Page 7 of Please Hate Me

“No reason for me not to be.”

His hulking frame came into view: a huge mound of soft-looking muscles fighting desperately not to bust out of a checkered button-down shirt. Dark blue jeans with subtle grassand dirt stains on the knees. Hands so large he could probably palm my entire head. All of it topped off with a mess of wild copper hair.

That’s when I realized I haddefinitelyseen this man’s penis, and as he turned his honey gaze toward me, I had a feeling he remembered me just as I did him. He offered me a friendly smile as he sat down, one that fell the second he noticed my swollen stomach.

I reached to raise the divider, but he interrupted me, placing his hand on mine.

My words stuck in my throat like peanut butter, but luckily, he was able to muster a few words:

“You, uh—we slept together a few months ago, right?”

Should I tell him no? I could try to play it off as a case of mistaken identity.

“We might have?” I giggled, but a shake in my breath betrayed my nervousness. “I don’t know your name, though, so that’d be rather embarrassing.”

He hesitated as he scanned my face. “No, we did. You have a look that’s hard to forget.”

That was a nice way of putting it. I looked like I was made of spare parts. Freckles dotted my cheeks like little specks of dirt that would never wash off. My smile didn’t quite fit together, with too-sharp canines and a gap between my front teeth. No matter how I styled my hair, it always stuck up on either side of my forehead, and if all of that wasn’t enough, even myeyesdidn’t match.

I had read in tabloids that my differences made me unmistakable—beautiful even. But when I looked at myself in the mirror, I felt like a freak that had escaped the circus.

“Hard to forget, huh?” I twirled a strand of raven-colored hair around my finger, acting like I had never heard that before.

“Yeah—I ain’t seen no one dress like you do.”

I looked down at my distressed shirt and black leggings and snorted, “You make me walk.”

“I what?”

“Sorry.” My face went hot. “The phrase doesn’t translate well. I mean, you’ve got to be kidding me. Six other people on this plane are wearing this exact outfit.”

His laugh was a low rumble that seemed to fill the entire cabin.

“Okay, so maybe it’s not your clothes that stand out. That doesn’t change my point.” His laughter dissipated. “We slept together. And... Well, I hate to be rude, but—“

“I’m gonna save you the embarrassment.” I stretched. “I’m twenty-six weeks tomorrow. She’s due on Christmas.”

All the camaraderie in the cabin seemed to vanish. The man studied my face with an intense, almost fearful look in his eye.

“Isshe...mine?”

Silence reigned as I wrestled with exactly what to say.

“You know how people go to sperm banks and get themselves pregnant?” I asked, shifting my weight to lean over the divider.

“Oh, is that what you did?” The idea of that seemed to put him at ease.

“Yeah, kind of. Just with a more personal donation,” I explained. “So, did you get me pregnant? Absolutely. Is she your baby? Not a chance in hell.”

His eyes went dark with regret momentarily before relief washed over him. He finally let himself relax, settling his enormous frame into the stiff, pleather seat.

“Well, good—I ain’t the type of man you’d want to have kids with. But, since we’ll never see each other again... can we talk about her a bit?”

I hesitated momentarily, unsure how to respond to his request. The last thing I wanted was to delve into a complicated and potentially emotional conversation about our unborn child. Still, no one other than Sebastian had been happy about, letalone genuinely interested in, my pregnancy. I probably should have seen that as a red flag, but honestly, I wanted a chance to gush about my daughter.

“Sure, we can talk about her,” I replied, my voice softer than before. “But let’s make one thing clear: once we get off this plane, you need to forget about us.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

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