Текст книги "Hate Me"

Автор книги: Jillian Dodd

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 10TH

Lied myself into a corner.

6pm

We shop all day and then head back to my loft. We had a ball picking out a bunch of crazy puppets for my sisters, secret Santa gifts, and all sorts of presents for our families and friends.

Aiden wouldn’t let me see what he was buying for his naughty Santa, but I will admit, I peeked at his list. Part of it was written in some sort of godly code, but there was an M next to the naughty Santa, so I know he drew Maggie.

I can’t wait to see what he got her. Well, mostly to see what he considers naughty.

I was fortunate that when I had packages shipped to France, I was able to say that I didn’t want to have to travel with them. I told Aiden that I’m spending Christmas with my family, but I’m not.

I shouldn’t be anywhere near them. I mean, if I were Vincent, I would assume that Christmas would be the one time I’d be almost guaranteed to spend with my family. I feel bad that I lied to my mom, too. But I just can’t risk it.

It sucks because I’ve basically lied myself into a corner. I told Aiden I was going to France. That my mom needs me. I can’t just be like, Hey, I think I’d rather come to St. Croix with you. I can’t think of any logical reason why I wouldn’t go home. And because there’s no way I’ll actually go to France and put my family in danger, it means I’ll be spending Christmas here. In my loft. Alone.

But, on the bright side, I get to film some of the movie with Tommy before he leaves. I wish I could bring Tommy to my loft, but I’m afraid someone would follow him.

Then I’d be screwed. And not in the good way that Aiden’s earrings suggest.

Aiden goes to change into something for tonight while I’m putting my purchases away. He sweet-talked me into letting him keep some of his clothes here. I know his goal is to help me fill up my closet, but I told him to put his clothes in a guest room closet. As much as I’d like to have all his clothes hanging next to mine, all I can picture is me dead and Aiden coming here to get them. At least if they’re not in my closet, maybe it will spare him some pain.

He won’t even have to come into my room. Won’t have to see where we’ve slept. Where we’ve taken bubble baths. Won’t have to see all the clothes I’ve been saving for the rainy days that will never come.

Okay, Keatyn.

Stop with the whole death thing. It’s slowing your roll.

Like, if I was on a roll.

Whatever.

I need to be positive that the plan will work, and I’ll get my life back.

But, just in case, I told Aiden to keep the key.

He gave me a big smile and a sweet kiss, acting like we’d gotten engaged or something. Like the key made us official.

And, evidently, I looked freaked out by this, because he touched his hand to my heart and said, As long as we’re in each other’s hearts, we don’t ever have to label our relationship.

And, yes, the irony of that did not escape me. All I wanted last summer was for me and B to be official so I could shout it from my social media. Now I realize they’re both right.

It does only matter what’s in your heart.

The problem is that more than one boy resides there. One who is all wrapped up in my journey home. The other who is showing me that home is where you make it.

Aiden and I are going ice skating, to see the Rockefeller Christmas tree, and then to a trendy restaurant.

And after the hotness that went down last night—pun definitely intended—with me not in the undergarments I wanted, I’m going all out tonight. I start with a pink bra and panty set with black scalloped lace and opaque black thigh highs.

Over it, a shimmering flirty skirt in a gorgeous ice pink patterned lamé and a silk chiffon Rebecca Taylor sweatshirt. It will be adorable for skating—provided I don’t fall down and scuff the lamé—and still nice enough for dinner. I pull on the most awesome Lanvin boots—black, ornately brocaded, and thigh high—and slide on an Henri Bendel crystal bangle. I grab cute black mittens with a heart graphic and my shiny pink Miu Miu bag.

Now, if I can just manage to ice skate gracefully.

When I come out of my room, ready to show off my new outfit, I am literally stopped in my tracks at the sight of Aiden.

He’s playing pool, wearing a plain white t-shirt, dark jeans, a scrumptious black leather Burberry Prorsum motorcycle jacket that I recognize from an ad, and the gunmetal Burberry aviators I got for his birthday.

He looks bad.

Do-me-on-a-motorcycle bad.

He looks so good it’s practically criminal, especially since he hasn’t shaved in a couple of days. That scruff is perfection.

It revs my motor just looking at him.

He pushes the glasses down his nose and checks me out.

“You look different,” I stutter out.

I get a smile and the result is devastating to my insides. A bad boy with a brilliant smile and gorgeous, blinding white teeth.

He sets his pool cue across the table, holds his hands out, and looks down at himself. “You don't like it?”

“Oh, I like. Why don't you dress like that for school?”

