Page 38 of He Hate Me

“Don’t mind me,” I say, gesturing at the kitchen table. He frowns, still standing by the fridge with his arms crossed.

“I don’t really need an audience,” he says, coldly.

Talk about whiplash. What is wrong with this guy? I drain the rest of my tea and drop the cup into the sink. He flinches at the bang the porcelain makes as it hits the stainless steel.

I’m grateful for the reminder that he’s actually not a very nice person. My stupid libido wants more and isn’t smart enough to tell the person it’s attached to is not someone I should get close to. Stupid hormones. I chalk it up to the novelty of the sexual experience we had.

I head back to my room but I’m no closer to being sleepy than I was an hour ago. I close my eyes, and an image of him forms in my mind’s eye. At first, he looks like he did in the kitchen, then the image shifts and he’s stripped bare like he was on Saturday night. In my fantasy Brandon proudly shows off his cock, taking the thick shaft in his hand. He grins at me and tells me I make him hard and that he wants to go down on me, although what he actually says is something about licking me. My hand, masquerading as his hand, slips into my underwear. His fingers circle my swollen clit and dip inside me.

Pleasure swells inside me, building and building until I peak. Only then, finally, am I able to sleep.

Fourteen

Brandon

One of the challenges of searching the house is that it’s rarely empty. Deja’s parents don’t have a very active social life. Other than date nights they’re usually home in the evenings. I have soccer practice four days a week, so I get home around the same time they do, or even later on days when I go visit my mom. A lot of areas of the house I can make up a plausible excuse to be in, but not Devin’s office.

I’m left spinning my wheels for most of the week, so when Rourke invites me to grab dinner with him after practice I say yes. We end up at one of those casual dining places that serves healthy food. We make small talk about food and soccer while we wait. I’m wondering what’s going on, because Rourke is not the kind of dude I’d expect to seek me out TBH. I’m one of the poorest guys at Briarwood and he is one of the richest. We dress and act nothing alike and we don’t have the same kinds of friends. I keep to myself, speak as little as possible while he’s loud and cocky and likes to flash his expensive toys. I can’t decide if I like him or if he’s annoying, but maybe it’s both. No one’s gone out of their way to befriend me like this since Mello did it when we were eleven.

Rourke starts talking about college scouts and how he thinks different guys on the team will fare. I think he’s flattering me a bit when he says I have a good shot. I know he DGAF about college scholarships, so I figure he’s talking about it because he thinks I’m interested and if I wasn’t on a secret mission I would be. I probably should be. Once I find what I’m looking for at Devin’s I should have a plan for my life, shouldn’t I? That gets me thinking about getting into the safe again, and I’m only half paying attention while Rourke rambles on, hardly seeming to care that I only offer the occasional word of agreement.

Our plates arrive, piled high with grilled chicken, brown rice and steamed vegetables. We dig in, and the conversation shifts to practice and the set piece drills Coach has been having us run.

“I heard a rumor about you,” Rourke says in an abrupt change of subject.

‘What’d you hear?”

“That you have the hookup.”

I’m taken completely off guard. I haven’t dealt for a while. I didn’t think anyone would know about it at Briarwood, but I guess it makes sense. I sold to a lot of kids back in the day.

“What are you looking for?”

“Candy.” Cocaine. I’ve managed to stay away from the hard stuff so far. I can’t believe a top-level athlete is using it.

“Is high school that boring?” I quip.

“Come on, man. Don’t hold out on me.”

“I don’t have it.”

“Can you get it?”

I’m about to answer when I hear someone saying Deja’s name in a nearby booth, and then laughing. He’s speaking in accented English and a quick check confirms it’s Gio, sitting with a group of football players. He’s not being discreet at all as he says that he dumped Deja for a hot blonde.

“That’s not what I heard,” one of the other guys says. “I heard you struck out.”

“It is no matter what you heard,” Gio says, clearly annoyed by being contradicted. “Friday night after your football game she spread her legs for me in the back of my car. La puttana she tell me I am so good.” He wrinkles his nose and sniggers.

“She’s not good, though. Somebody left the fish out in the sun too long.”

The other boys laugh, though I can tell some of them aren’t sure whether to believe him. How dare this piece of shit even say Deja’s name. I heard about her calling him out at the party on Saturday night, so I know he’s trying to save face, but he’s not allowed to do it at Deja’s expense. I take the reins off, letting my rage build as he keeps mouthing off. It feels good, like my super power getting activated, the energy spreading through my muscles.

“What are you smiling about?”

Gio gets up from the table and heads to the bathroom.

“I’ll be right back,’ I tell Rourke. My heart pounds with anticipation.