“Why doesn’t it bother you?” he asks, still looking ahead.
I glance over at his somber expression. “Why doesn’t what bother me?”
“That I hate you.”
“Lots of people hate me.”
He scoffs, turning an incredulous glare at me. “No, they don’t.”
I shrug. “It’s true. And it’s by design. Notmydesign, to be clear. But it always goes the same way, usually with female stars. It starts with the over-hyping and overexposure. Christine Evansworth saved a kitten; Christine Evansworth went to Starbucks; Christine Evansworth is so relatable. Anyone gets sick of seeing the same person too much. Turns out hate sells even better than love. Christine Evansworth is already a has-been; Christine Evansworth is a poser; Christine Evansworth is so last year. Blah blah blah.”
“Yeah, but… they don’t say that to your face.”
I give a bitter half-laugh. “Sure they do.”
“So, I’m just another hater.”
“No. You’re special.”
“Oh, yeah? How?”
My gaze drifts out over the waves. “You’re honest. You don’t get your opinions from a tabloid or a viral video. And you’re right about a lot of things.”
“Oh? Such as?”
“I’m a good liar. And it’s lonely, in a way, knowing some people will never see past what they want to see. Especially now, when I neverreallyknow who’s just humoring me. So, I dunno. Maybe you hate what you see, but… you see me.”
Mylo is quiet for a long moment. “I never thought of it like that…”
“Addwise sageto my list of talents.”
“That’s redundant. A sage is wise by definition.”
“Great, I’ll add vocabulary pedant toyourlist.”
Mylo cracks a smile.
And damn me to hell, it’s the prettiest thing.
I flick a stray leaf off the back of the loveseat. “I lied about your test results, by the way. I did talk to Gia about them.”
He bristles and whirls a glare at me. “What?!”
My eyes stay out over the steady sea, where the sun alights on its fiery bed.
Mylo huffs, then his tone is more controlled. “Why are you telling me that now?”
“Because you hating me feels a whole lot safer than the alternative.”
Mylo’s anger drains out in a sigh. “Yeah.”
I can tell how miserable he is, shivering with his arms wrapped around his legs. But this is what he wants right now. And it’s probably for the best.
“Do you think I’m going into heat for real this time?”
I take a deep breath, letting his scent flow through my lungs. The honey tilts toward caramel, as if roasted over a flame.
“Yeah. I think so.”
