Hate Fuck: part two Read Free Page A

against my shoulder. “No, what I do is a job. Working at McDonald’s is a job . Leaving my bed in the middle of the night and getting arrested for murder…that has to be more than a job or you shouldn’t do it.”
    That had been the wrong word choice, but I can’t explain the difference to her. I focus on what I can say. “I didn’t want to leave your bed.”  
    She tenses again, pressing her hands against my chest. Trying to push me way. Not going to fucking happen . I lean into her, over her, moving her back the few inches until she’s pressed against my door. I grab her hands and press her arms over her head. She glares up at me as I dip my head to kiss her again.
    “What? You don’t believe me?”
    She gapes at me for a moment. “I don’t know what to believe,” she finally says, her voice strangled.
    Fuck.
    I’m not going to hold her against the door—kiss her, fuck her, make her scream—if she doesn’t trust me.
    I drop her hands and take a giant step back, my brain scrambling to catch up to the strange feelings coursing through me—possession and fear, yes, but also something else.
    Something dangerous. Something I can’t name.

— three—  

    Hailey

    Cole steps back from me, his expression shuttered and his body tense.
    I’ve made a misstep, I can sense it in the air.
    I go for a flippant response, even though it feels wrong as I say it.
    “You know, for someone who’s become famous for being able to talk rich people out of almost any kind of trouble, you’re not doing a good job of it for yourself.” I wave my hand at his face. “Pull your shit together, Cole.”
    Like a cat, he moves fast and without warning. He grabs my waving wrist again, and we stand there. Me, in shock, him…I’m not sure. He takes another step back into my personal space, and his other hand slides around my hip, twisting me until my front is pressed against the door. It’s not a slam , per se, because it doesn’t hurt, but he’s holding me there. I suck in a breath and hold it, not sure what the hell is going on. I’m not scared , but I’m something. Full of feels, Alison would say.  
    “I’ll pull my shit together before we leave this office.” He spits the words out between gritted teeth, and it should be off-putting, this ridiculous testosterone dump. It is off-putting to my head. Much lower in my body, I’m consumed by a strange sensation to arch into him and make him feel better.  
    I start laughing at the absurdity of the notion that sex would help. He’d been arrested . Lawyers make that better, not fucking. I sigh and twist my head to catch his gaze. “What are you doing? Why did you drag me back here?”
    “Stop talking, Hailey.” A thrill runs through me at the sound of my name on his tongue and the look in his eye. He loosens his grip, leaning his forearm on the door next to my head, his fingers just loosely circling my arm now. His thumb rubs back and forth over the pulse point on the inside of my wrist, making my skin tingle in a strangely soothing way. “I’m not doing anything.”
    I let out the breath I was holding, and it rattles between us in a shaky exhale. “Then…maybe you should let me go.” I pull my hand free from his grasp and turn to face him. I press my palm against his chest. Even vibrating with tension, touching him feels good. Right . Even as I shove against him, pushing him out of my way, I relish the contact. He lets me shift him out of the way. “Whatever is on your mind…just say it.”
    He turns his back to me, staring intently at something on his desk. “Now’s not the time.”
    I glare at his rigid spine until my eyes burn, which doesn’t take long, then I glance down. There’s a big coffee stain on his carpet, I notice randomly. He should have that steam-cleaned.
    Three deep breaths, and I look up. He’s turned back, and whatever that little outburst was all about seems locked down again. Maybe. Barely.
    We stare at each other for a minute. I should