The Hating Game

by Sally Thorne

“Shortcake, if we were flirting, you’d know about it.”

“Because I’d be traumatized?” “Because you’d be thinking about it later on, lying in bed.”

All I want to do is kiss you until I fall asleep. I want to slide in between your sheets, and find out what goes on inside your head, and underneath your clothes. I want to make a fool of myself over you.

Well, you win the Kiss Competition, Joshua Templeman. I was afraid you would.

Maybe he’s never hated me. Maybe he’s always wanted me.

I spot a little origami bird made of notepaper I once flicked at him during a meeting.

I notice my Post-it note with the kiss on it stuck to the fridge and point at it.

“Is this your favorite color?” “Yes.”

“I was thinking how big you are.”

“I’ll fit you just right.”

“If you’re going to fit me so well, show me.” “I will.”

He couldn’t imagine you with anyone but himself.

When it all comes to an end, I’m going to remember this.

“But you know he’s in love with you, right?”

I’m falling, completely falling, and I look up as he falls too.

Brute, raw masculinity contrasted with gentleness is the most attractive thing on earth.

“I love you, Lucy Hutton. So much, you have no idea. Please be my best friend.”