Hate You Not

It’s too early for anybody with good sense. I take a long, slow sip of my coffee and then head down the porch steps, into the dewy lawn, where a whole bunch of people are doing a bunch of different things. The damp grass blades stick to my flip-flops and the top of my feet as I walk over to the guy who’s got a short-sleeved button-up shirt on and is holding a clipboard.

“Hey there…”

He smiles, phony as all get out. “Matt. I’ll be your site manager this morning.” He taps a name tag that I hadn’t noticed. “I don’t think we’ve talked, but we’re here for the accelerated assembly for the most luxurious pool in our collection, which holds—”

I wave at him. “You don’t need to tell me the specs, Matt. Thank you for that, though. I mean, we already bought the pool, right?”

He nods, looking chastised.

“I just want to know how long will it take?”

“It should take about two, two and a half hours.”

“Whoa. So that’s not real long.”

“This pool has a frame that’s—”

I hold my palm up again, and his face reddens.

“Sorry, I’m just not that good at mornings. Do you need me for anything?”

It turns out, they need me for a lot of things. I’m finally sitting on the porch swing about fifteen minutes later, having picked out the exact spot for where the pool will go, when I see headlights shining down the driveway.

It looks more like an SUV than— Oh yeah. Shawn the Traitor invited Burke to stay at his place. Loaned Burke Bug his old Jeep. Told me all about this…oh, about twenty-four hours ago. I wasn’t even completely sure that Burke was coming. Afterward, I got his call about the pool.

I tuck some hair into my bun and keep sipping my coffee, trying not to look over there while he parks the Jeep and talks to Matt and pokes around the pool parts. My cup is empty by the time he climbs the porch stairs and peeks through the screen door.

“Here,” I say from the swing, and his face bends into a smile as his eyes find me.

“Oh.” He squints. “It’s darker than I thought.”

He steps into the porch, and I try not to stare. He’s wearing dark shorts—navy?—and a gray T-shirt that sort of hugs his biceps but it’s not tight like tight. It’s got a pocket on the front like my shirt does, except his isn’t ripped. His hair is longer than last time—a little curly, I think?—and he looks like he forgot to shave. My gaze wanders down his muscled calves to his shoes, which are Vans-type sneakers.

“Hello.” It comes out sounding low and sort of hoot-y, like a cartoon owl.

He laughs, and when he does, his face transforms into a brilliant grin. “Hello to you, too, June.”

His gaze holds onto me, making me feel like I can’t pull air into my lungs. I swallow, sit up straighter, and try to use my wit and charm to play off this racing-heart sensation I’ve got going on. “What kind of greeting were you hoping for?”

His gaze falls to the floor for a second. Then he smiles, more guarded.

“Oh, I don’t know.” He brings his palms together, trying for a smirk, but it looks kind of tense, as if he’s not so sure about me this go ’round.

Good.

I might have lost my mind over him last time, but this time, I’m playing it cool. No narcotics messing with my head. He’s only here for two days, so says Shawn the Traitor. I can do it.

Have a little self respect, I coach myself. He doesn’t care about you. Observe how he left last time. He’s just an ordinary man, and he’ll act like they all do.

I draw one leg up onto the swing and wrap my arm around my knee—because even when I’m trying to be icy toward him, I’m still awkward.

“Well, you made it here in one piece,” I remark, and then I have to hide a cringe because comments like that remind me of my sister and Asher now—who didn’t make it home.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Your brother’s Jeep is kind of…eccentric.”

“You mean it’s a piece of shit?” I laugh. “Yeah, that thing’s ready for the junkyard.”

His eyes light up as I say that—as if he’s just so thrilled to hear me talk or something. He bounces on his heels a little, folding his thick arms across his chest—which I happen to know firsthand is thick, too, with all that muscle.

“So how’s it going?” he asks.

I lift a shoulder. “All right. I made two cups for myself but I’m stopping at one. If you want it.” I point to the coffee on the bookshelf.

“Are you sure?”

Lord, he’s so polite this go ’round. Clearly aliens stole the other one and left this clone behind instead.