche.

He signals for the check and hands over his credit card.

“Oh, thank you,” I squeak awkwardly and he smiles.

We walk to my car. “Sorry I talked so much about work.”

“It's no problem. I used to work there, remember. So. This is
it. Your car.” Danny stops, frames his hands around the car. “It's incredible.”

“Isn't she?” I lean on the door. “Free at last, free at last.”

“Did you just quote Martin Luther King Jr. in relation to your car?”

“Um. Yes, I guess I did . . .”

He bursts out laughing. “Man, you're awesome.”

“I'm an idiot.”

“Don't say that. I'd like to kiss you. Please,” he adds courteously.

“Okay.” We lock eyes. We both know this is it. The moment of truth. Either Danny blows my mind, or I have to pump up Josh's ego.

We look like a pretty little Valentine's card. The road is slicked with rain; a streetlight rings us in white. My red party dress is the focal point, and a man with the angelic white-blond curls is bending me back a little, his pale blue eyes dropping to look at my mouth. His height means we clinch together perfectly.

His breath is light and sweet from his dessert, and his hands spread respectfully at my waist. When his lips touch mine, I implore myself to feel something. I wish on every single shooting star overhead. I pray for the first dizzying kick of lust. I kiss Danny Fletcher again and again until I realize lust is never coming.

His mouth tips mine open a little, although he keeps his tongue in his mouth like the gentleman he is. I put my hand on his shoulder. His frame, which looked so fit and muscular at first glance, feels as light and insubstantial as chicken bones. I bet he couldn't even lift me off the ground.

We both pull back.

“Well.” My hopes are absolutely dashed and I think he knows it. He studies my face. It was like kissing a cousin. All wrong. I
want to do it again, to be sure, and when I move forward he takes a half step back and drops his hands from me.

“I enjoy spending time with you,” he begins. “You're a great girl.”

I finish his sentence for him. “Can we just be friends, though? I'm sorry.”

His face shows disappointment that he didn't get to say it first, relief and a little slice of irritation that makes me like him less.

“Sure. Of course. We're friends.”

I take my car key out. “Well, thanks for dinner. Good night.”

I watch him walk away, his hand raised in farewell. He flips his car keys into his palm, his stride a little slow. An expensive meal exchanged for a bad kiss.

Well, you win the Kiss Competition, Joshua Templeman. I was afraid you would.

A tiny thundercloud is brewing inside me. This was a limp, dull, waste of an evening.

But the worst part? If Joshua did not exist, it would have been a fine date by my standards. Perfectly agreeable. I've had worse dates and far worse kisses. Even though the chemistry wasn't ideal, we could have built on it. The only opportunity I've had in recent memory and it was ruined.

It was like Joshua was sitting at a third chair at our romantic little table, watching, judging. Reminding me of all the things I was missing. When I looked at Danny's mouth, I begged myself to feel something.

When the streets get too unfamiliar, I pull over and spend countless minutes battling with my GPS settings, my clumsy fingers pressing all the wrong buttons, a blue square of paper between my teeth.

I call the GPS woman the worst names I can think of. I beg her to stop. But she doesn't. Like a total bitch, she directs me to Josh's apartment building.

I'm definitely not going into his building. I'm not totally pathetic. I park on a side street and look up at the building, wondering which glowing square represents him.

Josh, why have you ruined me?

My phone buzzes. It's a name I've barely ever seen on my screen.

Joshua Templeman:
Well? Suspense, etc.

I lock my car and pull my coat tighter as I walk. I try to think of how to reply. I've got nothing, frankly. My pride is ridiculously wounded. I should have tried harder tonight. Convinced myself a little more. But I'm so tired of trying.

I compose a reply. It is an emoticon of a smiling poo. It sums everything up.

I decide to make one full lap of his apartment building, praying I'm not abducted in the meantime. I don't need to worry too much. The rain has cleared the streets of all but the most dedicated of stalkers. My red heels echo loudly as I complete my reconnaissance.

It's strange, walking along, trying to look at things through someone else's eyes, let alone your sworn enemy's. I look at the cracks on the pavement, and wonder if he treads on these when he takes a walk down to that little organic grocery store. I wish I lived near a store like that; maybe I wouldn't eat so much macaroni and cheese.

