One Week Hating You: One Week Series Book 2 (standalone) Read online

  I tilt my head and study it. It kind of does. I throw a leg over and straddle it. I hug it as if it were a horse. I pretend-throw a lasso. I’m a cowgirl, a cowgirl in hiking shoes, shorts and a Care Bears t-shirt.

  Blake laughs. “Let me have a go, cowgirl.”

  I climb off the weird tree and let him sit and pretend to be a cowboy. I pull out my phone from my back pocket and snap a pic. He smiles like a kid, and bounces off the tree like he’s riding a show horse. Then he fakes a fall and recovers, swipes a hand over his forehead, as if he’s just evaded near death.

  I laugh as I snap a few more photos.

  “You should post that on your Facebook,” he says. “That’s sure to make Parker jealous. I look super sexy, I’m sure.”

  I laugh. “You look like a total dork, actually.”

  He smirks. “Come here,” he says with a swift motion of his hand. “Come here. Let’s take a selfie.”

  I climb up on the tree right behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. He smells like trees and popcorn, probably because he inhaled a whole bag on the drive here. I snuggle in closer.

  “Whoa, baby. Settle down,” he jokes. “This is a public trail.” He grabs my phone and takes a photo.

  “It’s pretty private,” I point out. “I haven’t seen another soul.”

  He stills for a second and pulls from me. A second later, he’s up and back down on the warped trunk, facing me. He’s got that look in his eyes, the playful wicked smile that makes my panties wet.

  My phone is still in his hand when he grabs my face and presses his sweet mouth on mine. I revel in the taste of his tongue as he twirls it around mine softly. He nibbles at my bottom lip, teasing me. I exhale a long breath into his mouth. I drop the water bottle I’ve been holding and dig my hands into his thick hair. I want him again. That’s all it takes… just a kiss. Sometimes it’s just a look.

  I pull away reluctantly. We could get naked right here and fuck I suppose, but tonight is not about that. I want to build anticipation. I want to look forward to my time with him. I’m fully aware that it might be my last. Tomorrow, I have dinner with my family again, and then I’m off back home the next day.

  “Hold on, cowboy,” I say softly. “I thought you wanted to be romanced,” I tease. “A quick fuck against a tree isn’t exactly romantic.”

  His mouth has traveled to my neck. “Seems pretty romantic to me… trees, nature, birds.”

  I pull away again. “Let’s see, so far, we’ve fucked on a freezer, and a backyard swing,” I point out. “Why don’t we try a bed?”

  His laughter is muffled in the crook of my neck. “Sounds good. Let’s go,” he says. “How fast can we get there?”

  “Oh, no, you need to be wined and dined first, remember,” I tease. “What kind of lady would I be if I just took advantage of you, if I treated you like a sex toy?”

  He pulls from me, a smirk on his face. “You’re going to make me suffer, aren’t you?”

  I smile. “Of course.”

  He throws his head back in despair, but he’s still smiling. “Have I ever told you… you drive me crazy.”

  I hop off the tree. “Many times.”

  He grabs my wrist and pulls me back to him. “One more kiss,” he whispers. “I love kissing you.”

  I wrap my legs around him, and this time I straddle him instead of the tree. I melt into him as his tongue dances around mine, as his hard-on presses between my legs. If we don’t stop soon, I’ll be begging him to pull off my shorts any second.

  I tear myself away again – it gets harder every time.

  He pulls me into him again and presses his mouth against my ear. “I agree with you,” he says. “It will be so much better if we wait, if we anticipate it. I can’t wait to get you completely naked, and explore you like I used to.”

  I close my eyes and draw in a breath, trying to settle down the butterflies in my stomach. “Do you even remember what I look like?”

  “Yes. Every single inch… every freckle. How could I forget?”

  I smile, remembering how he used to love tracing invisible lines between the many freckles and tiny moles on my body.

  I suddenly have the urge to dash back to our room, but I’m determined to stick with the plan.

