Page 58 of The One I Hate
“Because I wanted you here.”
Okay. Good start. Not creepy.
“Why?”
“Do I need a reason?”
“Yes,” she says. “Simon, despite the fact that you are one of the most infuriating people on the planet, I enjoy spending time with you.”
“It’s my sick dance moves, isn’t it?”
She laughs under her breath. “They definitely don’t hurt. But, despite the fact that you’re arrogant and insufferable, you’re actually a good friend.”
Fuck. Friend. Worst word a guy can hear.
“But, we’re not the type of friends who hang out at parties together. We’re school friends. And that is very different from after-school friends.”
Okay, now I’m confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Her shoulders slump. “Are you going to make me say it?”
“Yes. Because I don’t know why there has to be that designation.”
We both turn so we’re fully facing each other. “Simon. I’m not like those girls downstairs.”
“I know. That’s what I like about you.”
“But do you? I’m not the girl a guy like you should be on a roof with. Or that he should be calling beautiful.”
“Don’t tell me who I can be friends with. Or who I can call beautiful.”
“I’m not. It’s just…” she trails off for a second. “Simon? What am I doing here?”
I see the slightest hint of a tear forming in the corner of her eye, and that’s my signal to shut down the smartass. Crying women are my weakness. I can’t handle it. Especially Bug. And I’m not about to be the reason the woman I’m mildly obsessed with is crying.
“You’re here because”—I take a breath because, holy shit, I’m about to admit this—“You’re here because I want you here. So much so that I threw this party for you.”
She narrows her eyes at me. She clearly doesn’t believe me.
Okay, here we go. Stalker mode activated.
“It’s true,” I say. “My roommates invited the entire school, but I only invited you. Because I didn’t give a flying fuck who else came. You were the only one who mattered.”
She shakes her head, clearly not believing me. “Let’s just say for a moment that’s true. Then why did I walk in to see you putting on the Simon Banks Show next to your troop of backup dancers?”
I think back to what she saw. Oh. Yes.
“Listen, I can’t be held responsible for my actions when Flo Rida comes on.”
“Be serious for once, Simon.” She stops for a second, but just to take in a breath. “You were on a makeshift stage with a flock of girls, who likely have modeling contracts, dancing. Clearly you cared a lot about if I was here or not.”
“Did you see my hands on them?”
My question is sharp and to the point. She wants serious? I’ll give her serious.
“No. Not then,” she says, her words not as sure as before.
“Exactly.”