“Because we can’t?” he says with a smirk. Then he struts over and touches the tops of my thigh highs, his hand brushing under my skirt and giving me a thrill. If I didn’t know him, I’d so be running the other way.

After I did him. Probably.

Doesn’t every girl need a bad boy at least once in her life?

“These are such a turn-on. It kills me when you wear them with your uniform skirt. All I can think about is . . .”

“Is what?”

“Getting under it.” He tilts his head at me. “It’s cold out.”

“Uh, yeah, it’s been cold all day.”

“It’s warmer here,” he says, both his hands sliding up my skirt.

And it does suddenly feel very warm, like I stepped into a sauna of the hotness that is Aiden. I swear, he looks amazing in everything he puts on. Suit, school blazer, football pads, white shorts, sliders, and nothing at all. But this—this almost beats nothing at all.

So hot.

No, so fucking hot.

“So, you don’t want to ice skate?”

“How about a game of pool first?”

“Sure, but I’m warning you. I suck at pool.”

He lets out a throaty laugh that starts out as a cough. “Even better,” he says, his eyes holding mine as his hands continue to wander. He slides his knee between my legs and his firm chest pushes into mine. “I was going to suggest a friendly game of strip pool.”

I quickly calculate the number of articles of clothing it will take to get him naked. Two shoes, jeans, sliders, t-shirt, jacket, watch, maybe sunglasses. Seven. For me, two boots, two thigh highs, skirt, top, underwear, bra, necklace, bracelet, and, if I wear my mittens, that’d be twelve. Pretty good odds.

“Sure, why not? But I’m leaving my mittens on if you get to keep your glasses on.”

“You can even put your coat on, if you want.” He waggles his eyebrows.

I roll my eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re as good at pool as you are at every other sport?”

He shrugs. I start to move away from him, eager to get started, but he grabs me tightly and kisses me hotly, his stubble rough against my chin.

“No sampling the goods just yet,” I say. “You have to win first.”

He gives me a smoldering look, then says, “You’re so going down.”

I think about how I went down last night. “Is that what we’re playing for?”

“What?”

“Going, um, down?” I say, glancing at his pants and thinking that if he says yes, I’m going to cheat.

He pushes he glasses back into place, covering his eyes. “Sounds fair to me.”

“This isn’t poker. Your eyes aren’t going to give your hand away.”

“I think you like the glasses.”

“I like the whole package,” I say, then gulp, realizing what I just said.

“You like my whole package, huh?” he teases.

“You talk too much. I’ll rack,” I say as I line the pool balls up. “You break.”

He bends down, slides the cue across his fingers, and blasts the balls apart, sending two in, both stripes.

“Oh, you can’t do that,” I say.

“Can’t do what? Be awesome?”

 “No. If you sink two balls of the same kind on the break it’s illegal. You have two options. Replace a solid with the stripe or just add one back to table. Which do you want to do?” I say, messing with him. I hold both striped balls in my hand, rubbing my thumbs across them for effect.

He licks his lips, looking at me like I’m a snack. “Leave it off the table, and I’ll only make you take off your shirt.”

I shrug. “That’s cool.” I slide my silky sweatshirt over my head, tossing it to the ground.

“Red, corner pocket,” he says, effortlessly sinking another and stifling a grin. “Take off your skirt.”

Shit. I’m in trouble.

“No one said that you get to choose. I’m taking off a mitten.” I pull if off and toss it on the table.

He takes two big strides, his face now close to mine, and says very seriously, “My score. My choice. Take off your skirt.” Then he takes my mitten and throws it into the other room. He pushes me back against the pool table. “You lose that one for disobeying. Time for me to shoot again. You’re going to be naked in no time.”

He quickly sinks another ball.

“That didn’t count. It’s supposed to be my turn,” I quickly say, grabbing his cue stick from him.

“No, it’s mine.”

“Nope. You just made a bunch in a row. It’s my turn.”

“Since when? Have you never played pool before? You have a pool table.”

“Yeah, because I thought it would be fun for parties and stuff. Guys like to play pool. And I’ve played. Sort of. A few times.”

“And how did you do?”

“Honestly, usually when I got to play, I’d shoot a few times, and my boyfriend would make me quit.”

“Because you were so bad?”

“No! Because he said all his friends were looking up my skirt. He was a gentleman.”

“He the gay one?”

“Shut up!”

He squints at me. “On second thought . . .” He slowly pulls my other mitten off. “Leave the skirt on.”

