Page 40 of The One I Hate
“And you’re sure the owner won’t mind about the apartment?”
Emmett shakes his head. “I have a feeling the owner will be more than happy to let you stay there.”
“I—” I can’t form words. I also think I’m about to start crying. “Can I think it over?”
Emmett nods. “Take the day. Hell, take a few days. I’ll cancel the other showings.”
“You don’t have to do that. People might come in with a higher?—”
“It’s fine,” he cuts me off. “This place is meant to be yours. I can tell. And if the price is too high, let me know before saying no. I have my ways with the owner. I bet I can get him to budge. He tries to be a hard ass—but he’s a softie.”
A tear escapes as I shake Emmett’s hand before leaving the restaurant.
As I step into the morning sun, letting the heat hit my face, I realize the town is a little more alive. Cars are driving past. People are strolling the sidewalks in conversation. The late August air of Tennessee is hitting me with a warmth I feel like I don’t get in Nashville. I close my eyes and let the undeniable energy fuse through me. And as I stand here, taking it all in, I can’t help but feel like this is where I belong.
Even if he’s here.
Chapter 10
Charlie
“Bug! Wait!”
I hear Simon’s voice behind me as I do my best to quickly exit our business ethics class.
It’s been a month since we officially met. A month since he started sitting by me. And each day we have class, he asks me my name. And every day I refuse to tell him.
It helps that we have an old school professor who insists on calling us by formal names such as “Miss Bennett” and “Mr. Banks.” When he calls on me, it’s for an answer. When he calls on Simon it’s to get him to quit distracting the class.
Though I must admit that’s hard. Simon Banks is a distraction in every sense of the word.
“Why do you run out on me every day?”
“Why do you insist on stalking me every day?”
He gasps and gently grabs onto my arm to stop me. “Me? Stalking? Bug…I would never.”
The dramatics in his voice make me simultaneously laugh and roll my eyes.
“Simon, what do you want?”
His smirk that runs on the border of cocky, confident, and cute comes peeking through. I hate that it makes me feel butterflies.
“Let’s hang out.”
“Me? Hang out with you?”
“Yes.” He lets go of my elbow, but doesn’t back out of my space. But I don’t feel threatened. Or intimidated. It feels…exciting. Which I know sounds silly, but guys like Simon don’t flirt—or smile, or talk—to girls like me.
“Why?”
“I need a reason? Can’t a guy just want to?”
I shake my head. “In my experience, no.”
“Okay.” He takes a second before responding. “You want a list of reasons we should hang out?”
“Yes. Detailed.”
