Page 32 of Mostly Loathing You

Liam Park.

FOURTEEN

LIAM

We’ve made a habit of going golfing most weekends that we’re all available. This weekend, Wes was surprisingly not working, so we had…let’s just say…a few drinks on the course. By the time Wes got a text message from his wife, Savannah, saying to meet them at Harry’s, I was already past tipsy.

If that wasn’t the case, I would have probably made up an excuse and headed back to my apartment.

I know what awaits me at the bar.

Yet, I feel a certain sense of excitement in it.

Hannah is beyond irritating, but I’ve started to find enjoyment in my time around her, even if I refuse to admit that to anyone out loud.

The hurricane hitting Florida has caused the wind this afternoon to kick it up more than a few notches. As a result, by the time we were halfway through the course, it was nearly impossible to shoot straight. Thus, we all had historically terrible games and were also all moderately inebriated by the time we walked into Harry’s, which to my surprise was pretty empty except for the girls. People start tofilter in behind us, but it mostly appears to be college students.

My eyes lock on the all-too-familiar beautiful blonde in front of me. The sunshine in her hair doesn’t reflect in the icy gaze staring back at me, the startling green that typically borders on blue now a near-emerald as she glares up at me, making it very clear that she is extremely displeased with my presence. I can’t be sure whether the change in color is because of me or because of the terrible lighting in the bar despite it being midafternoon.

“Hannah,” I say, nodding toward her.

I’ve been working constantly recently and, as a result, I’ve spent significantly more time with Hannah than I have in probably the last ten years of my life. I’ve always enjoyed the games we play and baiting a reaction from her. Recently, however, I’ve managed to develop a conscience about it. I used to revel in the way her cheeks would flush when she would throw what I could only describe as a temper tantrum at the things I said. Now, the second I see that pink hue, I feel my stomach plummet to the floor.

“Park,” she quips, my neutral, almost cheery disposition foiled with her clear distaste for my presence.

Whatever.

“Actually, it’s Liam.” I grin at her, not being rewarded with even a sliver of amusement.

“Drunk already?” She snickers. “Some say being wasted at 3:30 PM is a cry for help.”

“I’m not that drunk, princess.”

“Whatever.”

Some douche in a Ralph Lauren polo approaches Hannah, his lips skating over her ear as he says something to her. I can smell the half-bottle of Axe body spray that he pretty muchbathed in. The laugh that his words pulls from her causes my stomach to churn. I get little time to react as she walks away with him without so much as a goodbye to me in the process.

My eyes are locked on her as she approaches the group of college guys at the back of the bar.

“Still don’t want her, huh?” Sage’s amused but borderline condescending words cause me to pin her with a glare as she hands me a tall draft beer, two shots of clear liquor in her other hand.

“Trust me, I have absolutely no interest in Hannah Thatcher-Miles.” I taste the lie as it glides off my tongue, but I attempt to wash it away with a gulp.

“Uh-huh,” Sage says with a laugh before handing me a shot of tequila.

It burns as I swallow it down, but the lie I just spewed still coats my tongue.

As the day moves into evening, more people fill Harry’s. By the time it’s 7:00 PM, the bar is standing room only for most people and another bartender has come in to accommodate.

I can’t say that the service is much better with the additional assistance, as it appears the bartender from earlier just took it as an opportunity to take a step back and let the petite redhead run around like a chicken with her head cut off.

“Two shots of Jose Silver, please,” I say with a smile, eliciting one from her in return. I can’t be sure if it’s just her being pleasant for her job or genuine interest. My game has felt so off lately.

“Coming right up.”

As she walks away, I can’t resist my attention shifting toward the corner at the back of the bar where Hannah is now sitting in the lap of some douchy frat guy.

It’s not that I have an issue with frat guys. It was never my thing in college, but Wes, Jackson, and Gabe were all in fraternities and they’re my best friends.

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