“You know, it’s also probably illegal to play strip pool without doing a few shots.” I’m feeling strung out. Like a crack addict badly in need of her next fix. Plus, I’m nervous.

And freaking excited.

And nervous.

I already said that.

“So, what did you do at parties when you weren’t playing pool?”

“Well, once my ex got drunk enough that he didn’t care what I did, then I’d dance on the bar.”

“Were you drunk?”

“Naw. I’d have a few shots, have some fun, but that was it.”

He pushes his chest tightly against mine, half kisses and half licks my cheek, and says, “Don’t go anywhere.”

I watch his godly hotness stride over to the bar.

I mean, imagine it. A demigod. Hot, buff, golden boy, wrapped in a designer motorcycle jacket. It’s like one of the gods plucked us from the sky and placed us together.

The. Most. Perfect. Boy. For. Me.

But, curse Aphrodite and her vindictiveness, they thought it would be fun to put us together under the worst possible circumstances. I knew she shouldn’t be the goddess of love. More like the goddess of spite.

Bitch.

Aiden hands me a double shot of tequila.

“Nice pour,” I say as we clink glasses and drink.

“Well, I'm hoping you'll dance on the pool table for me later.”

“I’ll dance on the pool table for you now.”

“No way. You're just trying to avoid the inevitable. Me whipping your ass."

I really need to start plugging my ears when Katie reads me the naughty parts from her erotic romance novels, because I don't want to lose the game, but the first thought that popped in my head was Forget date me, love me, and adore me. I want spank me, attack me, fu—

“Are you gonna shoot now?”

“Hmmm? Oh, yeah.”

I remember that he made me keep my skirt on for a reason. Maybe I can use that to distract him.

I lean way over the table, knowing my skirt is totally riding up.

Aiden has shifted to my side of the table. He even sits in one of the low slung leather chairs to get a better view.

I move my hips from side to side, pretending to get comfortable in my stance before I shoot.

I turn around and catch him staring at my backside. “Shouldn't you be standing up and making sure I don't cheat?”

He glances up. “No, I can see the table just fine. Shoot already.”

“I can't decide which ball to hit.”

He stands up and leans against my back, bending over me, his hips touching my ass in an attempt to line up a shot.

I almost whimper.

“Hit that one right there into the corner. But hit it softly so the cue ball doesn't follow it in.”

I slide the cue across my fingers and completely miss the ball.

“Shit.”

“Looks like you lose again.”

“No. That was a—I don’t know what it's called—but it's like when the volleyball hits the net. I get a do-over.”

“I shouldn't be helping you,” he says as he leans back over me, guiding the cue for me. One of his legs is between mine, I'm bent at the waist, and I’m trying not to close my eyes and just sigh.

He slides the cue gently though my fingers, sinking the ball cleanly in the pocket.

“We did it! Got it in the hole,” I say excitedly, but all of a sudden pool seems as sexual as basic construction. “I mean, I sunk it.”

Oh, gosh. Sticks. Balls. Holes. Hitting it hard. Breaking. A boy totally made up pool.

Aiden doesn't move even though my shot is clearly complete. He keeps me bent over the table and kisses my neck. “What do you want me to take off?”

“Since you illegally helped me, you have to take off two things.”

“No way.”

“Fine. I'll compromise. Take your jacket and shirt off, but then I'll let you put your jacket back on.”

Surprisingly, he doesn't argue. He slides out of the jacket, hands it to me, and pulls his shirt over his head. Luckily for me, he does this slowly, and I get a clear view of flexing muscles.

He looks hot shirtless but when he slips his jacket back on, I about have a spontaneous orgasm.

Like, if that were possible.

I admire him for a few seconds; even lay a few kisses across his chest.

Then I remember I have another shot.

And, suddenly, I'm very motivated.

I find an easy to make shot and line it up, really focusing.

As I shoot, my cue gets hit from behind and knocked out of my hand.

I turn around to find Aiden wearing a smirk.

“Tough shot,” he says. “My turn. You know, you should’ve put some chalk on the tip. It works better that way.”

Oh god. There's another one.

And now I’m wishing I could chalk his stick.

“See?” he says as another ball falls in the pocket. “Hmmm. Skirt for sure, this time, although, I will say the view was nice. I can see why even your gay boyfriend would be jealous of that view.”

“I swear to god, if you ever meet him, he's not out. And I promised to tell no one.”

“You didn't tell me. I guessed. Skirt.”

I roll my eyes, unzip my skirt, and let it fall to the ground.

He surveys my pink and black lace and says, “It’s halftime. Do you want another shot?”

“Please.”

