Page 71 of Hate You More

“Anywhere. I don’t want to go tonight.”

“I’m kind of looking forward to seeing you in your pretty dress.” He toys with the button on my tennis dress.

Vanessa chose my dress for tonight. She says it’s tasteful, but what it is, is a boring sack. She doesn’t seem to get that wearing it won’t make me look more like her. Slim and elegant.

“Wouldn’t you prefer me to take this one off instead? Maybe in a hotel. A whole night, Troy. Just you and me.”

Tonight is going to be so bad, I just know it. I’ve been dreading it since I impulsively invited Troy. But I couldn’t take it back—not after seeing what it meant to him. I just don’t know how to explain what a clusterfuck it will be. How could I ever prepare Troy for meeting my dad?

When I think of it, my stomach swirls with anxiety. I can almost see the events bouncing ahead like a skimmed stone. Troy will be charming and sweet, like he always is, and my father will be subtle but mean. It’ll be death by a thousand cuts as he tries to make Troy feel small. And when I can’t take it anymore, I’ll step in at Troy’s defense, and . . . they’ll both hate me for it.

I should’ve been honest from the start. I should’ve told Troy that my dad isn’t overprotective of his little girl. That he’s controlling. Domineering. Careless with his words. Sometimes his hands. I should’ve said that there’s no point trying to impress him, that any chance of an internship with him is contingent on having studied at Harvard or Yale. Or for his daddy to be a member of his stupid club.

“Let’s do it—let’s spend the night together.” And deal with the consequences tomorrow. He’s tempted; I can see it. Even if it’s just for a split second.

“And what happens when we get back?” His voice is calm in that maddeningly patient way of his.

“I don’t care.”

“Well, I do. And I have shit to finish here. The lawn is half mowed, and I have a million fuckin’ fairy lights to string up.”

My spirits sink. I can tempt him and tease, wheedle and cajole. But I can’t ask him to leave money on the table. I’m not thinking straight—I can’t put him at risk of being fired. I do have some morals.

“I can’t believe you’re playing hard to get.” I hide my thoughts behind my pout.

“Or maybe I’m holding out because I have a surprise for you.”

I beckon him closer. “Take off your pants. Put your surprise in my mouth.” Where Troy is concerned, I have no impulse control.

A breath of his laugh slips between us, his mouth capturing mine in a kiss that’s soft and sweet. But then I give a sharp gasp as he grabs me by the waist, lifting me with ease. He deposits me on the old wooden table, where the spare life jackets are stacked.

“Look at me.” His voice is deep and so tempting as he presses himself between my legs. I dampen my lips and hook my heels around him. “Baby, I just want to do the right thing.”

“And the right thing is the internship.” My face held in his big, calloused hands. My smile is bright and, I hope, convincing.

“Fuck, Clara. I don’t care about that. I just want the opportunity to look your dad in the eye so he knows that you and me? We’re the real deal.”

I don’t know what I did to deserve him.

“Are you gonna go and get dressed now? Let a man do his job.”

“What about your job here with me?” My words are just degrees from a purr as I move my hands above my head. Hold me. Tie me down. Spread me wide. Make me forget.

I’m not trying to seduce him. I’m trying to keep him. To collect these moments and memories. I would keep them in a jar like sea glass.

“You are trouble.”

“And you love it.”

“No.” His eyes turn soft and his smile sweet. “I don’t love it. I love you.”

Star drops in my veins. My heart in my eyes. I close them before he sees me cry. Please, please let me keep him after tonight. “I love you, Troy.”

He glances around the shed. “Some place for first-time confessions.”

“I don’t care.” I grab his cheeks and kiss my love into him.

His laughter comes out a little rough, the rasp in it making me want his hands, his teeth, all over me. He presses his lips to mine, but I’m in no mood for sweet as need consumes me. I tell him so without words as I palm his cock. A split second later, we’re a wash of hot breath and questing fingers. Sweet is exchanged for deep demand as my insides melt into a puddle of hot, needy yes. My fingers pluck at buttons as Troy’s mouth finds my neck. A delectable scrape of teeth, and I’m writhing against him.