Page 186 of Hate Mates

Avery

Who did he think he was?

Narrowing my eyes, I glared at the man who seemed to have nothing but audacity.

He wanted to forget about it? The incident that nearly derailed my career?

How convenient for him.

Blowing out a snort, I shook my head, tossing back the last of my drink before climbing down off my stool.

“Well, this has been fun,” I said, my tone nothing but sarcasm. “But I’m leaving.”

“What?” he asked, seemingly shocked by my departure. “Why? I thought we were gonna have a drink.”

“I don’t share drinks with men I hate.”

“You really hate me?” he asked, and again I was bemused by his reaction. He had to know I wouldn’t willingly share space with him. How could I want to after what he’d done?

“Good night, Holloway.”

“Avery, wait.”

“Oh,” I mocked. “So youdoknow my name.”

“Uh, yeah,” he replied, chagrined. “Sorry about that.”

“Whatever.” Tossing some cash on the bar, I grabbed my purse and moved to pass him. “Enjoy your beer.”

“Avery.”

I stopped, my feet halting almost against my will, but something about the way he said my name had me freezing on the spot.

Why? Why did he have to have such a deep voice? Why did his cologne have to bethatfreaking delicious? Why couldn’t he have been a repulsive troll instead of the kind of guy magazines begged for cover spreads?

Turning, I looked at him, taking in the way his eyebrows pulled together, something resembling concern on his face.

I didn’t understand it. Where had the cocky, smug asshole gone? And why did that little bit of vulnerability make some of the hardness in my heart disappear.

“What?” I asked, a bit breathless, but I couldn’t seem to help it.

“I—” he started, licking his lips as he stared at me, and I could feel it; the way the energy between us charged, sparking with something that wasn’t nearly as close to hate as it should have been. Standing there, staring at Nash as he stared back at me, I knew that things between us were shifting. This moment was about to change everything, and I couldn’t tell if I was excited or afraid of what that might mean.

He opened his mouth to speak, my heart clenching in anticipation at what those words might be, but before he could say anything, a shout cut him off.

“Nash Holloway?” came a boisterous and obviously inebriated voice from across the bar. “No fuckin’ way, dude! I can’t believe it’s you.”

Moment shattered, I stepped back, not wanting to be trampled by the large man who had obviously recognized Nashand was now thrusting his fist out toward him, clamoring for a bump.

“Uh, yeah,” Nash eyed me over the guy’s shoulder as he reluctantly touched his knuckles against the waiting fist. “It’s me.”

“Dude, you fuckin’ rock!”

Sighing, I pressed my lips together, trying to suppress the conflicting feelings I was suddenly full of.

I guessed I wouldn’t be hearing whatever it was Nash had been about to say.

That was fine. I could ignore the spark of disappointment that fizzled in my chest. I was probably imagining things anyway. In what world would things between Nash and me have changed for the better?

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