“It’d be easier if you didn’t hate me,” he added. I frowned at the windshield. “I don’t hate you.” That time he did glance at me, his expression even, but something about it still disbelieving. “I don’t hate you,” I repeated, looking at him even though he’d glanced away by then. “Why the hell would you think that?” “Because you’ve said, ‘I hate you.’”
