Page 6 of The Boy I Hate

He was the only part of Samantha’s life she couldn’t share with her best friend… and that scared the shit outofher.

3

ChapterThree

Six yearsearlier

Samantha adjustedthe pillow behind her head, glancing up the stairs at the sound of Renee’s cough rattling from the loft of the cabin. She cringed at the wicked sound of it, certain the Montgomerys should come home from their party to take her to the hospital—but as soon as she sat up to reach for her phone, the dull snore of her sleeping friend came drifting down tocomforther.

She smiled, sure it would keep her up all night, and picked back up her book. She’d been reading all week, catching up on her ever growing list. This was their last trip before junior year, but poor Renee was stuck in bed with a bout of pneumonia. Fevers, body aches, and a prescription for antibiotics and rest. The trip had become remarkably uneventful as a result, but Samantha really didn’t mind. She was just happy to be away. From chores, too much heat…andSteven.

MostlySteven.

The pressure to become his girlfriend was beginning to annoy her. He’d been at her house almost daily, hinting about needing an answer before school started. It was no secret that he loved her. He’d confessed to as much in front of their entire sixth grade band class. Everyone knew how he felt, but until now they’d been just friends. The best offriends.

Samantha loved Steven with all her heart, but she didn’t like himthatway. He was her best friend outside of Renee—and she was determined to keep it like that. Dating him would only mess things up. But how could she tell him no without hurting him? To say no, and not have him push her away completely? It was a catch twenty-two in the worst kind of way. No matter which way she said it, her words would be a rejection. A rejection she wasn’t sure their friendship couldrecoverfrom.

She nestled down in the couch, determined to get lost in her book and not think about tomorrow, but bits of sun steamed in through the tall picture window, reminding her that the day was almost over. That they’d be returning home in the morning. To school, to homework, and big fatdecisions.

The front door slammed open, and Tristan strolled lazily into the cabin. He’d just come back from a run and his hair was slightly damp, his shirt off—revealing his perfectly sculpted chest and abs. She swallowed. She didn’t much like him, but she wasn’t blind. He was hot. More than hot. Broad shoulders, washboard abs, with that bad boy messy vibe that everyoneloved.

She glanced back at her book, ignoring him like she always did, but before she could read the first line, something heavy settled down at the other end of the couch. She glanced up and found him sprawled at the other end, arms braced against the back cushions, feet up on the coffee table. She cleared her throat, making herself smaller on the other end—because this was odd. Normally Tristan didn’t stick around for this long. Normally he had a crew of people vying for his attention that would pull him away. She knew for a fact there was a cabin full of girls just across the lake who would volunteer for the job. She’d seen them with her own eyes. Splashing around all week, practically naked, obvious in their attempts to grab Tristan’sattention.

Before she knew what he was doing, he leaned forward and snatched the book right out of her hands. “Let’s go swimming,” he said, leaving her mouth open, and heartpounding.

She blinked a few times, not knowing what to say as he placed her novel on the coffeetable.

She was so confused by his behavior she had a hard time breathing. “I’m not going anywhere,” she replied, pushing herself to the edge of the couch to grab her bookagain.

He quickly blocked her. “You haven’t done anything allweekend.”

“So?” she replied, not attempting to hide her irritation. “Renee’s sick—if you haven’tnoticed.”

“Oh, I noticed.” He smiled before leaning back in his seat again. “Renee snores like a jackhammer.” A loud grumble came bellowing down the stairs again and Tristan raised his brows inresponse. “See?”

Samantha laughed, but then shook her head and hit his arm. “You’remean.”

He shrugged. “Just because she’s sick doesn’t mean we shouldn’t enjoy ourselves. This is our last night of vacation. Monday morning we leave for home. I pack for college, and you get ready for another year of high school. Don’t make me look like a loser splashing around in the lake bymyself.”

She grinned at the imagery, but couldn’t help glancing over. “You won’t be alone.” She lifted her chin to the west end of the lake. “Those girls have been dying for your attention allweekend.”

He set his feet to the ground, leaned forward and laughed under his breath. But it wasn’t a laugh of happiness or humor; it wassomethingelse.

“What? Are half naked women notyourtype?”

“It’snotthat.”

“Thenwhat?”

He glanced over at the kitchen, as though contemplating ending this conversation, but he met her eyes again, offering the bluest storm she’d ever seen in her life. “I wanted to spend my last nightwithyou.”

Her heart squeezed. Like the air had been sucked from her body. She wasn’t sure why, but for some reason he soundedserious.

Samantha forced herself to keep breathing, disgusted by the fact he affected her so easily. She didn’t think it was possible, but she felt even more uncomfortable than before. Why would Tristan want to spend his last night at the lake with her? Why would he want to spend his last night with heralone? And why did the fact he said so cause a conflicted feeling to form in her stomach? A mixture of butterflies, adrenaline, andnausea.

She looked toward the cabin door, battling her wild heart and the parts of her that wanted to let itloose.

“Come on,” he said, bumping her arm with his shoulder. “I promise to be a perfectgentleman.”

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