I Need You To Hate Me, page 5
“Were you out last night?” I ask Liv, even though I know they were out and didn’t get back till late. I remember the emptiness of the house and the strange feeling of…being left out? It’s not like they owe me anything, I just met them—but I thought… What? What did I think—that they were going to invite me to everything?
“Yeah, we were at the club,” Liv says. Ace throws a warning look to Liv, but she continues, “You can come next Saturday—”
At this, Ace cuts her off. “No. She can’t.”
My mouth gapes open. Undoubtedly, Ace is back to his usual charming self. I can’t say I’ve missed it. Liv shoots him an irritated glance, a promise that she’ll confront him, but not in front of me. Frustration runs through my veins—why am I this bothered that Ace doesn’t like me? I’ve never been one to seek approval for my character or actions.
Zach sets up the classic game of Scrabble, and we begin to assemble words. Occasionally, an argument erupts between Josh and Theo about a word’s legitimacy and results in Liv retrieving a dictionary.
“Come on, have a drink with us,” Josh begs me. I’m about to decline for the third time. He’s very persistent, but I’m unable to drink alcohol again this weekend.
“She doesn’t want one,” Ace says. All eyes go to him, he isn’t drinking either. He doesn’t meet my inquisitive gaze, and I’m confused by his contradicting actions.
“Actually, Josh, I think I might have what you are,” I say, glancing at Josh with a wide smile. He’s holding a glass with what seems to be a fruity soda, but there’s no doubt in my mind about how much alcohol it contains. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Ace looking at me, and his jaw strains in…aggravation?
The next morning, I walk downstairs after my shower to find Ace in the kitchen with his back to me. Great. I assumed waking up earlier would allow me to avoid this exact situation—avoid him. The fact that he’s shirtless doesn’t help. The morning sun glimmers on his back, and I’m unable to look away. I snicker as the scene unfolds in front of me.
This is the very last thing I expected to see—Ace flipping pancakes by the window. I didn’t take him for a pancake guy. I have the urge to kick myself for finding him even the slightest bit attractive, but the feeling comes to an end when he turns around and opens his mouth.
“Done staring?” Ace asks, arching an eyebrow with every amount of arrogance possible. My cheeks flush a shade darker, but I keep my eyes on him, not bothering to look away or give him the satisfaction of my embarrassment, now that I’ve been caught red-handed.
“Do you have a personality disorder?” I ask, catching him off-guard. At this, he raises both eyebrows and his full lips turn up at the corners in amusement.
“No. I don’t, Calla,” he says as if it were a common question. His eyes don’t look away from me, waiting for my reaction.
“What did I do for you to hate me then?” That’s the only other explanation for him to act like this towards me. There’s a long pause before he decides to answer. The words that flow out of his mouth next make me reconsider asking him.
“For me to hate you, I’d need to feel something—and frankly, I feel nothing for you.”
Asshole. I wasn’t prepared for that, and I resist the urge to punch him again—my hand is still swathed in a bandage from Friday night. “That seems blatantly untrue, considering your reaction to learning that I was staying here. You know, you shouldn’t lie to yourself.”
Ace scoffs, his eyes never leaving mine. “That’s ironic coming from you…” He makes a stride towards me, and I suck in a breath. “Have you admitted to yourself that you find me impulsively attractive?”
When I don’t reply, he smirks. “I’ll take that as a no.”
He’s unbearable—I can’t deal with him. “Wow, can we just pretend for one moment that you’re not an arrogant asshole?”
“But I’m only getting started,” he says, testing my patience.
“Ugh, I think I actually hate you!” I’ve never met someone more infuriating than him.
“Good. You’d be stupid not to.” The assertiveness that spills from that sentence astonishes me, and yet, I can’t seem to pinpoint what it is about him that seems to keep me on edge.
“Pancakes?” He places the warm plate in front of me, which is topped with whipped cream.
I glower at the pancakes and then back at him, dumbfounded once again by how he seems to change his mood from one extreme to the other. It’s exhausting to know where I stand with him.
In the heat of the moment, I grab the stupid pancake with the whipped cream and splatter it on his smug face. I don’t stick around to see his reaction—grabbing my bag from the chair, I storm outside.
The mild exercise calms me as I walk to campus through the shortcut that Liv showed me. My day is already cursed from the bitter morning run-in with the asshole that I’m living with. I only hope that it gets better from here—but it doesn’t.
I stride into my first class right as it begins, eager to see Theo—he never fails to brighten my mood. That thought is short-lived, and the smile that I managed to put on my face disintegrates into thin air when I notice Ace next to Theo. Damn his motorcycle.
Glancing towards the back of the room, I consider taking one of the empty seats there, but I don’t want to give Ace that satisfaction. Instead, I push my shoulders back and head towards them.
“Hey, Theo!” I say and then turn to Ace. “Hi, Ace. I hope you enjoyed your pancakes this morning,” I say sweetly, forcing a wide smile. He narrows his eyes at me, and I sit next to Theo, but not before noticing the way a hint of a smile plays on Ace’s mouth.
