P.S. I Loathe You

by Isla Olsen

“Your sister’s birthday?” Natasha asks, and I can hear the amusement in her voice. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s mandatory.”

When I finally reach our table, I’m not surprised to be on the end of exasperated looks from both of my parents. When I get to Devon and Emma, though, the thunderous glare Devon sends my way seems slightly uncalled for. Sure, I’m a half hour late. And, yes, I’m in jeans and a leather jacket—not the dressy attire everyone else at the table has donned for the evening. But, come on, it’s not like I just forced him to watch while I tortured his cat to death or something.

I don’t know why, but from the moment I met Wes Holt two years ago, everything about him has just rubbed me the wrong way. As far as I can see he only has one redeeming quality, and that is how much he cares about his sister.

It is frustrating, though; Emma is the perfect woman for me in every way, except for the unavoidable lifetime attachment to the giant prat that is her brother.

“Don’t be a spoiled sport, Em,” Wes says, his mouth curved into a smirk. “Mum don’t listen to her—you go ahead and buy all the holiday homes you want, anywhere you want them. And when you’re redrafting your will, just keep in mind that I was the one who encouraged your dreams.” “I’ll do that, Wesley. Thank you,” Jaclyn says dryly.

“Sir Devon had a go at me about my new tatt tonight.” Natasha’s brows shoot up. “Why?” I groan, tossing my head back. “Who knows? I guess really hot ink affects his delicate sensibilities.”

The thing is there’s something Natasha doesn’t know. Something that I will never in a million years admit to her or anyone else. And that is that I do think of Devon and sex together. A lot. Far more than is healthy.

Fantasy is one thing; reality is a whole other story. And if Devon hates me now, I can only imagine the skyrocketing of hostility if he ever got wind of some of the fantasies playing out in my dirty mind.

“Devon, do you really think the best reason to get married is because our families will be disappointed if we don’t?”

“There are many reasons for my good mood, Devon. There’s a new season of Bake Off on, a client gifted me a whole box of chocolate cronuts, I got tickets to see The Strokes again next year—it’s a great time to be alive.”

“They didn’t say so, but I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s the real reason for the split. I mean, Sir Devon is pretty much chained to his desk. Can’t imagine he’d be willing to give that up so his wife could take a new job in another country.” “Huh. So, she’s going to be Emma in Paris. That’s cute.”

“Who am I kidding?” I mutter. “If Daniel had discovered that information, he’d have taken it to his grave. The man has the moral compass of a toad.” “That’s not fair,” Rosh says, sounding a little disappointed. “I’m sure the noble toad has an excellent moral compass.” I let out a soft chuckle. “We are talking about creatures who copulate by jumping on top of any female that happens to be hopping by.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out, the corner of my mouth tilting up when I see it’s another email from Waho. I have no idea why I’m still emailing this guy, but I’m starting to feel like I’m a little bit hooked. Maybe it’s because he’s already seen me on my worst behaviour, or because I really don’t care what he thinks of me, but I find it kind of fun to vent to him, and maybe even a little cathartic…even if he does have the sympathetic ear of a garden slug.

see you’ve taken the Black-Tie Optional instructions to heart.” I turn at the sound of the familiar condescending drawl to find Devon giving my jeans and t-shirt ensemble a disapproving once-over.

He has a new ring in his bottom lip, and I’m certain the whole purpose of it is to drive me insane. “Really? Another new piercing?” I finally ask, unable to stop myself.

“Why is it that when Kate Moss does it she’s a fashion icon, but somehow I’m trash?” He screws his nose up in distaste. “I’m not really into Kate Moss, to be honest. I can see why you might find her attractive, though.” I let out a bark of laughter. “Why on earth would you think I’d be attracted to Kate Moss?” “Well, she is a model, so…” I scrutinise his baffled expression for a long moment. “You do know I’m gay, right?”

He offers a self-deprecating smile. “Yeah. Sorry. It’s just…you don’t really look…” he trails off, shaking his head again. I let out a breath of laughter, mildly amused by the uncharacteristic inability to find words. “I get it, it’s confusing. The good news is I’m still allowed to put my cock in other guys’ arses even if I don’t walk around wearing sparkly hot pants and waving a rainbow flag.”

narrow my eyes at him. Could this guy be any more of a fucking snob? “Yes, I went to uni. Visual Arts major. Minored in Business.” “Wow, that’s…wow.” He gives a slight shake of his head, as though he can barely believe what he’s hearing. “Should I be offended that you seem more surprised about this than the fact I like cock?”

