Page 30 of The One I Hate
Because of course it was perfect. A man like Simon Banks, who gets everything he wants in life, wasn’t going to be randomly cursed with a small, crooked dick. No, he was blessed with a cock that should be sculpted and put in the Louvre for all to admire.
Because life isn’t fair.
I hate it. And him. And I hate that if I close my eyes, I can see him doing all the delicious things to my body that I’ll deny he did until my dying day.
Ugh…why did I sleep with him? Why did I go to his hotel room? What did I think was actually going to happen? That we were going to talk like rational humans and leave with an agreement to never cross paths again?
Stupid tequila. It’s all Jose’s fault.
The worst part of all? Is that when I woke up in the middle of the night, my mind delirious and my body sore and sated, I just let myself lay there against him. His arm was draped over me and for a second I let myself bask in his touch.
Because even though I hate Simon, at one point in my life I thought he was it. The one who was different. The one who was going to prove that good men did exist.
Then I remember what he did and why I’ve cursed his name for years. That’s when I wiggled out of his hold, got dressed, and left in the middle of the night.
This is so damn frustrating. I successfully avoided him for fifteen years. Now he crosses my mind multiple times a day.Which is so Simon. He crawls his way into your life, and then when you’re not expecting it, BAM! He fucks your world up.
Oh, and gives you trust issues that you should probably see a therapist about.
“Welcome to Perks. What can I get you?”
The guy standing in front of the counter slowly turns around, and as soon as I see who it is, my blood heats.
Simon Banks. Rich boy. Dean’s list. Hot, but he knows it. Dressed head to toe in designer labels. The guy everyone on campus knows. Perfectly styled hair and a smile he thinks works on every woman he encounters. I mean, I get why he thinks it works. I’ve watched him flirt with girls in our business class, and I roll my eyes every time they fall for his lines.
“Well, hello there, gorgeous. I was going to say a coffee, but maybe my answer should be you.”
Barf.
I don’t even try to hold my eye roll, which only makes Simon’s smug smirk widen.
“I meant drink. What do you want to drink?”
Simon leans down on the counter so his elbows are resting, but it also simultaneously shows off his biceps. Which aren’t that impressive.
“What else is on the menu? Maybe your phone number?”
Who does this guy think he is? A cocky asshole, that’s who. Because I believe that there are multiple universes and timelines happening at once, and in none of those is the very hot, rich boy asking out the chubby, poor girl from the outskirts of Knoxville.
“I’m not giving you my phone number, Simon. Either order or get out of line.”
Shit. I said his name. I could’ve convinced myself I didn’t, until I see his face light up with the recognition.
“You know my name?”
Ugh! Well, no sense in lying. “We’re in Business Ethics together.”
“Yes!” He slams his fist down on the counter in exclamation. “I knew you looked familiar.”
“No, you didn’t,” I say. “Now, what do you want to order?”
“Your name. Your number. And I guess a coffee.”
“I don’t even want to give you the coffee.”
He flashes that smile I’ve seen him use one too many times. “Oh, come on. Tell me your name at least. I want to say hi to you in class Friday, and I can’t just yell, “Hi, Bug!”
“Bug?”