I've always suspected people in our lives are here to teach us a lesson. I've been sure Josh's purpose is to test me. Push me. Make me tougher. And to a certain degree it's been true.

I pass a pane of glass, and pause, studying my reflection. This dress is as cute as a button. I've got color back in my cheeks and lips, most of it cosmetic. I think of the roses. I still can't reconcile it. They were from Joshua Templeman. He walked into a florist, of his own volition, and wrote three words on a card that changed the state of play.

He could have written anything. Any of the following would have been perfect.

I'm sorry. I apologize. I messed up. I'm a horrible asshole. The war is over. I surrender.

We're friends now.

But instead, those three little words.
You're always beautiful.
The strangest admission from the last person on earth I'd expect. I let myself think the thought I've been blocking so admirably.

Maybe he's never hated me. Maybe he's always wanted me.

Another chirp from my pocket.

Joshua Templeman:
Where are you?

Where, indeed. Never you mind, Templeman. I'm skulking behind your building, looking at Dumpsters, trying to decide if that's your regular cafe across the street or if you ever walk in the tiny park with the little fountain. I'm looking at the way the light shines off the pavement and looking at everything with these brand-new eyes.

Where am I? I'm on another planet.

Another text.

Joshua Templeman:
Lucinda. I'm getting annoyed.

I don't reply. What's the use? I need to chalk tonight up as another awkward life experience. I look down the street and can
see my car at the end of the block, waiting patiently. A cab cruises past, slows, and when I shake my head it speeds off.

Is this how stalking begins? I look up and see a moth circling a streetlight. Tonight, I understand that creature completely.

One pass along the front of his building and I'm done. I'll turn my head to look at where the mailboxes are. Perhaps I might want to leave him a death threat. Or an anonymous dirty note, wrapped in a pair of underpants the size of a naval flag.

I lengthen my stride to pass by the front doors, catching a glimpse of the tidy lobby, when I see someone walking ahead of me. A man, tall, beautifully proportioned, hands in pockets, temper and agitation in his stride. The same silhouette I saw on my first day at B&G. The shape I know better than my own shadow.

Of course, on this new planet I've traveled to, there is no one but Josh.

He glances over his shoulder, no doubt hearing my insanely loud shoes stop in their tracks. Then he looks again. It's a double take for the record books.

“I'm out stalking,” I call. It doesn't come out the way I'd intended. It's not lighthearted or funny. It comes out like a warning. I'm one scary bitch right now. I hold my hands up to show I'm not armed. My heart is racing.

“Me too,” he replies. Another cab cruises past like a shark.

“Where are you actually going?” My voice rings down the empty street.

“I just told you. I'm going out stalking.”

“What, on foot?” I come closer by another six paces. “You were going to walk?”

“I was going to run down the middle of the street like the Terminator.”

The laugh blasts out of me like
bah.
I'm breaking one of my rules by grinning at him, but I can't seem to stop.

“You're on foot, after all. Stilts.” He gestures at my sky-high shoes.

“It gives me a few extra inches of height to look through your garbage.”

“Find anything of interest?” He strolls closer and stops until we have maybe ten paces between us. I can almost pick up the scent of his skin.

“Pretty much what I was expecting. Vegetable scraps, coffee grounds, adult diapers.”

He tips his head back and laughs at the tiny stars visible through the clouds. His amazing, exhilarating laugh is even better than I remembered. Every atom in my body trembles with the need for
more.
The space between us is vibrating with energy.

“You
can
smile.” It's all I can say.

His smile is worth a thousand of anyone else's. I need a photograph. I need something to hold on to. I need this entire bizarre planet to stop spinning so I can freeze this moment in time. What a disaster.

“What can I say? You're funny tonight.” It fades off his face as I take a step back.

“So giving you my address was the only thing I needed to do to find you out here? Maybe I should have given it to you on our first day.”

“What, so you could run me over with your car?”

I creep a little closer until we meet under a streetlight. I've spent over eight hours looking at him today, but out of the office context, he looks brand-new and strange.