I must be going mad. There’s just no way. Out of the billions of people in the world, there is no possible way I’ve spent the past few weeks emailing with Wes Holt. And yet, I just can’t seem to shake the suspicion…

“Oh my god, Wes. I know who this is.” My jaw practically hits the table. “What? How could you possibly know? He’s a stranger from the internet. He could be in Australia, or Denmark, or Indonesia for all we know.” “He has a dot UK email address, and he follows Chelsea, not to mention all the British slang—I think it’s safe to assume he’s from here.”

“Look, just hear me out, okay? And whatever you do…don’t freak out.” “Okay…” I lean back in my chair, suddenly overcome by a sense of wariness. “Who is it then?” She draws in a breath, as though she’s preparing to deliver news of a fatal diagnosis. “Devon.”

“I think you’re reaching,” I manage to cut in, although I’m starting to get a queasy feeling in my stomach. She lets out annoyed huff. “Fine then. Time for the coup de grace: I don’t know which team Devon supports, but I do know that Ryan’s daughter is named Lola. I talked to him at Emma’s party, and he mentioned she’d just turned four.” I shake my head in denial. “No. No this can’t be right.”

“If history has taught us anything, it’s that you have a horrible gaydar, Wesley.” I shake my head slowly. This just doesn’t make sense. Yes, I’ve thought about it. I’ve dreamed about it. I’ve tossed off to incredibly vivid fantasies of it more times than I can count. But the idea of Devon Montgomery genuinely being interested in having another guy’s cock up his arse, or down his throat, or really anywhere in his general vicinity outside of my imagination just seems ludicrous. It’s as though Natasha is trying to convince me that the sky is green.

Before I can second-guess myself, I close the distance between us, kicking the front door shut behind me as I wrap my hand around the back of his head and draw him in, crashing my lips to his.

Wes Holt: Maybe the prick had a reason for bolting Me: Such as? Wes Holt: An urgent game of shuffleboard Despite myself, I can’t help letting out a snort of laughter at that. Me: Pretty sure that’s the first time the words ‘urgent’ and ‘shuffleboard’ have been used in the same sentence

“It’s not a big issue. Trust me. This thing with Devon is purely physical. It’s just two guys who hate each other expressing that hatred in a very productive way.”

“Beautiful,” Wes murmurs, brushing a kiss to my forehead. “You’re fucking gorgeous when you come.”

“No one’s ever looked at me like that before,” I murmur. “Like what?” The curiosity in his tone is evident; I can’t even begin to imagine how strange my behaviour must have seemed to him earlier. I hesitate for a moment, trying to put my thoughts into words. “Like they’ve never wanted anything or anyone more than they wanted me in that moment.” He’s quiet for a long beat before responding in a soft whisper. “I’ve never wanted anything or anyone more than I want you.”

“And I don’t mean just in that moment. It’s all the fucking time. If that’s something that scares you, I’m sorry but you’ll just have to get over it because I’m completely, utterly addicted to you.”

“You’re definitely a problem. But I don’t plan on breaking the habit anytime soon.” I feel a grin spreading across my face. “Thank god.”

“Just looking up at the stars. Bold design choice, but I think it works.” Devon lets out a little breath of laughter and steps into the room, coming to sit on the floor beside the couch. “Thanks, but I can’t take the credit. This was here when I moved in. The couple I bought the place from had a little girl who died from brain cancer not long before they sold the place,” he says solemnly. “I just didn’t have the heart to take them down.”

I bend down and open the bottom drawer, finding a stack of neatly folded t-shirts. I select the first one from the pile, and when I unfold it, I’m shocked to see it’s another one of mine—the Kaiser Chiefs one I’d been wearing the night we first hooked up. “Have you stolen all of my t-shirts?” Devon just shrugs, looking all innocent. “You left it here. Completely fair game.” “Uh huh.” I tug the t-shirt over my head and exit Devon’s wardrobe. “I’m on to you Mr. Sticky Fingers.”

“Drawing you like one of my French girls,” I say with a quirk of my lips. I adjust the pillow behind my back and grip my digital sketchbook tighter to prevent it from slipping off my knee. Devon lets out a loud chuckle, his whole face lighting up with a broad grin. “Can I see?” I shrug and tilt my sketchpad so he can see what I’ve drawn so far, which is basically just his arse and upper thighs. “Nice. I like how you’re really focusing in on my best feature.”

Her face forms into a concerned frown as she studies me. “You don’t like…fancy him, do you?” I sigh, glancing behind me to make sure Wes is still upstairs. “I don’t know, okay?” I admit. “I don’t know what this is. But I’d really appreciate it if the judgey comments could be kept to a minimum.”