The professor discusses our assessment piece. “This year’s assignment will focus on the current social issues. You will work with a partner, and both of you will choose different topics which you must synthesize to form a well-drawn analysis on how these issues overlap.” He walks from one end of the room to the other while speaking. “Perhaps you would like to draw from your personal experiences. In fact, as this is a team-building assignment, I would encourage all of you to get to know your partners and conceivably share why this topic is important to you.”
I can already tell that this assignment is going to be challenging. I’m not willing to share my personal life or thoughts with a stranger.
“Open your devices and head to the assessment tab, where you’ll find an extensive list of issues to choose from. After choosing, you will automatically be linked with your partner based on which topic you have both picked.”
My eyes scan through the list of issues; they’re all broad. My eyes land on one: divorce rates and their impact on children. My parents were happily married, so this would be an ideal topic to cover without getting personal with someone. As soon as I click it, Ace’s name pops up with the issue that he chose: the effects of alcohol abuse, and how it impacts families.
This can’t be happening—out of all the people in this class, we choose matching topics. After this morning, the last thing I want to do is to spend time with Ace. It will drive me to the point of total insanity. On top of that, the issue that Ace picked hits a little too close to home.
“Who did you get?” Theo asks, peering over from his laptop. “Ace Blackwell,” he reads from my screen. “Hey, Ace! You and Calla are partners,” Theo says, elbowing him lightly to get his attention.
I don’t have to look up at Ace to know what his expression is like. We’re both not thrilled about this. I spend the rest of the day consumed by the thought of spending time with Ace. I deliberate talking to the professor about changing topics, but Ace has already done that—I noticed that he stayed back after class, and I assume it didn’t go well.
I persuade myself that, perhaps, this might not be too bad. I’m intrigued to get to know Ace Blackwell, to find out why he is the way he is: angry at the world, bad-tempered, and an outright asshole. Is it worth risking my vulnerability to find out his?
I’m grateful that Nate doesn’t come into the café while I’m working today and surprised when Mia says, “There’s this thing on Thursday night, drinks and music by the lake. Lots of people from the campus are going; wanna come?”
It’s the first time she has talked to me like a friend and not a co-worker. “Sure,” I say. It will be refreshing to get out of the house and spend some time with Mia outside of work.
When I get home, Ace is talking on the phone through his door. His voice is soft and filled with something that I didn’t think he was capable of…warmth? I’m unsure who he’s talking to, and before I question what the hell I’m doing, I raise my hand and knock.
“I’ll call you back, yeah?” he says into the phone.
The lock clicks, and the door swings open. Ace’s face is inches from mine. Before I can stop myself, my eyes travel down his chest, lingering on the ink that covers his whole body. Doesn’t he own a freaking shirt?
“Can I help you, or didn’t you get enough of a show this morning?”
Taking my attention off him, I grind my teeth. How can one be so full of themselves? I look past him to get a glimpse of his room, mostly because I don’t want to look anywhere in his direction and give him the wrong idea. I’m not interested in him, but one can certainly appreciate his looks. My eyes land on a bookshelf, and my eyebrows furrow in confusion. Ace reads? I doubt that—it’s probably just for show.
“Do you think you can be civil for this assignment?” I bring my eyes back to his.
“Hmm.” He leans against the doorframe. “Like friends?” he says, mostly to himself, weighing his options. I roll my eyes at his egotism.
“Yes.” I’m irritated again.
“One would think that your actions this morning were extremely unfriendly,” he says with a hint of amusement. Ah, he’s mad about the pancakes.
“You deserved it.”
“It wasn’t enough when your fist collided with me on Friday night, no?”
“That…was an accident,” I retort.
Ace tilts his head to the side and raises one of his dark eyebrows. Was it? “You know this assignment requires getting to know each other.”
“I heard the instructions,” I say.
“Well, in that case…” He steps closer. “You asked for it. By the end of this assignment, I will learn everything there is to know about you. Your flaws, everything that makes you tick—all your sensitive little buttons. How does that sound?”
Is he hoping that I will back down? I don’t.
“Asshole,” I mutter.
“Goodnight, Calla.” He shuts the door in my face. I groan in frustration, and I swear there’s a small chuckle from the other side.
7
Playing with Fire
BEING FRIENDS WITH Ace is like playing with fire, hoping that I don’t get burned. For the most part, we have kept out of each other’s way.
I still haven’t been able to write anything for the university newspaper, and I question why I’m even pursuing this career if I can’t write a single article. It’s like the part of me that had previously been able to come up with ideas is buried, unable to come up for air.
I don’t have to work today, and I’m back at the house earlier than usual. I recall Liv telling me that she and Zach won’t be home till later and I’m left in the house alone. After reading a book and watching a movie on my laptop, I head downstairs to get some water.
From the kitchen, I notice Ace’s door is open—it’s never open. And I wasn’t aware he was home. I use this opportunity to grab one of my notebooks from upstairs and stand in his doorway, clearing my throat.
