The Hating Game

“Sorry, no, not remotely. I’ll make sure you get your own room.”
Seems he’s dead serious about his promise to not lay a finger on me. It’s a bucket of cold water on the fire burning in my chest, and I’m left with the charred remains, unsure if I’m relieved.
“Why don’t you stay with your parents then?”
He nods. “I don’t want to.” His mouth turns down unhappily and I impulsively pat his knee.
“I’ve got your back this weekend, okay? Like at paintball. But the offer stands for this weekend only.”
“Thanks for covering for me. You took a lot of hits. I still don’t know why you did it, though.”
He squints against the sun, and I find a pair of sunglasses in the glove compartment. I huff on them and polish them with my sleeve.
“Well, you’d made me the last person to go for the flag. The most expendable.”
“I did it because you looked like you were about to keel over. Thanks.” He takes the glasses.
“Oh. I thought it was another one of your little tricks. No one covering for me. Lucy Hutton, human shield.”
“I was always covering for you.” He checks his mirror and changes lanes.
There’s a little candlelight flicker in the vicinity of my heart. “You should see my bruises, though.”
“I saw a few of them.”
“Oh, right. When you took off my Sleepysaurus top.” I rest my cheek on the seat and open my eyes. We’re stopped at a traffic light, and I see the little smile line near the corner of his mouth.
“You have no idea how much I regret you seeing my pajama top. My mom gave it to me a few Christmases back.”
“Oh, don’t be self-conscious about it. It looks great on you.”
I laugh and a little of the stress leaves me. The city bleeds into suburbs, and the sun begins to set as we wind through vast tracks of green. I’ve never been out this far. I need to start living my life, rather than walking the same path, in and out of B&G, like a little highland sheep.
“So you’ve said I’m coming along for moral support. Will you tell me why? I feel like I need to be forewarned and forearmed.”
“I have . . .” he begins, and sighs.
“Baggage?” I hazard. “Who’s this about?”
“It’s largely just about me. I made some mistakes and didn’t try hard enough on something important. Now I have to go and have it rubbed in my face a little. It’s just going to sting a bit.”
“Medicine.” Without thinking I reduce it down to one word. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive.”
“You’re talking to the king of insensitive, remember?” He rolls his shoulders, desperate to change the subject. I take pity.
“I should come out here on the weekend and do some exploring. I could buy some stuff to decorate my apartment.” I look at him sideways. Fishing for an antiquing pal? Seriously, Lucy, get it together.
“Well, I’m sure your new good friend Danny would love to drive you.”
I cross my arms and we don’t talk for twenty-three minutes, according to his perfectly accurate digital display.
I break under the silence first. “Before this weekend is over, I am going to crack open your head. I am going to work out what is going on in your evil brain.”
“That’s fine.”
“I’m serious, Josh. You are destroying my sanity.” I lean forward and put my elbows on my knees and rub my face.
“My evil brain is thinking about grabbing some dinner soon.”
“Mine is thinking about strangling you.”
“I’m thinking if we plunge off a bridge I won’t have to go to this wedding.” He looks at me, perhaps only half joking.
“Oh, great. Watch the road or your wish will come true.” When we do cross a bridge, I supervise him with suspicion.
“I’m thinking about . . . my car’s fuel consumption.”
“Thank you for sharing these valuable insights into what makes you tick.”
He glances at me, considering. “I’m thinking about kissing you, on my couch. I think about it disturbingly often. I keep thinking about how weird it will be to spend my days not sitting across from you.”
The thing about the truth is, it’s addictive.
“More of your brain contents.”
Josh smiles at my demand. “I’ve never had someone try to do this before.”
“What, break your skull open? I’ll use a hammer if I have to.”
“Get to know me. And I never thought it would be you.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
I almost can’t hear his reply, it’s so quiet. “No.”
I swing my head away, pretending to look at the scenery. We park in front of a truck stop diner and he touches my hand. What he says next makes my heart crackle bright with stupid hope, even though I know he’s kidding.
“Come on. It’s time for a romantic dinner date.”
On my first fake date with Joshua Templeman, the booths are taken so we sit side by side at the counter. My feet dangle like I’m five years old as I perch on the stool, which he helped me up onto. We order and I immediately forget what I’m going to have. He rests his chin on his palm and we play the Staring Game to pass the time.
