Page 25 of Hate To Love You
Not even Teague.
He shouldn’t have snapped at him like that, especially in front of everyone.
On the other hand, Teague was too busy doing what he does best—enjoying the spotlight of being stared at—to notice how uncomfortable Liam had become.
Of course Teague would enjoy and excel at a game where the entirety of it is spent being stared at nonstop by your opponent. He’s obsessed with being looked at, isn’t he? That’s probably the beginning, middle, and end of every one of his secret wet dreams: basking in an ocean of everyone’s admiration. Even the costume he chose was an obvious and desperate cry for attention.
Liam’s stupid little plan to get back at Teague backfired. He ended up giving the egomaniac exactly what he wanted.
He wasn’t even fooled about the costume thing. He knew.
And that’s not the worst part. Despite the long and trying day Liam had with Teague, despite the birthday lie and the teasing and the unnecessary joyride out to Spruce, Liam actually feltguiltyfor trying to deceive Teague and humiliate him tonight. This isn’t like Liam. Not at all. Scowling. Being angry. Acting rude and snappish and petty. None of these are qualities he’s known for. Yet Teague managed to draw out each and every one of them.
But is it Teague? Or is this what Liam’s really like deep down?
“There I go,” he sighs to himself. “Trying to blame everyone else for my bad mood and worse behavior, instead of just …”
Instead of just taking responsibility for himself.
But the words don’t come.
“Waiting on an Uber?”
Liam looks up, startled by the voice.
It’s Teague.
Instantly, all of Liam’s worst instincts are back like a plague. “Go away,” he snaps, then glares down at his phone.
He doesn’t. Teague slowly crosses the lawn, then stops at the sidewalk a couple paces from him. “I’m sorry for using that stupid name. I won’t call you by it ever again. Promise. Birthday present officially returned. Swear it on every trophy I ever won. Not even as a joke … and no matter how cute and endearing I think it is.”
Of course he’d point out all his trophies even in an apology. Liam sighs. “It isn’t about the stupid name.”
“Then what is it?”
“You’re just … so …” He lowers his phone. “You presume so much, Teague. About yourself. About others. You act like everyone should love you without question. Praise you. Bow down to you. Laugh at your jokes. Compliment your costume.”
“To be fair, this was a pretty clever thing to pull off in just under an hour on a tight budget …” he points out.
“I’m so sick of it,” Liam carries on. “And then you somehow convince Mr. Michelson to hire you, despite the fact that we were fully staffed for the summer. And you know what? A tiny part of me wondered if maybe youhavechanged since the last time I saw you. Maybe the pompous, self-important Teague I knew back in school has finally found his humility, his grace, his … self-control. But no. You’re … depressingly the same.”
Teague goes to put his hands in his pockets, until he realizes he has no pockets in his skintight shorts. So he awkwardly stuffs his hands halfway into the shallow pockets of his vest. Then he realizes that isn’t a comfortable option either and drops his arms to his side with a frown.
Liam checks his phone one last time—still no reply—then finally pockets it for good. “Screw this. I’m just gonna walk home.” He pushes away from the mailbox.
“Wait. Can we talk some more?”
“What about? Your big Satyr phallus?”
Teague is in front of him at once.
Startled, Liam takes a step back—only to trip over his own foot. Utterly incapable of avoiding his clumsy nature even in times of need, Liam stumbles backward until his heel hits the tire of a truck parked on the curb. His back slams against the side of it.
“Uh … you alright?” asks Teague carefully, perhaps astonished that Liam was capable of such a seemingly choreographed move.
Liam decides to lean against the truck like he meant to do that all along. “What do you care?”
“Please, can we talk? Just five minutes.”
