Page 75 of The One I Hate
Dammit, this has to stop. I can’t keep going on like this. The push and pull and the confusion and want and hate and lust is too much, and I feel like I’m going to explode.
“No!” I yell, quickly walking away—and immediately missing his touch. “Simon this has to stop.”
“Agree, I think it’s about time we get everything on the table. The weather is about to cool down so I don’t have many shirtless running days left.”
I’m simultaneously disappointed and relieved.
The two of us sit down at a table across from each other, stares barreling into each other as to who’s going to go first.
“Ladies first,” he says.
“Fine,” I say. “Who was she?”
He tilts his head, acting confused. “Who was who?”
My eyes roll as I take a seat across from him. “You know who I’m talking about.”
“I promise you I don’t.”
I laugh. “You’re going to sit here, when we’re actually airing this dirty laundry out, and you’re going to continue to play dumb about what started this whole chain of events.”
“Charlie, I swear to you, I have no idea who, or what, you’re talking about.”
The use of my real name takes me off guard.
“You’re being serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
“Can I refresh your memory?”
“Please do,” he says. “I’m all ears.”
My heart is racing as I approach Simon’s house. I look up to the roof where we sat last night, and it’s like I can feel him kissing me all over again. Who knew a kiss could linger for hours after it happened?
But it has. I could barely sleep last night after I left. I’ve only had a few kisses in my life, and none were anything like that. It was…I don’t know if I can describe it. I’ve never felt so cherished, or wanted, in my life.
And I want more of it. And I want it with Simon.
Which sounds ridiculous. This is Simon Banks, and part of me still can’t believe he’s interested in a girl like me. But he is. I truly believe that now.
I know he said we’d see each other before he left, and I know I should have waited for him to text me, but I couldn’t wait anymore.
Apparently this is what it’s like to be head over heels.
I’m all smiles as I walk up his front steps, avoiding a few beer cans and other trash that’s still lingering from last night. The door is wide open, and just as I’m about to take a step inside, I’m nearly run over by one of his roommates carrying a huge box.
“Is Simon here?” I ask.
“Upstairs.”
The house is chaos as I walk through the entryway. Boxes are everywhere. People are in and out as they carry things to cars and trucks. No one is even looking at me as I make my way up the staircase toward what I now know is Simon’s room. His is the only door shut, which I don’t find odd, but I also don’t feel comfortable just walking in.
I raise my hand to knock, but before I can, it opens. Only Simon isn’t the one standing across from me.
It’s one of the girls that was dancing on the makeshift stage last night.
And she’s wearing one of his shirts.
