Page 3 of Hate To Love You
“He gave away one of his championship wrestling trophies to an aspiring young athlete in junior high, just to inspire him.”
“I doubt he was allowed to do that, if it’s even true.”
“He auditioned for that play junior year, remember?”
“Oh, what amartyr,” sings Liam with mock sympathy. “I’m sure he enjoyed the figurative and literal spotlight plenty. You were only happy because the Theatre department always lacked enough male leading actors.”
“You’re doing that pacing thing again.”
Liam didn’t even realize he’d started. He stops pacing—which causes him to trip over his own foot somehow and kiss the wall in front of him with a grunt. His nervous clumsiness is in full swing, and that’s not a good sign.
“Two left feet even when you aren’t dancing,” notes Gracie.
Liam rights himself, then comes up to her. “The problem is, no one in town seems to see Teague Jenson for what he is except for me. He doesn’t deserve the accolades everyone’s so desperate to give him. Y’know what else he’s known for? Skirting by in class without actually doing any work. Getting A’s on tests because he sweet talks the teachers. He even flirted with Mr. Lou to get out of doing a group project because he had some wrestling match that weekend. He only got an A because the rest of his group did, and he didn’t even lift a finger. Can you believe it?”
“You seem to know him so well,” says Gracie, gazing dreamily through the window at Teague.
“He’s lazy and presumptuous. I’m telling you,” Liam goes on, “just watch him. He’s gonna fly right through the summerdoing bare minimum while the rest of us do the heavy lifting. Just watch him, I’m telling you.”
Gracie lets out a happy sigh, appearing all too eager to do just that: watch Teague.
It’s no use. Liam could reveal that Teague is secretly a serial killer and the girl still wouldn’t flinch. He decides to change the subject. “Meant to ask you something. If you have extra donuts at the end of your shift, mind if I snag one on my way out? My mom is obsessed with Bavarian cream lately.”
“There are always extras. I’d better get to it.” She’s about to push her way through the door when she eyes Liam. “Hey, weren’t you back from break, like, ten minutes ago?”
With a glance at the clock, Liam realizes he’s now over seven minutes past his break time. “Where in Hades did the time go?” he hisses to himself. The tiny mythological reference gives him the secret pinch of confidence to push away thoughts of Teague, now fueled with thoughts of a certain Hate2LoveU, whose message still sits unanswered in Liam’s pocket.
He hurries over to the old, tiny computer squeezed between an old filing cabinet and a microwave. He tries to clock in, but the cursed terminal chimes in complaint. He tries three more times. No matter what he does, it doesn’t take his commands. Great. Now Liam will be even more late as he tries to negotiate fruitlessly with a stubborn machine. Why today, of all days?
A shadow falls over him. “Did you try asking it nicely?”
Even a whole year later, Liam still recognizes the deceivingly smooth, honeyed cadence of Teague-fuckin’-Jenson’s voice.
Honestly, this is the last thing he needs right now. “I’ll just be a second longer.”
“What the heck is this old thing running on? Windows 98?” asks Teague, looming over Liam’s shoulder in the most irritatingly personal-space-invading way.
Liam tries not to tense up as he feels Teague pressing against his side. “You’re crowding me.”
“Looks like my grandpa’s computer from the stone ages.”
This close, he can smell Teague’s deodorant. The oaky aroma is unexpectedly amazing—which only annoys Liam more. “They didn’t have computers in the stone ages.”
“The screen is so small, too.”
The machine chimes three more times in protest. Is Liam so flustered in his nervousness that he keeps typing his password wrong? Maybe the network is having some connectivity issue, and Liam isn’t doing a damned thing wrong at all. He bites his lip as he reaches around the back of the computer to pull out the Ethernet cord. It may just need a quick reset.
Teague lets out a sigh, then leans against the desk with his arms crossed, still standing entirely too close. “Mr. Michelson sent me over to clock in,” he explains. “He said you’d show me how.”
Liam wrinkles his face. “Me? Really?”
“Well … he saidsomeonecould show me. And you’re right here, so …” He tilts his head as he studies Liam. “Hey, you remember me, right? From high school?”
He more than remembers Teague; he loathes every memory.
However, this isn’t a conversation he wants to have right now when his main concern is blindly shoving a stubborn Ethernet cable back into a hole.
“It’s easy,” Liam grunts as he struggles to get it plugged back in. “Just type your employee ID and—”
