Hating You, Loving You

"No, it suits you. Like a Hollister model."

"Hollister? Fuck, sunshine, how could you say that?"

I round the first bend in the trail. Duck under a short tree for a brief respite from the sun.

He's right behind me. Then next to me. He shoots me a smile. "At least give me Abercrombie and Fitch. Those are some hot models."

"I wouldn't know."

"Yeah." He nods to my black leggings and black tank top. "Where do you buy that gear?"

I move forward. "You really think I'd be caught dead in a preppy store?"

"No." He keeps his steps in time with mine. So he's next to me. "Just wanted to see your reaction."

"And?"

"Gold."

"I'm glad I can entertain."

He follows in silence for a few moments. The canyon fills with the gentle breeze, the sound of our footsteps, the feel of my heart thudding against my chest.

By the time we're at the top of the next hill, I'm panting and flushed. But it's not from the hike. It's him being right there. Shirtless.

He stops. Throws his hands over his eyes to block the sun then takes in the view—the canyons flush with grey-green trees, the multi-million-dollar mansions, the rolling ocean. It goes for miles. Forever. From Malibu, all the way to Long Beach Harbor and beyond.

He turns back to me, those blue eyes on fire.

My knees knock together.

My body begs me to touch him.

I reach for the first distraction I can find. "How was your last appointment?"

"Should have seen the look Ryan gave me after he saw the tattoo." He imitates his brother's disapproving frown. Then his voice. "Why would anybody want this trendy shit?"

"It was water color?"

"How'd you know?" He laughs.

"You've never told me what your opinion is."

"Not my body. Not my place."

I nod. Hug the brush to give two friends room to pass.

Dean follows suit. He places his body right behind mine.

His crotch brushes my ass.

The back of his hand brushes my hip.

His breath is cool against the back of my neck.

They pass. Finally.

I play with the waistband of my leggings. "Would you get one?"

He shakes his head. "Not that secure with my masculinity."

"If you were."

"Hard to envision a universe where that's true."

I laugh, even though I don't believe it. "You're incredibly secure about that."

"About my cock? Yeah. Of course. You want to see so you can remember why?" he teases.

"No. About how manly you are. You're not afraid to hug Ryan and tell him you love him."

He smirks. "Ryan hates that."

"Yeah. And you'd probably say that's why you do it, but it's not. You care about your friends and family."

"Who said otherwise?"

"You."

He arches a brow.

I step over a mass of rocks. "You act like you don't give a fuck. But you do."

"Maybe." He turns to the view. Lets out a heavy exhale as he takes it in. "You act like you hate everything."

"I do."

"Nah. You barely hate anything."

I shake my head.

He nods. "You mostly talk about shit you love."

"That's because I mostly talk tattoos."

"You're obsessed."

"That's why I'm here." I round another corner. Ah, sweet, sweet shade. I hug the hillside.

"Why are you here?" He moves forward. So he's in front of me, then he turns and walks backward.

"Here? You have some sort of plan to make me see the beauty in the world."

"And?"

"It's gorgeous here, yeah. But it's not filling me with zest for life."

"I'm wearing too many clothes."

"That must be it."

His eyes meet mine. "Why are you at Inked Hearts?"

"I told you. I decided to start going after what I wanted."

"Tell me the real story."

I want to.

I want to let Dean in.

But the last time I did that, he left me high and dry.

Can I trust him now?

"You know the real story." I move forward. "I finished college, had a family problem, figured it out, begged anyone who would listen for an apprenticeship. The end."

"You're skipping over 'family problem.'"

"It's not an interesting story."

"You're not a good liar."

My shoulders tense. "Why should I tell you anything?"

"Because you want to."

That's the thing. I do. My heart is begging me to share with him. My body is on fire just from his proximity. But my head… "Last time I ignored my common sense, I went seven years without hearing from you."

He stops in a patch of shade. Leans against the hillside.

"Forgive me if I'm apprehensive about trusting you again."

"You're still thinking about that?"

"I wasn't. Until I saw you again."

His eyes find mine. "You were better off."

"I was better off crying into my pillow all of June?"

Something fills his eyes. Some realization. "I meant that much to you?"

"Yeah." I bite my lip. Here am I, awkward and vulnerable again. And here he is, aloof and in control, again. "I thought about you for three years straight. You and I… we always understood each other. Maybe we hated each other—"

"I never hated you."

"I hated you. A lot. But I always liked you."

"I love the way you hate me."

"You're disturbed."

"Yeah."

"So." I dig my toes into the dirt path. "When we went upstairs… I knew you weren't the boyfriend type. But I thought it meant something. That I meant something to you."

"You did."

"Then why didn't you ever call?" I bite my lip. This isn't how this conversation is supposed to go. I'm supposed to slap him and scream fuck you for ditching me, you asshole not stare into his eyes begging for an explanation.

I waited for him for seven years.

I'm still waiting.

I'm still under his thumb.

He's still holding all the cards.

"Honestly?" He stares back at me.

"No. I want a lie."

"I gotta watch myself. You could push me off a cliff."

"You must be—"

"You gonna guess my weight again?"

"You're all muscle. Don't pretend like it offends you."

His lips curl into that million-dollar smile. It's a second, then frustration streaks his expression. "It was for you."

"Fuck you." I push off the hillside. Move forward. He can shill out all the bullshit he wants. I'm not hearing it.

"Sunshine, wait."

I don't.

I climb the damn hill as fast as I can.

He follows.

He's taller. Faster.

I break into a jog.

A full-on trail run.

Dart around the curve.

Down a steep hill.

Up the next.

My heart races. My breath becomes a struggle. My focus shifts to the trail and the placement of my feet.

Fuck his stupid excuses.

Fuck him for calling me sunshine.

For inviting me out to show me the beauty in the world.

We can't be anything.

Not if he's still refusing to be honest.

With the next hill, he catches up.

His fingers curl around my upper arm. "You were going someplace. To a good college and a guy with a real job. A guy who could buy you a car and a vacation and a house with a white picket fence."

"What about me says white picket fence?"

"Besides the combat boots and the eyeliner, everything."

"Fuck you."

"I thought we were both better off."

"Both of us includes you." I turn to face him. To try to find some explanation in his expression.

Hurt streaks his blue eyes. "I told you. I don't do relationships."

"So that whole 'I didn't want to hurt you more' thing was bullshit?"

"No. I…" He runs his fingers through his hair. "I was crazy about you. I thought fucking you would cure me of that. But it didn't."

"You're really bad at apologizing."

"Chlo—"

"You were crazy about me. You kept thinking about me. Why didn't you ever pick up the phone?"

"I didn't want to get hurt."

"So?" I pull my arm to my side.

"You're right. I was an asshole."

The earnest apology catches me off guard.

"I'm sorry. It was one of the worst things I ever did, hurting you. It still eats at me."

"Oh."

"If I could take it back, I would."

"How?"

He raises a brow.

"Would you not seduce me? Or would you call? Would you stick around?"

"I'd call."

"And then?"

"I don't know, sunshine. This kind of thing isn't my forte."

"You really—"

"Yeah." He moves closer. "We can leave now if you want."

"No… Let's just… let's talk about something else."

"Anything in mind?"

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