Page 16 of The Boy I Hate

A hundred bricks landed on Samantha’s shoulders. She knew exactly what Renee was trying to say. Because up until this point, Samantha was the only girl who hated Tristan as much asshedid.

“Will you get the light?” Reneewhisperedthen.

Tears burned in Samantha’s eyes, but she nodded and turned to switch off thelight.

“Night, Sam,” Renee said in a groggyvoice.

“Night, Ren,” Samantha whispered back, squeezing her eyes shut, but the tears fell to her cheeks anyway.Right now, she thought to herself. Right now would be the perfect time to confess. To let it out. Right now, before it festered. But she couldn’t. She flipped over, facing the stairs that would take her back to Tristan’s, and more tears slipped down to her cheeks and fell toherchin.

“I love you,” Renee whispered through the darkness. Her voice was half asleep, so quiet Samantha would’ve never been able to make out the words had she not heard them a million timesbefore.

She swallowed, barely able to contain her own sorrow. “I loveyoutoo.”

7

ChapterSeven

PresentDay

She looked into his eyes,her heart pounding. What did she remember? Is that what he wanted to know? Her eyes shifted to the pavement, where the “I dare you” in the question didn’t feel quite so loud. “Not much,” she saidsoftly.

He flashed one of his panty dropping smiles and adjusted his stance. “Wellthat’sgood.”

She titled her head to the side. “Isit?”

“Yeah.” He tucked his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and relaxed. “I don’t remember much about you, either. This trip would have been extremely awkward had you rememberedme.” He looked to the open trunk and moved his suitcase over a few inches. “The good news is, we have three thousand miles to changeallthat.”

Her heart pinched at his easy grin and she adjusted her stance. It shouldn’t have affected her. Especially when he’d confessed to not remembering her just the second before, but he was so damned attractive she couldn’t help it. The reaction was much like her mouth watering at the scent of a lemon, or her nose retreating when she smelled something foul. It was one of those involuntary actions she had nocontrolover.

But she still didn’tlikeit.

Especially when she knew what happened when you got too close to TristanMontgomery.

She looked back toward the sculpture, trying to regain composure. “I have a lot of reading to catch up on,” she said sweetly, then turned toward the sculpture and squatted down to get ready to lift. “I’m afraid getting to know you isn’t one of my toppriorities.”

He grinned slightly, raising his brows as he grabbed the other end. “Suit yourself,” he replied, lifting, and moving the sculpture toward the trunk. But then his eyes narrowed, as though he was aware the tension between them was not one ofstrangers.

She followed after him, ready to be rid of this task, and ontheroad.

* * *

An hour later,her hair whipping around like the tail of rattlesnake, Samantha dug through her oversized bag looking for a hair tie. The top of the convertible was down, blowing her hair in every which direction, but Tristan didn’t seem to notice. His arm was braced out the open window, his aviator glasses darkening his eyes, but the rest of his expression looked very much like a man who didn’t giveashit.

She heaved a heavy sigh, hoping he’d hear it and take the hint. That he’d sense her annoyance and close the top. But he seemed oblivious, caught up in his own thoughts—his own world. They’d loaded the rest of her belongings without much hassle. Filling the trunk and half of the back seat with luggage, garment bags, and pillows. But they hadn’t spoken at all, beyond what was necessary. Which was just fine with her. She didn’t want to talk to Tristan. He was her means of getting from point A to point B. To bring her sculpture to Renee on her wedding day. Thatwasit.

Samantha finally found a tie at the bottom of the bag and began braiding her hair over one shoulder. Her eyes focused on the horizon as she tried to settleherselfdown.

Traffic was light, which allowed them to fly down the highway. She kicked off her shoes and dragged one leg into her lap before slouching forward to retrieve her audiobook. It was impossible to find comfort. To be at ease sitting next to the man who’d stolen her first kiss. Her mind had been spinning ever since the moment she first saw him. Because the night she’d come home from the cabin, she’d made a vow. To forget Tristan Montgomery, to forget the kiss that had rocked her harder than an earthquake—and to never tell Renee hersecret.

She’d been successful for the most part. Because most of the time she pretended he didn’t exist, and it worked. Except for those tiny moments, when a lingering snippet would sneak into her subconscious. Triggered by the oddest things: a falling star, a twig floating in a puddle of water, or even the scent of winter-mint gum. She’d always been able to stuff it down again, as effortlessly as pulling a wily hair. But now the subject of her reverie was sitting beside her, completely silent, yet very muchpresent.

She opened her eyes and glared at his profile, unable to keep her gaze from lingering. His nose was crooked—not badly, but almost in a Matthew McConaughey kind of way. His jaw was square—chiseled, with a shadow of scruff that hadn’t been there last she’dseenhim.

His hair was lighter now. Probably from driving around with the top down like this. It was about two shades darker than her own. Not brown or blond, but that shade right in between where she knew he must have been a towhead when he was little. But it was his mouth she couldn’t pull her eyes from. The soft, full shape she still remembered tothisday.

She closed her eyes and turned back to window. She’d be kidding herself if she said he wasn’t handsome. He was honestly one of the best looking men she’d ever seen in her life. Strong features, strong body, bronzed skin, which only made his blue eyes more vibrant. But handsome wouldn’t be the first word she’d use to describe Tristan Montgomery. Big. That would be the word. Not big in size. Though yes, he was over six feet tall—much larger than Samantha’s five-foot-two-inch frame. But it was his sheer presence that made up the volume, more powerful than the roar of the mustang below them. More expansive than the wind blowing inherface.

But he didn’t remember.His words kept whirling in Samantha’s mind. The kiss that had been her first, which she’d unwillingly compared with every other kiss she’d had since, was too insignificant to take up his brain space. She leaned forward again, retrieved her laptop out of her bag, and sat it on her lap. She needed to write, to focus on anything but the man who satbesideher.

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