Page 27 of He Hate Me

“I’ll have to look at my schedule,” I say lamely. I need to know Brandon’s plans before I can push back.

“Let me know ASAP,” Devin says. “I can always pay for a tutor if necessary.”

“That’s a great—,” I start to say, but Brandon is speaking too.

“I don’t know—.” We both stop talking. Brandon is first to recover. “We’ll work it out and let you know tomorrow.” I nod, tension stiffening my shoulders. What does Brandon want, anyway? It’s better for him to have a real tutor; he and I are in the same year. Why does he even want me? It’s probably just some game to torture me.

The chicken breast is dry, but I choke it down anyway.

I’ve just finished putting my pajamas on when Brandon knocks on my bedroom door. He comes in and locks it behind him. I move to open it again, but he rests his forefinger on his lips to let me know he did it so we won’t be overheard. I motion for him to sit in my desk chair.

“I don’t want to tutor you,” I tell him bluntly. His eyes flick up and down my flannel covered body, expression flat.

“Mackenzie doesn’t want to keep doing it,” he says by way of an explanation.

“So let Devin pay for one.”

“She suddenly wanted to know if I was interested. Did you have anything to do with that?”

“Not really.” I try to defend myself. “I just asked her if you guys were talking.”

“Then why did she tell me you said I was seeing someone?”

I cross my arms under my breasts. Am I feeling a niggle of guilt?

“I didn’t say anything remotely like that; she just read a novel into my facial expression. I didn’t mean to cause drama.” That’s not entirely true, is it?

“You didn’t,” he says, mildly. “I like someone else.”

I feel my face heat.

“She got pissed, though, when I told her I just want to be friends and said she wouldn’t tutor me anymore. I really do need your help with that.”

He phrases it like a request, but I know it’s not a request. I’m lucky he didn’t punish me for talking to Mackenzie out of turn. I’m not going to risk another spanking.

“Of course,” I say, swallowing bile. “We just have to work out a time. My schedule is pretty tight.”

He grins, and I guess the words “pretty tight” have made him think of something else entirely.

“Come here,” he says, “and turn around.”

Reluctantly I walk over to him, turning to face away from him when I’m about three feet away. I hear the wheels of the desk chair scrape across the floor, then feel Brandon’s hands on my waistband.

“What are you doing?”

He pulls my pants and underwear to my knees, leaving my bare ass in his face. He asks me to bend forward a little and cups my bottom in his large hands. His palms are pleasantly cool on my tender skin. His fingers press into my flesh, just enough to make me flinch.

“How does it feel?” he asks.

“Sore,” I tell him, “especially when you squeeze it.”

He loosens his grip and smooths his hands over my butt.

“On a scale of 1-10, how much does it hurt?”

“Three, maybe?”

“You had no trouble sitting? You seemed okay at church and tonight at dinner.”