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

by Meghan Quinn

And why are they called the Peach Society when clearly our town has gone all in on almonds? Because the cornerstones of our town, the holy grail of women, are all lesbians, and that’s what they decided to call themselves.

“You’ve just been . . . lackluster. Mopey. And it hasn’t been fun to be around you. Or on the phone with you.” My eyes nearly pop out of my head. Mopey? Is he fucking kidding me? “That’s because my fucking sister died!” I yell.

“Friends?” I scoff. “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.”

“Come in. I won’t bite . . . at least not yet.”

“Never would have seen you as a creamer kind of guy.” “Oh, I cream a lot,” I say as she takes a seat on an island chair right across from me.

“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.”

“I’m anything but a prince. If you want to address me, you can address me as king . . . or daddy. Never prince.”

I really should just let it go, but . . . hell, I feel fucking bad. And why? Why do I feel bad? Maybe because no matter how hard I try to deny it, I really do have a heart. Even though I like to paint myself as the asshole and ride that persona to the grave, a part of me is trying to break through that tough exterior and make himself known. Fuck. And for some annoying reason, he’s trying to break through when it involves Hattie. Once again, it’s the desperation in her eyes.

And why? Because he’s supposed to be awful. That’s what I’ve been told nearly my whole life. And if he’s not awful, then that opens the door for other things . . . Things I shouldn’t even be thinking about. Like how his deep, sultry voice captures my attention every time he speaks. Or how he looks hot with a backward hat on, but how I love it when he wears no hat at all.

“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.”

Maggie: 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.

“There’s one thing you need to know.”

“This body, these lips,

they belong to me now. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it my way, meaning you”—I

are . . ....

“Good fucking girl.”

In a deep, tortured voice, I say, “Don’t do that again, you hear me?” “What are you going to do about it?” she asks, testing me. I lift her chin and say, “Punish you.” “Is that supposed to scare 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?”

“You’re mine,”

“All yours,”