  I jump to my feet and pull him off the tree. He picks up my water bottle and my phone off the ground and hands them to me with a smile. The bottle is covered with pine needles, but thankfully, my mobile is clean. I tuck the phone back in my pocket and attempt to wipe off the bottle.

  He grabs the bottle. “Here, give me that.” His t-shirt rides up as he uses it to clean it off. A dark line travels from the band of his jeans and disappears into his shirt. I turn my gaze away. This playing-hard-to-get thing is more challenging than anticipated.

  He hands me back the bottle. “All clean.”

  I laugh. “Your shirt… not so much.”

  He shrugs and pulls it up with a devilish smirk. “Should I take it off?”

  I laugh. “Please, no.”

  “Afraid you won’t be able to control yourself?”

  “Exactly.”

  I pretend I’m joking, but I’m dead serious.

  24

  We resume our quiet walk, and I replay that kiss about a dozen times. His kiss is one of my favorite things in the world – cupcakes, swimming in the ocean, Doritos, sunsets, shoes, kittens, chocolate milk, bubble bath, and… Blake’s kisses.

  “Remember when we used to hike as kids?” Blake says, breaking the silence. “Seems so long ago, doesn’t it?”

  Of course I remember. Every summer, we’d go hiking with our dads. They were both into birds. They’d always lug huge cameras around their necks and bags of equipment, trying to outdo each other. At the end of the season, they’d pick their best shots, and take a poll. The best picture would earn its taker a case of beer of their choice.

  While they were taking their pictures, we’d collect bugs – I had a mesh covered box just for that. While other boys usually found joy in torturing bugs, tearing off legs and wings, Blake played with them gently, like I did. That’s what I mean when I say he’s a sensitive sort. He would never admit it, but he is.

  “Those hikes were some of my best childhood memories,” I tell him.

  “Mine too,” he’s quick to add.

  In fact, a lot of the memories I have of my father involve nature; hiking, fishing, and camping. Once he passed away, I knew those things would never be the same again. Was that the reason I chose to never do them again, to run away, to get involved with someone who had no interest in those types of activities?

  A quacking sound from up high startles us. I freeze for a second and look up. All I see is a ruffle in the tall trees. I smile as one of my most vivid memories comes to mind. “I remember once… I was on a hike with my dad, and we were having one of our ‘big talks’ about life and the future.”

  He smiles, and his gaze flickers over me for a few seconds.

  “Anyway, I remember telling him that one day I’d own a little shop in town and I’d sell homemade jams and pies.”

  He laughs out loud.

  “What? Why is that funny? I used to really be into baking pies with Momma back then. I can still bake a kick-ass pie, I’ll have you know.”

  He smirks. “I’m sure you can.”

  “You know what else I told him?” I go on, biting my lip. “I told him that I would marry you one day, and that we would have three kids, two girls and a boy.”

  He laughs. “I like that.”

  A few seconds of silence follow.

  “How old were you?”

  I smile. “Ten,” I confess. “I’ve had a crush on you for a long time,” I say jokingly.

  He grins playfully. “Ditto.”

  We fall back into the sounds of nature, the both of us blushing a little.

  “Do you ever miss it?” he asks. “All this… hiking, camping… the trees?”

  “I didn’t think I did, but I do,” I admit. “I do.”


  We fall into silence again, nothing but the crackling under our feet.

  After a long beat, I finally manage to say something I’ve been holding in for a while, “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry for running away.”

  He stops dead in his tracks and turns to me. “You didn’t run away… I pushed you away.”

  Did he? Did he push me away?

  He reaches for my hand. “I’m sorry, I pushed you away instead of letting you turn to me. I just… I just couldn’t…” He stares at the ground, at my filthy Keds. “You reminded me too much of the whole thing. Every time I looked at you, I saw your dad, and mine too. The four of us, we were a team.”

  My throat pricks and my eyes sting. I don’t want to cry right now. I don’t want this to come between us again. This is supposed to be a fun, carefree day. I inch closer and wrap my arms around him. I bury my face in his dirty shirt. Now he smells like popcorn and pine needles… and man. “I know we were. It’s nobody’s fault,” I tell him, my voice cracks a little and I swallow hard. “We were so young… we didn’t know how to handle it.”

