The Way I Hate Him (Almond Bay, #1)

by Meghan Quinn

“Matt, I’ll be spending the next year of my life manifesting the shit out of you losing your testicles by an inmate you meet on your first day in jail after committing one of your felonies you seem to find joy in.”

“Thank you, universe, for introducing Matt to Homer, the inmate with the vise grip, and popping Matt’s testicles right off his body.”

“And for the record,” I say loud enough in case anyone wants to listen. “You’re terrible at giving oral, you couldn’t find my clit if it knocked you on the nose, and your penis is crooked, and not in a good way. It felt more like trying to wrangle a bent pencil in my vagina than getting pounded by a beefy salami.”

“Yes, your house is nice. You, on the other hand, just popped out of Satan’s asshole, and I’d rather not share a living space with a fiery anus. Thank you very much.”

“You smell like electric sunshine.” “Electric sunshine?” she asks. “What exactly does that smell like?” I shift, my body precariously growing closer. “Radiance with a zing, like soft summer meadows zapped by lightning. Like a sweet combination of fire and rain. Soft and edgy. Bright and dark all in one.” She stares up at me, a studying look in her eyes. When she doesn’t say anything, I ask, “What?” “How many women have you said that to?” “You want to know?” I ask. “Yes.” She nods. “I do.” I bring my finger under her chin, tilt it up and say, “None. That was for you and you alone.”

“You have loose hips when you’re older.” Okay, I guess we’re not done here. “But I was a celibate angel for many years. So many years that I sneezed once, and a dustball flew into my underwear.” Fucking Christ. “And do you know how humbling that is, Hayes? To find a dustball in your underwear?” Lips pulled tight, I slowly nod and squeak, “Quite humbling.” “Exactly. And what do I get for being a born-again Virgin Mary? A broken hip that’s going to kill me in six months. And there’s Ethel, kick-ball-changing down the boardwalk with her loose, whore hips.” She waves her fist toward the window out of pure agony.

“You planned this, didn’t you? Putting on my sweatshirt, knowing it would make me feel possessive, not wearing anything under it because it would make me feel unhinged. This was all thought out so you could manipulate your way into my goddamn bed.”

“I thought you didn’t want me in your bed.” I push up against her, letting her feel my erection against her leg. “You know goddamn well that was a lie.”

“If I gave myself the opportunity to give you what you wanted, what I want, I’d dismantle every thought you ever had of being with a man. I’d break you. Then I’d slowly worship every inch of your heavenly body until you realized that no other man will ever give you the unequivocal pleasure I’ll give you. There’d be no going back for you.” He wets his lips as he stares down at my mouth. “And despite desperately wanting to bury my dick so far between your legs, I won’t. I won’t fucking break you. Because, Hattie, it would fucking break me too.”

What are the odds? Just when you claim you can escape his music. It’s almost as if an author is fucking around with your life, pulling all the strings.

“Thanks for having me tonight,” Hayes says into the microphone as he strums his guitar. “This song is dedicated to a girl I can’t seem to get out of my head.”

“And you didn’t want to draw attention. You carrying me like a sack of vodka potatoes isn’t going to lessen the staring. Look, there’s Ethel. Ethel, yoo-hoo,” I say, waving my hand. “Yup, this is happening. This right here is happening. Sound the sirens. Alert the press. Hayes Farrow is touching Hattie Rowley. Weeee-oooo, weee-ooooo.”

gives me a confused expression, I clear my throat. “I got you, uh, flowers.” “Me?” He points at his chest. “Yup. Thought it would be nice.” God, kill me now. He doesn’t move, doesn’t reach for them, doesn’t take another step forward, and I know it’s because I look like an absolute moron. Here you go, Ryland, I got you flowers—what a fucking idiot! “They’re daisies. I thought you liked daisies.” Stop talking, Hayes, you’re not doing yourself any favors. You have no fucking clue if he likes daisies or not. “What makes you think I like daisies?” he asks as a tiny trickle of sweat forms on the back of my neck. See, that’s why you should have stopped talking. “Uh . . .” I swallow. “Your eyes.” “My eyes?” he asks. Yeah, Hayes, how exactly do his eyes remind you of daisies? They’re neither shaped like them or white or yellow for that matter. “I mean, your complexion.” “My complexion?” He raises his brow. And yup, that sweat trickles down my back. “You know, did I say complexion? I meant your smile. Your smile reminds me of a daisy.” “When was the last time you saw me smile?” Great point. “I don’t know, man,” I say, giving up because the more I talk, the more I’ll embarrass myself. “Just take them.”

top of his lungs. “Shit, that’s my dick.” “What’s your di—” Klunk. I’m smacked in the eye with what I’m assuming is a stuffed animal. “Motherfucker,” I yell as I grip my eye. She caught it when it was open. “Your knee,” Ryland groans. “Your knee is on my dick.” “Get off his dick!” Mac screams. “I don’t want to be on his dick.” I scramble but take another beating to the head, a one-two knock-knock. “Don’t say dick,” Ryland groans.