We down another shot and then he says again, “It's halftime.”

“Pool doesn't have a halftime, silly,” I tell him.

“Our game does.” He hits a couple of buttons on my phone, which has been playing through the speaker system, switching over to a very appropriate song about bad boys. “Get up there and dance,” he says as he takes a seat.

“I can't. These heels would tear up the felt.”

He stands back up, grabs the cue, and quickly sinks two more shots. “I’ll take the boots, Boots.”

He picks me up, plops me on the table, unzips my boots and slides them off my feet, leaving me in my thigh highs, bra, panties, and jewelry. Then he holds my hand to help me up on the table.

Ha!

Dancing in a cage for a bunch of horny drunk guys did end up helping me out later. I'll have to tell Cooper that.

I look at Aiden's hungry eyes.

Uh, maybe not.

I move slowly and sexily to the song, close my eyes, and let myself go.

Touching my chest, my hips, and totally caught up in the beat.

When the song ends, I hear Aiden say, “Eight ball, center pocket.”

He shoots the eight ball between my legs and wins the game. Which means I get to . . .

Aiden takes my hand and helps me off the table. His lips immediately land hard on mine, and I can feel how much he liked my dance.

I reach for his pants.

He stops me.

“Panties. I win,” he says as he rips them off me, sets me back up on the pool table, and sinks his head between my legs.

Oh my god.

His mouth. The source of his power.

That magical tongue is . . .

And the scruff is . . .

Infusing the rest of me with love potion, I think—no that tongue is very capable of inducing lust because . . .

Just because.

Or maybe he’s cursing it.

Ruining this part of me like he ruined my lips.

And the scruff is . . .

When someone gets in trouble, Grandpa always says they got a good tongue lashing.

This gives a whole new meaning to that phrase.

And I so want trouble.

I'm making promises to myself.

To always dance on the pool table for him.

To always suck at pool.

To . . .

Holy shit.

I grab his hair, because I can't help it. I let out a sound that’s almost a scream.

Every bit of cool is gone, and all I can do is react to the way he's rocking my body.

Thank god I don't have close neighbors.

I also pray to the gods that Garrett didn't put in any video surveillance. Or else, somewhere in Indiana, someone is getting an eyeful.

Waves of pleasure roll through my body.

I remember telling him at rehearsal about using that scruff.

I feel like the baddest, sexiest, naughtiest version of myself.

And I like it.

He’s relentless.

Only stopping or slowing down to let me catch my breath.

After a while, my throat is dry, and my voice cracks as I say, “Water.”

He kisses up my stomach. “Don't you dare move.”

“Okay.”

He brings me a glass of water, which I gulp down. He steals it from me before I finish and takes a long drink.

“In case you were wondering, you dancing just for me was the sexiest thing I've ever seen.”

I lean back on the table, stretch out, and make a contented sound.

“That almost sounded like a purr,” he teases. But then he says, “Here kitty kitty,” and proceeds to convince me that it's not his lips that are my bliss.

It's his tongue.

And the scruff.

By the time he's done with me, I feel like a meteor, burning hot, shooting through the sky, burning as I hit the atmosphere, then free falling and crashing into the ground. Nothing is left of me but a pile of atomic ashes.

Just when I think I can’t take any more, he kisses me, pulls me off the table, and picks my underwear off the floor.

“Probably not wearable anymore,” he says with a sexy laugh, eyeing the trashed pair.

“Probably not,” I giggle, leaning against his warm chest.

I close my eyes and breathe in the intoxicating scent that is Aiden mixed with the smell of the new leather.

It's like heaven.

He kisses my forehead and then my nose. “We still have time to make our dinner reservation, if you're up for it. You're outfit is hot. We should go out.”

“Plus, you're starving, right?”

“Naw, I already ate,” he says teasingly.

“You're bad. Give me a minute to touch up my makeup.”

He takes his jacket off and puts it on my shoulders to keep me warm.

Which sorta makes me swoon.

Because he’s hotter than hell and the sweetest boy ever.

I run into the bathroom, throw on a sorta matching pink thong, touch up my makeup, and look at my no-longer-stick-straight hair. The back looks mussed and sexy. Rather than straightening it, I tease the rest of it, making it big and hopefully as sexy-looking as I feel.

When I go back out to the living room, Aiden has his shirt back on and has picked all my clothes off the floor. I slide the thigh highs back on, zip up my boots, and throw on my skirt.

Aiden smiles. “Maybe you should just stop there.”

“Just wear my bra and your jacket to dinner?”

“You can have anything of mine you want.”

