The Hating Game
Page 40

“Sounds like you’ll be needing lots of support in terms of cover design. Keep me in mind,” Danny says. He rummages in his pocket and gives me his new business card. A lady at the next table looks at him sideways like, What a douche.
He signals for the check and hands over his credit card.
“Oh, thank you,” I squeak awkwardly and he smiles.
We walk to my car. “Sorry I talked so much about work.”
“It’s no problem. I used to work there, remember. So. This is it. Your car.” Danny stops, frames his hands around the car. “It’s incredible.”
“Isn’t she?” I lean on the door. “Free at last, free at last.”
“Did you just quote Martin Luther King Jr. in relation to your car?”
“Um. Yes, I guess I did . . .”
He bursts out laughing. “Man, you’re awesome.”
“I’m an idiot.”
“Don’t say that. I’d like to kiss you. Please,” he adds courteously.
“Okay.” We lock eyes. We both know this is it. The moment of truth. Either Danny blows my mind, or I have to pump up Josh’s ego.
We look like a pretty little Valentine’s card. The road is slicked with rain; a streetlight rings us in white. My red party dress is the focal point, and a man with the angelic white-blond curls is bending me back a little, his pale blue eyes dropping to look at my mouth. His height means we clinch together perfectly.
His breath is light and sweet from his dessert, and his hands spread respectfully at my waist. When his lips touch mine, I implore myself to feel something. I wish on every single shooting star overhead. I pray for the first dizzying kick of lust. I kiss Danny Fletcher again and again until I realize lust is never coming.
His mouth tips mine open a little, although he keeps his tongue in his mouth like the gentleman he is. I put my hand on his shoulder. His frame, which looked so fit and muscular at first glance, feels as light and insubstantial as chicken bones. I bet he couldn’t even lift me off the ground.
We both pull back.
“Well.” My hopes are absolutely dashed and I think he knows it. He studies my face. It was like kissing a cousin. All wrong. I want to do it again, to be sure, and when I move forward he takes a half step back and drops his hands from me.
“I enjoy spending time with you,” he begins. “You’re a great girl.”
I finish his sentence for him. “Can we just be friends, though? I’m sorry.”
His face shows disappointment that he didn’t get to say it first, relief and a little slice of irritation that makes me like him less.
“Sure. Of course. We’re friends.”
I take my car key out. “Well, thanks for dinner. Good night.”
I watch him walk away, his hand raised in farewell. He flips his car keys into his palm, his stride a little slow. An expensive meal exchanged for a bad kiss.
Well, you win the Kiss Competition, Joshua Templeman. I was afraid you would.
A tiny thundercloud is brewing inside me. This was a limp, dull, waste of an evening.
But the worst part? If Joshua did not exist, it would have been a fine date by my standards. Perfectly agreeable. I’ve had worse dates and far worse kisses. Even though the chemistry wasn’t ideal, we could have built on it. The only opportunity I’ve had in recent memory and it was ruined.
It was like Joshua was sitting at a third chair at our romantic little table, watching, judging. Reminding me of all the things I was missing. When I looked at Danny’s mouth, I begged myself to feel something.
When the streets get too unfamiliar, I pull over and spend countless minutes battling with my GPS settings, my clumsy fingers pressing all the wrong buttons, a blue square of paper between my teeth.
I call the GPS woman the worst names I can think of. I beg her to stop. But she doesn’t. Like a total bitch, she directs me to Josh’s apartment building.
I’m definitely not going into his building. I’m not totally pathetic. I park on a side street and look up at the building, wondering which glowing square represents him.
Josh, why have you ruined me?
My phone buzzes. It’s a name I’ve barely ever seen on my screen.
Joshua Templeman: Well? Suspense, etc.
I lock my car and pull my coat tighter as I walk. I try to think of how to reply. I’ve got nothing, frankly. My pride is ridiculously wounded. I should have tried harder tonight. Convinced myself a little more. But I’m so tired of trying.
I compose a reply. It is an emoticon of a smiling poo. It sums everything up.
I decide to make one full lap of his apartment building, praying I’m not abducted in the meantime. I don’t need to worry too much. The rain has cleared the streets of all but the most dedicated of stalkers. My red heels echo loudly as I complete my reconnaissance.
It’s strange, walking along, trying to look at things through someone else’s eyes, let alone your sworn enemy’s. I look at the cracks on the pavement, and wonder if he treads on these when he takes a walk down to that little organic grocery store. I wish I lived near a store like that; maybe I wouldn’t eat so much macaroni and cheese.
I’ve always suspected people in our lives are here to teach us a lesson. I’ve been sure Josh’s purpose is to test me. Push me. Make me tougher. And to a certain degree it’s been true.
I pass a pane of glass, and pause, studying my reflection. This dress is as cute as a button. I’ve got color back in my cheeks and lips, most of it cosmetic. I think of the roses. I still can’t reconcile it. They were from Joshua Templeman. He walked into a florist, of his own volition, and wrote three words on a card that changed the state of play.
He could have written anything. Any of the following would have been perfect.
I’m sorry. I apologize. I messed up. I’m a horrible asshole. The war is over. I surrender.
We’re friends now.
But instead, those three little words. You’re always beautiful. The strangest admission from the last person on earth I’d expect. I let myself think the thought I’ve been blocking so admirably.
Maybe he’s never hated me. Maybe he’s always wanted me.
Another chirp from my pocket.
Joshua Templeman: Where are you?
Where, indeed. Never you mind, Templeman. I’m skulking behind your building, looking at Dumpsters, trying to decide if that’s your regular cafe across the street or if you ever walk in the tiny park with the little fountain. I’m looking at the way the light shines off the pavement and looking at everything with these brand-new eyes.