Page 43 of Merry Little Hate Notes

“I suppose so. But just so you know, this is a flow class. It’s difficult—not just meditating and breathing,” I tried to warn him. Honestly, yoga was no joke. It stretched things I never knew existed and made me sweat like no other workout.

“Is this your way of saying you don’t want me to come?”

I swallowed hard, torn about it. This was a big deal. Opening the door to Brandon meant taking a colossal risk. It meant dreaming again. On the other hand, maybe if I started dreaming again, I could stop making charts at night. That would be lovely.

I peered into Brandon’s hopeful eyes. In them I saw the boy I once loved staring back at me. I missed him. Maybe it was time to see what kind of a man he had turned into. I mean, according to my dad, we were scientifically a good match. But all theories need to be tested.

“All right, you can come,” I breathed out like I’d just done something monumentally courageous.

Brandon’s eyes lit up like I’d handed him a prize. “Should I pick you up?”

“I’ll meet you there.” We needed to take baby steps.

“I’ll be there,” he promised.

“Okay,” I squeaked. “Now get out of here and don’t let anyone see you. I don’t want to start any more rumors.”

Brandon’s brows furrowed. “Speaking of rumors, have you heard any about me? I feel like the women in the office are giving me strange looks and purposely avoiding me.”

I pressed my lips together, holding back a laugh. Perhaps I felt a little guilty. But I figured if Brandon ended up changing my mind about him, then I would remedy the Katherine Heigl situation. “Really? That’s odd. I wonder why. I could check with my sources in the bathroom.”

Brandon narrowed his eyes. “What goes on in that bathroom?”

I waved my finger in front of him. “The first rule of the bathroom is: What happens in the bathroom, stays in the bathroom.”

Brandon leaned in, his hand on the wall supporting him. His lips were achingly close. “What about what happens in here?” he whispered, like he was inviting me to get written up by HR.

I had to push on his rock-hard chest to make sure he kept his distance before I became the topic of the bathroom gossip. I was about ready to give Joel, Amy, and Rita a run for their money. “Uh,” I stuttered. “Jury is still out.”

“I plan to make my case to you.”

“You’d better come prepared. You know how tough I can be in the courtroom.”

“Believe me, I know.”

I had to prepare myself for the possibility I might just find him guilty of loving me. If that were the case, it could mean a life sentence of dreams and magic. Was I ready for that?

BRANDON

“HELLO, BRAN,” CARMEN’S VOICE ECHOED through the lobby of the bustling gym, cutting through the clanking of weights and the steady hum of treadmills. She burst in like a force of nature, her presence as striking as a nor’easter. With what little she was wearing, she obviously hadn’t noticed the biting cold and swirling snow outside. The gazes of every man in the gym gravitated toward her. Meanwhile, I couldn’t take my eyes off the shivering beauty by her side, wrapped up in a long puffer coat, flecks of snow melting in her glossy ebony hair that she’d pulled up into a messy bun. Thoughts of how I’d like to warm her up crossed my mind, but I put those ideas on hold, knowing I was lucky she’d even let me come tonight.

When Holly blushed and smiled at me, it made it worth the exorbitant fee I’d just paid for a membership—especially considering I didn’t even live here. Perhaps that wouldn’t be the case soon. I’d move back to Colorado in a heartbeat if Holly wanted me to. But I was trying not to get ahead of myself. My wingman had vehemently warned me to proceed with caution, although she was impressed I’d gotten this far. Of course, she was taking credit for most of it. And I don’t think she was going to count this as a success unless I convinced Holly to come to my parents’ Christmas party. Mom said it was all shewanted for Christmas, which now had me questioning the private cooking lessons with a world-renowned chef I’d purchased—a nice mother-son bonding activity. I felt like I hardly knew my mom and I’d hoped this would help us grow closer together, but like me, all she wanted for Christmas was Holly.

Carmen zoomed my way, with Holly trailing behind. “Looking good, Bran.” Her eyes roved over me as she drew an invisible line with her finger that started at my head and ended at my shins.

Holly rolled her eyes at her friend.

Carmen and Holly’s friendship had never made sense to me—they were opposites in almost every way. My mom said every woman needed a trouble buddy, and I supposed that’s what Carmen was to Holly. Admittedly, I was envious of Carmen. After she moved into the neighborhood during my junior year in high school, I saw a lot less of Holly.

“Hello, Carmen.” I sidestepped her to get closer to the reason I’d agreed to a night of yoga. “Hi, Holly.”

Holly bit her lip and, to my pleasure, perused me in my trainer shorts and tank. I wanted to make it abundantly clear I could compete with Josh Duhamel.

“Hi,” Holly said breathily.

“Are you ready for this?” Carmen smacked my arm.

“I think so.” I kept my eyes on Holly.

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