Falling Out of Hate with You (The Hate-Love Duet 1)

He laughs. “Yeah, I do.”

In a flash flood, every drop of desire I’ve been holding back, denying, and ignoring for so long slams into me. “I’ll go to her room now. Would you go inside and ask Tracy to text me Laila’s room number?”

“No, Savage. Not now. It’s after three and you’re shitfaced drunk. Go to your room now, get some sleep, wake up and take a shower in the morning and get to the buses on time, and then take your shot with Laila in Vegas.”

“But—"

“Savage, listen to me. I’m not sabotaging you. I’m helping you. You’ve been smoking like a chimney all night. You know how much Laila hates that. Get cleaned up and talk to her in Vegas, or you’ll go there now and wake her up and get into another screaming match with her.”

My shoulders slump. He’s right, of course. Even if Laila liked me, which she doesn’t, she’d shoo me away from her room for smelling like an ashtray. “Okay. I’ll get some sleep and talk to her in Vegas. Thanks again for the birthday party.” I twist my mouth. “For everything.”

Kendrick winks. “Someone’s gotta take care of your dumb ass.”

“Glad it’s you.”

“Me, too.” He smiles. “See you at the buses at nine.”

I crinkle my forehead. “I thought you said eight.”

“That was a test.”

With a wink, Kendrick heads back into his suite, while I begin walking down a winding path toward my room on the far side of the hotel grounds. But when I reach a slatted fence enclosing the hotel’s VIP pool area—an area that’s been closed off to the general public for my band’s private use during our stay—I suddenly decide a naked, moonlit swim would be the perfect way to cap off my twenty-sixth birthday.

After swiping my keycard and walking through the gate, I look around for an especially dark corner to undress in . . . and that’s when I see the universe’s birthday gift to me. Laila Fitzgerald. She’s sitting in a hot tub in a far corner of the space with a large bottle of booze on the ledge, next to her head. Surely, she’s drowning her sorrows about that humiliating video of Malik. Which thrills me to no end.

Laila’s sandy hair is piled atop her head in a messy bun, making her chiseled cheekbones and plush lips all the more striking. Her alabaster skin, which always sort of glows, looks particularly supernatural in the moonlight.

Without hesitation, I begin walking toward her, whispering to myself as I go, “Happy birthday to me.”

Sixteen

Savage

I come to a stop on the ledge of the hot tub and look down at Laila . . . and immediately discover that she’s naked. Hallelujah. And that her body in that water is even more gorgeous than I’ve fantasized. Man, this birthday just keeps getting better and better.

“You’re gorgeous,” I whisper, and then press my lips together when I realize I’ve drunkenly blurted my thoughts aloud.

Laila smirks. “And you’re drunk.”

I bite back my smile. “A bit.”

“Eyes up here, Adrian.”

I begrudgingly comply.

She cocks an eyebrow. “I presume you’ve risked softening your chiseled abs tonight with way too much alcohol, in celebration of your birthday?”

“That’s right. Birthdays equal getting shitfaced. No exceptions.”

“Happy birthday.”

“Thanks. You were invited to the party.”

“I was busy.”

“Yeah, I bet. I saw the video. You’ve been drowning your sorrows tonight, I presume?” I gesture to the big bottle of booze on the ledge.

She takes a long swig from her bottle. “Fuck Malik. I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Fair enough.” I bite my lip. Shift my weight. Stare at her tits. And, finally, address the elephant in the room. “So . . . you’re single now?”

“I’m very, very single.”

Hot damn. My eyes drift to her naked body again. And I swear I have to suck on my teeth, vigorously, not to physically drool down my chin at the sight of her.

“Eyes up here, Adrian,” she says. And when I comply this time, she smiles and says, “So, are you finally ready to apologize for being an asshole to me?”

I pull a face. “Which time?”

She snorts. “Let’s start with your diatribe in Atlanta and work our way from there.”

“Nah. You deserved Atlanta. If anyone needs to apologize for being an asshole in Atlanta, it’s you.”

“Me?”

“Laila, you read me the Riot Act in front of everyone on the tour—and, in case you didn’t realize this, honey, you’re the opener.”

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, I admit I might have been a little out of line to—"

“A little? Come on. Nobody’s here. Admit you blew it. I had to say what I did. You were way out of line.”

She twists her mouth. “I admit I shouldn’t have said what I did in front of people. I should have pulled you aside and said it all in private. But I don’t regret what I said. All of it was true. Really, all you had to say to me was, ‘Hey, let’s step outside to talk about this.’ Or, better yet, ‘No problem, Laila! I’ll try to be more punctual and professional from now on, as a courtesy not only to you, but to every hardworking person on the tour, not to mention my fans!’ And I would have said, ‘I’m sorry I snapped in front of everyone. That was totally unprofessional of me.’”