“Anything?”

“Yeah. If you want.”

I do want.

I so want . . . but yet.

I just can't.

Maybe before I leave school in the spring, I'll tell him everything.

We'll sleep together. Then . . .

Wait.

Rewrite.

Sleep with him first. Unleash that Titan. Then tell him. That way, if he hates you, at least you'll know if it was everything you thought it would be.

That's the real reason I haven't yet. When we do, I don't want there to be any more lies.

I want to tell him I love him. I want him to know the real me.

As he slides his jacket off me and helps me put my shirt back on, I realize how badly I want that.

One boy to know and love all of me.

Aiden knows part of me. The me I've become.

But part of me is my home and my family.

B knows the old me. He knows my family and understands my life.

Neither one of them know all of me.

As the shirt goes over my head, Aiden gives me the kind of kiss that makes me feel like it doesn't matter with him. Like he knows my soul. Like he wouldn't care who my family is.

What'd he say last week? You and me against the world. Always. 

And when he holds my hand and leads me out to our waiting car, I feel like it's enough.

But then I remember how I felt so in love with B.

How he loved me, but still left me.

I'm afraid Aiden will, too.

And I'm afraid it will destroy me.

That's the other reason I didn't want to come back to school. It's just going to make it more heartbreaking.

His voice flits through my memory. A heartbreakingly beautiful kind of love. 

In any good script, there are elements of foreshadowing. A tense score. A dark, scary place. I wonder if what he said was foreshadowing in the story of my life.

A love so beautiful it will break both our hearts.

He puts his arm around me and whispers, “You okay?”

“I couldn't be more perfect, Aiden. I'm with you.”

After we're seated, served drinks, and hear the long list of specials, Aiden orders a steak and I get blackened salmon.

The waiter brings us out a free appetizer of spicy shrimp. As I bite into it, I can't help but think of being with B at Buddy's and wonder how serious he is about the girl he's been seeing.

Although I was really upset that he didn't help me as promised, I can understand. I might have done the same thing if I got a picture like that.

I think of the one Mom got in New York that was stabbed everywhere.

Aiden rubs my hand. “You're quiet all of a sudden.”

“I’m just mellow. Relaxed. Kinda tired.”

“How about after dinner, we have the driver take us by the tree and then we go snuggle up in bed?”

I smile. “That sounds perfect.”

“So, tell me more about this movie, superstar. Remember, I got your first autograph. It's gonna be worth something someday.” He takes my hand in his. “Not that I'd ever sell it.”

“It's a small role in an action film. I play the daughter of the badass main character. I get kidnapped at the beginning, have one little scene where they prove I’m still alive, and then a scene at the end where I’m rescued. And half of that may end up on the cutting room floor during editing.”

“It's a good start, though, right?”

“Yeah, it's a good start. The scenes are important to the movie, so a lot of people will see my face even if they don't really remember me after.”

Aiden runs his hand from my temple to under my chin and says, “Smile.”

“You are awfully bossy tonight. That jacket must have come with a dose of cockiness.”

“Smile for me. It makes me happy,” he says.

And I can't help but smile. I want to make him happy.

“That's what people are going to fall in love with. That smile. It's, well, the only word that really accurately describes it is intoxicating. Everyone in the theater will be instantly love-drunk.”

“What about you? You put your picture on your wine. Shirtless. Wearing that jacket. Stuff could taste like crap and women wouldn't care.”

He laughs. “You're silly.”

“So, what else did up your mom buy you for your birthday? I may need to inspect your purchases if they are going to crash at my house.”

He runs his finger across the top of my hand again. I can tell having this stupid table between us is driving him nuts.

Just before our food is served, he says to the waiter, “Can we move to that booth?”

We switch tables, the cozy, round booth allowing us to sit close together. He lays his hand across my leg, sometimes just holding my knee and other times playing with the tops of my thigh highs.

We eat dinner, drive by the beautiful and insanely huge Christmas tree, and then get dropped off at home.

I throw on some pajamas, wash my face, and then dive into bed with him.

All he has on is a pair of soft cotton boxers.

He snuggles me into his arms and kisses the top of my head. “When you told me about ice cream dream, I should’ve stayed and listened.”

“I know why you got mad, but there's always more to a story than meets the eye.”

He nods, snuggles up with me, then immediately starts breathing deeply.

I can tell he’s already asleep.

I look at the clock.

11:30.

I don't have any phone calls to make.

No midnight meeting with Cooper.

No flights.

Nothing to think about except how safe I feel, here, in Aiden's arms.