Page 34 of Another Story

“I already told you,” he answers, putting the water bottle back in the fridge and shutting it. “I like you.”

“You liked having sex with me,” I counter.

“I likeyou.”

“You like the idea of doing it again.”

“I…like…you.” He smiles. “Why is that so hard to believe, Eloise?”

Because I’m surly and mean and I have the worst temper.

“You don’t know me.”

“I look at you when you think no one is,” he tells me, and it sounds much too lovely to be coming from his mouth.

He’s confusing me; the image I had of him is warping just like our reflections in the fridge.

The contract is easier when I hate him.

I need to hate him.

He steps closer. “That first night, you looked like you needed someone to see you. I haven’t stopped looking at you since.”

I can’t roll my eyes, can’t scoff at his words. They resonate, whether I want them to or not, echoing in the space between my hard exterior and the softness I want to keep him from.

“I need to hate you,” I confess to him.

Let me just hate you for six more weeks.

“Why?” he whispers as he reaches for my hand.

“Because. I just do.” It makes everything easier.

My words feel sad, unreleased emotions pushing them out of me in a way I can’t hide.

Don’t cry. Don’t you cry.

It’s like he knows because he doesn’t react with intensity.

Instead, he smiles and says, “Hate me if you must. But you’ll be on my boat while you’re doing so.”

His words shock me, and I yank my hand away. “Yourboat?”

“That’s right. We’re eating lunch on my boat and if it so suits us, maybe we’ll sail a little.”

“You’re forgetting the part where I have a store to run,” I remind him.

“And you’re forgetting that you’re the boss.” He shrugs. “Don’t make me dare you.”

I roll my eyes this time, but I allow him to pull me from where I stand as I wonder what exactly I’ve gotten myself into.

The sun is beastly, baking me from where I lay on the stern of Ezra’s boat.

No. “Boat” isn’t the proper way to describe this massive entity.

It’s a yacht. I confirmed it with Ezra, who answered like I’d asked him if he thought my hair was long.

When I explained that I didn’t have a swimsuit before we left his house, he offered to buy me one, which led to a disagreement. Also known as us bickering back and forth until he told me to forget it. Finally, I bargained that I could drive us to my houseonlyif he stayed in the car as I ran inside. It was a mad dash as I ran in, grabbed my favorite bikini, and peeled out of the driveway before either of my sisters could catch us.

---