The Hating Game

“What’s the saying? Don’t get mad, get even.” I push my plate away and lick all my fingers. I ate my meal like a barn animal. “You were wrong, you know. You’re going to need help beating me. I’m going to fight for it.”

I drain my second glass of orange juice, then my water, and then his.

“Duly noted.” He scrunches a napkin around his fingertips. “Wow, you eat like a Viking.”

“For this weekend? I call a cease-fire. This weekend we’re us.”

“Who else would we be?”

“B and G employees. Competitors. Forbidden HR rule-breakers. Mortal enemies. Oh man, I feel so much better.”

I jump off my stool and immediately appreciate how much stronger my legs feel. “I don’t want any surprises, Josh. If I’m walking into some kind of shit-storm, I want to know.”

A shadow crosses his face. He picks up the check folded under the edge of his plate and gives me a faint look of disdain when I dig for my purse.

“We’re just us. I’m just me.” He counts out some bills. “Let’s get going.”

I go to the bathroom. When I wash my hands I glance at the mirror and nearly jump out of my skin. My color is back. In fact, I’m lit up like the Vegas strip. Neon-blue eyes, cheeks glowing pink, hair blue-black. My mouth is cherry red, but my lipstick is long gone.

A solid meal has clearly revived me, but I wouldn’t mind betting I always look like this after a period of Josh’s undivided attention.

“Keep. It. Together,” I tell myself sternly as a woman walks into the bathroom and gives me a weird look. I dry my hands and run out.

Chapter 20

The evening is perfumed by the thunderclouds overhead. He’s leaning against the car, looking across the highway. There’s a strange kind of grace in the heavy twist of his body. If I had to label the image, it would be Yearning.

“Hey. Everything okay?”

He looks at me with an expression that makes my heart shake. Like he’s reminding himself I’m actually here. Like I’m not just in his head.

“Are you sad?”

“Not yet.” He closes his eyes.

“I’ll drive for a bit.” I hold out my hand.

He shakes his head. “You’re my guest. I’ll drive. You’re tired.”

“Oh, I’m your guest now?” I put as much menace as I can into my walk and he puts both hands behind his back. I smile at him and he smiles back. I’m surprised the pinprick stars above us don’t explode into silver powder. The sadness I caught in his eyes is burned away by a spark of amusement.

“My hostage. My blackmailed, unwilling captive. Stockholm Shortcake.”

“Keys.” I put my arms around his waist to get them from his closed fist. Then I lean against him and tighten my arms.

“Let go. Come on.” I extract the key, but he hugs my shoulders. We stand there for another long moment. Cars

whip past in a steady stream.

“I want you to know I don’t expect anything from you this weekend,” Josh says above my head.

I lean back and look up at him. “Whatever happens, I’m pretty sure we’re going to be alive come Monday morning. Unless your sexuality is as deadly as I suspect, in which case, I’m a goner.”

“But,” he protests helplessly. I hug him harder and press my cheek against his solar plexus.

“It’s going to happen, Josh. We just need to get it out of our systems. I think that’s what it’s all been building toward.”

“You sound a little resigned.”