“There’s one thing you need to know.” I bring my mouth to just above hers, and I nip at her lower lip, giving it a light tug before saying, “This body, these lips, this pussy”—I thrust into her, and she gasps loudly—“they belong to me now. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it my way, meaning you”—I drop kisses down her neck—“are . . . mine.” I run my tongue along her collarbone and then to the juncture of her shoulder, where I bite down on her skin while driving my cock over her pussy, dragging and pressing into her at the same time.

“I can’t fucking wait to get inside this pussy,” he says, thrusting harder. “I’m going to destroy it.”

“I think we went over this. When it comes to you, yes, I’m the neediest motherfucker you’ll ever meet.” He gives me one more kiss and then pulls away. He heads toward his dresser but looks over his shoulder and says, “By the way, you’re hired again. Now get to work.”

“This pussy is fucking mine tonight,” I say as I bring my mouth to her jaw, where I drag my tongue along the slender bone. “I want you bare. I want to see my cum dripping down your leg.” She swallows hard. I bring my mouth to her ear and whisper, “Do you give me permission?”

“God, Hayes. You’re so old. Where do you get the energy?” “Excuse me?” he asks in disgust. I laugh even louder. “I’m not fucking old. Watch your mouth or I’ll shove my dick in it the minute we stop this car.” “As if that’s a punishment.” “Watch it,” he says in a threatening tone. “Your brother might kill you if I fuck you in his house, but it will be well worth it.”

Whhhhat?!? Like . . . penis met vagina last night? And shook hands? Hattie: How could they possibly shake hands? Maggie: I don’t know . . . tip and clit?

“I’m not pregnant. I’m sorry.” “What a shame,” Gran says. “You seem like you could handle a pregnancy well.” “You know, I’ve thought the same thing,” Hattie says. “But your grandson doesn’t want to get me pregnant. Told me to my face, can you believe that?” What the hell? “Hayes Richard Farrow!” Gran yells. “How dare you say you don’t want her children when you know damn well she has the hips for it?” “That’s what I told him,” Hattie says. “I pointed at my hips and said, ‘these were made for your baby.’” “Stand up,” Gran says. Hattie stands in front of her, and to my horror, Gran grips Hattie’s hips and gives them a good shake. “By God, they’re sturdy.” She looks up at Hattie. “Has he implanted his seed?”

“Then it’s settled.” Gran claps her hands together. “You’re going to get pregnant.”

“You were sexting me when I was talking to your brother. What the hell was I supposed to do?” Her fingers dance along my chest. “Forget my brother and fuck me.”

“When I tie you up and edge you all night, never letting you come, yeah, that should scare you.” I move my hand between her legs and cup her. “This is my pussy. No one touches it, not even you. If you want to come, you ask me. Don’t ever take your pleasure without me again. Understood?” Her heated eyes stay locked on mine as she says, “Understood.” She moves again, but I stop her. “And tonight, you’ll come to my place and sit on my face until you scream my name. Got it?”

“Your own sister didn’t even fucking trust you.” I pause. The air in my lungs seizing as I meet his soulless gaze. “What did you just say?” I ask, my body shaking from the chill of the rain and the pain ricocheting through me. “Cassidy, she didn’t even trust you. She didn’t leave you the shop; she didn’t leave you Mac. She left you nothing.”

“You know I’m right,” he says. “I was fucked over by my dad, fucked over by my mom, by my assistant, by my label . . . how the hell do you think I can just sit here and think I won’t be fucked over by you . . . when the person you were closest with didn’t think you were worthy enough to hold a piece of her life.”

Aubree thanked me for being vigilant. If anything, I got a little wet from her response. Hattie: Please don’t ever say that again. Maggie: Ha, I knew that would do it. Love you, Hattie. I’m here for you.

We’re investing in a blowup mattress, and I’ll sleep next to you and hold your hand while you sleep. Why? Because no man will ever take the spirit from my girl.

Maggie: I’d appreciate it if you could at least conjure up a little bit more sadness so I have an excuse to eat three donuts in a row with you. Hattie: Oh right . . . I’m sobbing right now. The only thing that will fix it is donuts. Maggie: Much better. (Yells in a Mrs. Doubtfire voice) HELP IS ON THE WAY, DEAR!