Page 57 of He Hate Me

“How not great?”

“Pain, mostly. They said there’d be momentary discomfort. They didn’t tell me it would be like the worst period cramps I ever had and that it would last for hours.”

She pouts and I pull her into my arms, kissing her lightly on the forehead.

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be. I’m doing this for you.”

“So I’m the only one who wants to have sex?” I tease. She cracks a smile.

“No, I definitely want to fuck. But a lot less right now than this morning.”

“I like that. Say that again.”

“Fuck,” she says.

“You better stop before I forget your delicate condition. You’re not ready to get back on your knees for me by any chance, are you?”

She giggles, rubbing her face against my chest. Since she came into my room last night, I’ve wondered several times if I’m dreaming. The tough exterior, the cruel disdain, is gone. She’s turning into this soft, vulnerable woman. But how can I blame her for putting up that hard shell. I was the one who started off aggressive from the moment I walked into this house. What choice did she have but to give me back the same energy. She’s not the kind of person to just roll over. Now, somehow, I’ve earned her trust, and as much as I love this version of her, I also feel guilty.

There’s the reason I’m in Devin’s office. The reason I’m even in this house. What would she think if she knew the truth? She’s vulnerable to me now, open and soft, and I’m still manipulative and a liar. I feel guilty, but not guilty enough to confess all.

“So, I never told you what the plan would have been for this afternoon,” I say, dragging her over to sit on the leather loveseat across from the desk. It’s brown full grain tobacco leather, buttery to the touch. I wonder how much of Anton’s money Devin spent buying it.

“Weren’t we going to come home?”

“I asked Rourke if we could come to his place.”

She frowns. “Rourke van der Hoff? You’re friends with that guy?”

“Why did you think I asked you to come over to his place before?”

“I don’t know. You guys both play soccer? I didn’t think you were on the kind of terms with him where you could just take a girl to his house for sex.”

“He’s not that bad.”

“He’s a drug addict!”

“He’s not a drug addict. He’s a recreational drug user, which by the way so are we.”

“You?”

“I smoke weed.” She looks like she’s considering my argument.

“We’re different, though. I use drugs occasionally, like on a night out or at a party, but I still get A’s, I still make it to practice and games. Rourke is a mess. Did you know he got caught at school one time with a baggie of cocaine and the only reason he wasn’t expelled is his dad donated an obscene amount of money to the school?”

“I didn’t know that, but I want to point out that Rourke is one of the top three soccer players at Briarwood and our team is nationally ranked. He makes every practice and game just like you do.”

“Okay,” she says huffily, “but I still don’t really want to go to his house.”

“He’s setting aside a room just for us to use whenever. His mansion is so big we can be in and out without ever seeing him. There’s a maid to clean our room. It’ll be like going to a fancy hotel. He even gave me a keycard to get inside any time I want, day or night.”

“Did you tell him about us?” She seems alarmed.

“No. He figured it out a while ago and he hasn’t said anything about it to anyone. We can trust him, with this secret, anyway.”

She chews that over, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. I swear she has no idea how beautiful she is. I could just stare at her face for hours, her high forehead, those dark, intelligent eyes, her soft lips.