  We finally break our hug, tearful smiles on our faces. “Marilyn and Brian really had their shit together,” he says. “They fell deeper in love, got hitched, and popped out a few kids.”

  “Well…” I say. “Maddie was already in the oven.”

  He laughs. “True,” he says. “Do you think… if it weren’t for Maddie, do you think they’d have ended up like us?”

  I shake my head. “I hope not.” I smile. “Thank god for Maddie.”

  Yes, Marilyn had gotten knocked up at nineteen. Our father never did know, and neither did Blake’s dad. Momma found out a few weeks after Daddy’s passing, and sometimes, I think that Maddie may have been the only thing holding her together. She had a new life to look forward to, and all the love she held for our father, love she could no longer express, was given to Maddie when she was born. No child has ever been so loved.

  And when Jake came along, it was just the same with him.

  “It all turned out for the best,” I tell him. “Life has a way of doing that.”

  He smiles. “Look at you, Deepak Chopra.”

  I smirk at him as we head toward the end of the trail, the sunlight welcoming us. “Stop teasing.”

  “Impossible,” he says. “Teasing you is one of my favorite things in the world.”

  We’re in our room, getting ready for dinner. He’s in his dark dress pants, and I’m in my black lace panties and matching bra. I’m still making him wait, still teasing. He’s going to rue the day he ever said I was using him and treating him like a sex toy. As much as I want him, I’m determined to stick with the plan.

  “Do a little dance for me,” he says playfully.

  I turn around and swing my hips. I sway them from one side to the other. I bend over and stick out my ass, my hands on my knees. I turn to look at him, and smile mischievously.

  “Wow,” he mouths. “Damn, girl.”

  This is something I’d never feel comfortable doing in front of Peter, but with Blake, it’s different. I’ve practically known him forever, and we used to always be silly together. I can be silly and wild with him, and maybe that’s one of the things I love about him.

  “Okay, put on the shoes, and do that again,” he begs. “Please.”

  I smile as I settle my rear on the tufted Victorian bench and slip on the sexy four inch heeled hooker booties I bought a few days ago. I stand slowly and walk seductively past him, I wrap my hand around a bed post and repeat my performance, with a little extra oomph.

  He sits on one of the fancy slipper chairs in nothing but his dress pants. The dark line below his navel teases me again. He watches me intently, his full lips parted slightly, his eyes almost black. “You know…” he says, “I really don’t need dinner. I’m fine if you just use me and don’t feed me. I’m not even hungry,” and with a smirk, he adds, “for food anyway.”

  I giggle like a school girl. “We can’t,” I remind him. “They’re waiting for us at six. I need to put on my dress.”

  I reach for the Donna Karan in the closet, a classic little black dress. I wear it with a pearl necklace and earrings, and the hooker booties. The shoes actually look really classy worn with this dress. I wear my long hair up in a loose bun, and leave a few loose tendrils to frame my face.

  Blake inches close behind me. His large frame presses against my rear, and it arouses me more than I care to admit. He’s wearing a white button shirt, opened at the collar. He’s still working on the cuffs. He stares at our reflection in the mirror without a word. My eyes are glued to every inch of him – he’s such an attractive man. He reaches for the rogue curl grazing my cheek, pulls at it, and shoots me a wink.

  That’s all it takes for my insides to melt into a puddle of mush. How am I ever going to let this go? Now that I’ve tasted him, I’ll crave him forever, for the rest of my days.

  Why did I have a taste? What have I done?

  I close my eyes as I dig in and savor the flavors. “The bruschetta is delicious, don’t you think?”

  He reaches for another slice. “It’s pretty good, but I prefer your mom’s.”

  “True. Momma makes a kick-ass bruschetta.”

  I cross one leg over the other, feeling stylish in my little black dress. The restaurant is quaint, dark, and cozy; dark mocha walls and black chairs, crisp white table linens. Beautiful vivid paintings of flowers dot the walls, and each table is decorated with a single red rose in a small crystal vase. It was recommended by the Inn owners, probably because it might be the only restaurant in this tiny town in the middle of nowhere.