I could get through this weekend if he didn’t have such beautiful hands. Or such a lovely scent to his skin. My eyes go on a little walking tour. The tube lights turn anybody else sallow, me included, but somehow he glows with vitality. I notice the faintest smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. I must have had my hate-goggles on during most of our working relationship, because in all honesty, I’ve never seen a man this good-looking in person.
Everything about him is pleasurable. He drips with quality, luxury, everything so exactly right. Every part of him is engineered and maintained perfectly. I can’t believe I wasted all this time not admiring him.
“You’re like a beautiful racehorse.” I sigh, a little garbled. I should have tried to get some sleep last night.
He blinks. “Thank you. Your blood sugar is bottoming out. You’re all white.”
It’s probably true. My stomach makes a goblin noise. A bunch of laughing college guys walk past too close and Josh puts his hand on the small of my back. Just like a real date would; protective, telling them, Mine. Then he orders me an orange juice and makes me drink it. I hear a trucker repress a belch and then let it out slowly with a groan. The fryers sizzle in the background like radio static.
“Lacks a certain ambience,” Josh says to me. “I’m sorry. Crappy date.”
The waitress looks at him sidelong for the fifth time, her tongue licking idly at the corner of her mouth. I touch his wrist and end up holding it.
“It’s fine.”
Our food arrives and I cram my grilled cheese sandwich into my face, having to remind myself to chew. He’s ordered some sort of grilled chicken breast. The next few minutes are nothing but a blur of taste and salt. He steals a couple of fries from my plate like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Where do you go to eat lunch? I’ve always wondered.”
“I go to the gym at lunch. I run four miles, shower, and have a big protein shake on the walk back.”
“Four miles? Are you training for the apocalypse or something? Maybe I should do that too.”
“I’ve got too much restless energy.”
“You might snap and kill me if you didn’t. Your body is insane. You know it, right? I’ve barely seen half an inch of actual skin, but it is insane.”
Josh looks at me like it’s the craziest thing he’s ever heard. He takes a sip of his drink and looks self-conscious.
“I am so much more than my insane body.” There is mock-dignity in his voice, and he sounds so prissy that we both laugh. I smooth my hand down his arm, shoulder to wrist.
“I know. You really are. You’re too much for this little pipsqueak.”
“No, I’m not. I wanted to ask you if you’re still angry about the other day. What I said to Bexley about not needing to beat you.”
“What’s the saying? Don’t get mad, get even.” I push my plate away and lick all my fingers. I ate my meal like a barn animal. “You were wrong, you know. You’re going to need help beating me. I’m going to fight for it.”
I drain my second glass of orange juice, then my water, and then his.
“Duly noted.” He scrunches a napkin around his fingertips. “Wow, you eat like a Viking.”
“For this weekend? I call a cease-fire. This weekend we’re us.”
“Who else would we be?”
“B and G employees. Competitors. Forbidden HR rule-breakers. Mortal enemies. Oh man, I feel so much better.”
I jump off my stool and immediately appreciate how much stronger my legs feel. “I don’t want any surprises, Josh. If I’m walking into some kind of shit-storm, I want to know.”
A shadow crosses his face. He picks up the check folded under the edge of his plate and gives me a faint look of disdain when I dig for my purse.
“We’re just us. I’m just me.” He counts out some bills. “Let’s get going.”
I go to the bathroom. When I wash my hands I glance at the mirror and nearly jump out of my skin. My color is back. In fact, I’m lit up like the Vegas strip. Neon-blue eyes, cheeks glowing pink, hair blue-black. My mouth is cherry red, but my lipstick is long gone.
A solid meal has clearly revived me, but I wouldn’t mind betting I always look like this after a period of Josh’s undivided attention.
“Keep. It. Together,” I tell myself sternly as a woman walks into the bathroom and gives me a weird look. I dry my hands and run out.
Chapter 20
The evening is perfumed by the thunderclouds overhead. He’s leaning against the car, looking across the highway. There’s a strange kind of grace in the heavy twist of his body. If I had to label the image, it would be Yearning.
“Hey. Everything okay?”
He looks at me with an expression that makes my heart shake. Like he’s reminding himself I’m actually here. Like I’m not just in his head.
“Are you sad?”
“Not yet.” He closes his eyes.
“I’ll drive for a bit.” I hold out my hand.
He shakes his head. “You’re my guest. I’ll drive. You’re tired.”