Wes Holt: Jeez you’re jumpy! Me: What do you expect? You’re groping me in front of my sister! Wes Holt: This isn’t groping. I can show you groping 5535756841 Me: DO NOT show me

look. “Okay, I want to know how this happened. When it happened. What exactly is going on…” “How thorough do you want us to be?” Wes asks. “I mean, do you want to know where? How many times? What posit—oomph,” he breaks off with a groan as I elbow him in the side. “Sorry.” I offer Kira an apologetic wince. “He’s not exactly trained for polite

I rest my own hand on top of Wes’s, sliding my fingers between his. He gently shifts his hand so his is palm up underneath mine before linking our fingers again. It’s such a simple gesture, but at the same time it feels monumental; like the first time we cuddled. Holding hands is just something we’re going to do from now on, I can tell.

“Well, we’re basically shagging exclusively. And we’re sleeping at each other’s places. And spooning. And we had brunch with his sister. And we hang out and watch TV…” “Okay, so you’re boyfriends.” “Whoa!” I hold my hands up to ward of that crazy notion. “We are not boyfriends.”

“Are you going to tell Emma?” she asks curiously. “Yeah, of course. She’s back next week for Christmas, we’ll tell her then.” Tash shrugs. “Sounds like you’re boyfriends to me.” “Clearly you have no idea what a boyfriend is if you think that’s what we are.” I tear off another chunk of muffin and stuff it into my mouth.

My face splits into a broad grin. “You must be Millie.” I cast a sideways glance at Devon, offering an amused smirk. “Looks like both the Montgomery siblings are batting above their average.” Devon gives a wry shake of his head. “Wow. A whole thirty seconds. I think that’s a new record.” Millie, meanwhile, lets out a tinkling laugh, her eyes alight with amusement. “I like this one.”

“I cannot believe I have to separate two grown men like I’m a fucking kindergarten teacher,” Millie mutters. Reluctantly, Devon and I move to our assigned stools while Millie resumes her instruction of the class.

Me: This sucks. I can’t believe you got us in trouble with the teacher Devon Montgomery: You’re the one who tackled me! Me: I don’t like this. You’re too far away Devon Montgomery: I’m literally in the same room as you Me: I don’t like when we’re in the same room and I can’t touch you

I shake my head. “What’s happened to you, Devon Montgomery? Sneaking around behind the teacher’s back? Instigating clay fights? Stealing t-shirts? Where is this wild behaviour coming from?”

“I need to get some of this shit out of my hair,” he explains, nodding to the basin in front of us. “What, you don’t like the new look?” I tease. “It’s very Terracotta Army chic.”

“Seriously, the two of you…I didn’t really understand it when Kira tried to explain it to me, but I get it now.” My forehead creases in confusion. “You get what?” She offers a soft smile. “How perfect you guys are for each other.” My brows shoot up to my hairline. “Um…I think the word you’re looking for is ‘dysfunctional’.”

I’ve never been an overnight kind of guy, and I definitely never imagined that this thing with Devon would get to the point where I can barely stand to be away from him, but that is exactly what’s happened. Ever since that break we took while he was in Paris, it’s like we just haven’t been able to get enough of each other.

“Christmas, huh? Isn’t that something boyfriends usually do?” “I was thinking more…boyfrienemies.” He lets out a soft chuckle. “Is that a thing?” “Of course, it’s a thing!” “Okay then, what do boyfrienemies do?” he asks with an indulgent smile. “Well, they have really great sex, and they kiss, and hold hands, and go out. And they don’t do any of that with other people,” I explain. “And they get to insult each other whenever they want, and fight over anything but mainly TV and football, and they steal orange juice and t-shirts from each other…”

“For fuck’s sake, Emma. I’m not mad at you for getting pregnant. I’m mad at you for trying to drag me into whatever bullshit you’re concocting to make your parents happy. I’ve moved on,” I tell her, my eyes boring into hers with complete sincerity. “I’m happy. I’m in love with someone else. I don’t want any part of this.”

“We’re boyfrienemies,” Wes announces brightly, reaching for my hand. Emma’s brows draw together in confusion. “Is that a thing?” “Of course, it is,” Wes says without a shred of doubt.

“Can we maybe just forget about what happened earlier?” Emma asks hopefully. Wes lets out a loud rumble of laughter, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “Oh, I don’t think so, Em. You went full nutso and you have to pay. Today will forever be known as the day you tried to convince my boyfrienemy to pretend to be your baby daddy.”