Page 92 of Please Hate Me

His eyes avoided mine as he entered the kitchen and walked to the opposite side of the island. He was dressed in a well-tailorednavy suit, and in his arms was a large bouquet of black dahlias and red roses. It was a little tacky if you asked me, but who was I to judge?

I cleared my throat and prepared a greeting, more out of courtesy than anything.

“Hey, welcome—”

“Where’s Mason?”

The lack of emotion in his voice sent chills down my spine. Was this guy even human? Even though I was bigger than him by a mile, his presence made me feel small. Helpless, even.

I didn’t like that feeling.

“She and Soph went out to get their nails done. They were gonna be home by now, but I guess Mason needed some clothes to grow into.” I tried to keep my tone conversational, despite my disgust.

Sebastian didn’t respond, just pinched his lips and raised his eyebrows to let me know he heard me. We sat in awkward silence for an eternal moment.

“So... How long y’all been datin’?”

“Twenty-one weeks, four days, and—” he stopped to check his watch— “six hours. Why?”

What kinda creep measured the length of his relationship down to the hour? I had to break eye contact—the nicotine withdrawals were making it impossible to keep my temper in check, and I was desperate to punch this asshole. But I realized that was a bit extreme… and it might upset Mason if I hit her boyfriend.

“If y’all been together that long, ain’t it your job to make sure she has clothes that fit?” The venom-laced words escaped my lips before I could stop them. “She’s still wearing regular jeans.”

When I looked up, Sebastian’s lips were contorted into a tight smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. His nostrils flared, and he tipped his head like it hurt to keep it straight.

“Maybe I’m a bit old-fashioned,” His tone was casual and his voice low, like he wanted me to lean in to hear him. “But isn’t the sperm donor typically the one caring for the mother? Financially, of course.”

Well, that didn’t make any goddamn sense—as far as I knew, sperm donors weren’t involved at all with the women who used their samples. I rubbed a hand over my jaw as one quick, hot breath warmed my fingers. Deep down, I knew it was better to ignore Sebastian. He just wanted to get a rise out of me. Normally, I’d be the bigger person and walk away, but the unshakable nicotine headache was clouding my judgment.

“I ain’t a sperm donor,” I warned. “That’s my girlfriend and my baby. Thanks for caring for them until I could, even if you did a shitty job.”

Wait—did I just call Mason my girlfriend? Sebastian seemed to notice the same moment I did. He blinked twice before putting the flowers down, leaning onto the island, and tapping the screen of his smartwatch. Maybe I was just being paranoid, but my gut told me he was recording me.

“Tell me, Cameron Cole, do you speak French?”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. If Sebastian was gonna try to interrogate me, the least he could do was be subtle about it. Sophia had said something about him being too rich to be a cop, but I didn’t buy it. This guy was law enforcement, no doubt about it. It didn’t matter if it was bacon or ham; a pig was a pig no matter which way you butchered ’em.

Cop or not, though, it felt unwise to tell him the truth.

“Not a word, why?”

His golden brows shot up, causing wrinkles to form on his forehead. We stared at each other for a beat like wild predators unexpectedly crossing paths, before he tapped the screen of his watch again. If he wasn’t careful, I was gonna break that damn thing.

“You don’t speak a single word of French?” he repeated. “Weren’t you just in France for approximately half a year?”

I wasn’t sure how much Luce and Soph had told this creep about me, so all I could do was play dumb.

“Never cared to learn. I had a translator with me the whole time.”

“So, if I started speaking to you in French, you wouldn’t understand it?”

“That’s what I said, ain’t it?”

He pulled back, slapping the counter once as he stood. He slowly removed his blazer, hanging it on a nearby stool before rolling up the cream sleeves of his probably-too-expensive button-down. The muscles in his arms twitched with movement.

Is this really the type of guy Mason’s attracted to?

Clearly, this guy was a gym rat; he’d spent a lot of time working his glamor muscles. Myself, I preferred to work hard and let my muscles develop naturally, but to each his own. I let my attention bounce around Sebastian’s herculean frame, eventually settling on his face. His dead-eyed gaze stayed fixed on mine.

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