  Blake looks super handsome in his white button dress shirt. I’m so used to seeing him in worn t-shirts and plaid shirts, it’s like I’m sitting across from a stranger, a beautiful stranger.

  “Here are your entrées,” Sacha, our server, says cheerfully as she expertly manages the large platter and hands Blake his steak and potatoes. She shoots him a flirty smile, for the umpteenth time. He always grins back politely. I wonder if he gets this kind of reaction from females everywhere he goes.

  She hands me my scallops and angel hair pasta with a tight professional smile. “Would you like some cheese on your pasta?” she offers cheerfully.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Well, enjoy!” she says, and shoots Blake another playful smile.

  I roll my eyes. If he were here by himself, she’d probably leave him her number on the bill.

  “She was nice,” he says as he digs in.

  I smirk. “She sure was.”

  The pasta is to die for, and I forget all about Sacha. I’m pleasantly impressed when I taste the grilled scallops too. What a nice place. I picture Momma and Daddy here together, smiling, flirting, and struggling not to talk about us kids too much. My heart sinks at the thought.

  “Thank you,” Blake says. “Thank you for taking me here.”

  I smile up at him. “You deserve to be romanced, Blake Taylor. You’re a very special person,” I say, still teasing him.

  He laughs. “I hope you don’t respect me this much in bed later.” He winks.

  I crack up, and an older couple sitting a few tables away turn to us. We smile politely at them and turn back to our entrées. It’s just the four of us here tonight – the place is not busy at all.

  We both polish off our meals and order the chocolate surprise and coffee for dessert. Apparently, the chocolate surprise is homemade brownies, topped with fresh whipped cream, chocolate chips and caramel sauce. My stomach waits impatiently.

  We both dig in as soon as Sacha sets our dessert plates in front of us. I have another flashback. It always happens when I’m with Blake – we’ve shared so many memories. We’re about ten years old, and sitting opposite each other at a picnic table, digging into an enormous Sundae.

  He still has the same grin he had back then; sweet but also mischievous, as if he’s about to get you into trouble, and you still want to follow him and see where he takes
you. I love that smile.

  He’s clearly enjoying the brownie, but as I study him, his smile fades slowly.

  “So when are you heading back home?” he asks between bites.

  “Saturday morning. I really should get back home and take care of stuff, look for a job,” I explain. “I can’t live this in-between life much longer. Crashing on my old bed, and hanging out with Momma and you is great and all…” my words drift off. The thing is… this isn’t real. My real life is back in Burlington.

  “You think you’ll be able to find another job easily?” he asks.

  I smile, touched by his concern – as brash as he can be sometimes, Blake has always been sweet like that. “I think so… the economy is not too bad in Burlington, and apparently I’ll be getting glowing references from my manager, and the top boss too. I need to drop by the store and pick them up next week.”

  He stares down at his brownie. He toys around with the few bites left. The cream has melted, and all the chocolate chips have disappeared. “Will you see Parker again?” he asks, not looking at me.

  I smile. He knows his name is Peter – he refuses to acknowledge it. “I don’t know… probably. He wants to get back together.”

  He raises his gaze to mine. “What about you? Is that what you want?”

  I shrug. “I really don’t know what I want,” I admit. “I’m still so confused.”

  He rubs at his beard. “So you’ve forgotten all about the whole ditching you at the altar thing,” he says sarcastically. “You’re a bigger person than I am.”

  I draw a breath. “No, I haven’t forgotten. I’m just trying to get past it.”

  He fiddles with the collar of his shirt – he’s abandoned his brownie. “Why should you? Why does he deserve your forgiveness?”

  I swallow hard. “Because he’s given me seven years of his life, and we’ve experienced so much together. That’s not nothing.”

  He leans back in his chair and stares off into the distance. A soft edgy laugh escapes him. “I’m sure you can’t wait to get back to your perfect life.”