“What?” he arches his eyebrows but doesn’t look up from the laptop.
“The assignment? I thought we could go over a few things now,” I say.
I look around his room—it’s much bigger than mine, and his king-sized bed fits comfortably in the middle. There are no windows, but a large sliding door, slightly ajar, leads to the back patio, where a small wooden table is filled with auburn leaves. The sun is almost set behind the mountains miles away, and the breeze sweeps through, carrying the promise of colder days.
“I’m busy.”
Of course he is, but the assignment isn’t going to write itself. Ignoring him, I walk over to the edge of his bed, laying my notebook out. I sit as far away from him as I can, crossing my legs. His mouth twitches; is he holding back a smile?
I pick up my pen, twirling it around my fingers. “Are you always such an asshole when you first meet someone?”
He closes his laptop, giving me all his attention. I lean back; if I move a little more, I will end up on the floor.
“Hmm?” I prompt under his gaze when he doesn’t answer, because the tautness is getting too much. Why is he staring at me like that?
“Only when it works them up so much.” He smirks, finding humor in my discomfort. I pick up the notebook and pretend to write something in it. Ace raises an eyebrow in question.
“Why does it bother you if I don’t like you?” he asks, leaning forward, and I pause. “But it’s not just me, is it? Why does it bother you if someone doesn’t like you?”
My bottom lip grazes my teeth, and I consider the question. Ace is right, partially. It does bother me if someone doesn’t like me, but it bothers me more that it’s him. I’m not going to tell him that.
“Do you read?” I glance towards the large bookshelf, taking the conversation off myself.
“Mostly autobiographies. Some classics.” He understands what I’m trying to do but doesn’t mention it. I realize he has the tendency to do that—he didn’t question me about the passenger-seat-at-night issue, and now, he isn’t insistent on answers.
“Why did you pick this topic for the assignment?” I ask, crossing into a boundary that may be personal. His face twists into a grimness that I haven’t seen him show before, something between sorrow and rage.
“It’s a vast issue in society, something that needs to be talked about more often,” he says but doesn’t expand.
So, we’re going to beat around the bush for this assignment. Both of us are unwilling to talk about the personal connections that we may have with the issues at hand or answer any question that perhaps hits too close to home. I look at the blank page on the notepad.
He sighs. “I’ve witnessed the way alcohol abuse can tear families apart.”
Is this what Liv was talking about at the party? He went through something a couple of years ago.
My dad and I have also experienced firsthand the vile consequences of alcohol. “We don’t have to talk about it,” I say.
“It’s kind of the whole point of the assignment.”
Precisely what I tried to avoid by picking an issue that didn’t hold any personal sentiment. “Okay,” I say and motion for him to continue his story.
He narrows his eyes at me like he expects me to be the one to tell him something, and when I don’t, he opens his laptop back up. “Research it is.”
I retrieve my laptop from upstairs, and we both begin working on the assignment—Ace researches the sources, and I make a note of them, combining the information together.
The more I spend time with him, the more I wonder if we have simply got off on the wrong foot—perhaps it’s easier to hate the idea of someone but more difficult to hate them when they’re right in front of you.
Ace gives me his full attention, occasionally filling the silence in the room with questions that are easy to answer and don’t put a heaviness on either of us, but they also have nothing to do with the assignment.
“I can’t believe you don’t know who the Arctic Monkeys are. They are the most superior band of all time,” he says. It’s refreshing to see this part of him, less of the asshole and more of the ardent side.
I roll my eyes and press my lips together. “I suppose you’re going to tell me that you also like Nickelback.”
He shakes his head in disbelief and reveals a crooked grin. “I’m not going to be shamed for my music choice by someone who probably listens to Hannah Montana.” I refrain from asking him what’s wrong with that. I’m confident he’ll find plenty of issues with it, and I won’t be able to live it down.
My arm supports my weight on the bed, and I leave my legs dangling off the side. When I glimpse back up at Ace, it seems as though he’s moved closer—the faint contact when our hands brush causes my mouth to dry. I clear my throat, looking down at the notes I took in my notebook, not at all interested in them.
“Almost half of the marriages in the United States end in divorce,” Ace reads from a website. “One would think it’s like taking a gamble.”
“But wouldn’t you want to take that gamble with the person you love?”
He sneers. “There are other ways to show someone you love them.”
“So, you don’t believe in marriage?” I prompt.
I’m not sure if I believe in it myself. I’d like to think I do, since my parents were happily married for more than fifteen years, but at the end of the day, it’s a meaningless concept. However, I certainly wouldn’t be opposed to it if I met the right person—far, far in the future.
“Did I say that?”
“You’re certainly implying it.”
“My father was unfaithful to my mom through their whole marriage. I’m allowed to have doubts about the process,” he says.
Ace sighs silently as if he didn’t mean to reveal that fragment of his past. Another piece of the puzzle comes together and renders Ace that much less hateable. I don’t say anything, not knowing what the right thing to say is in this situation.
I change the subject. Something that I’ve become accustomed to doing when anyone asks me questions about myself. “If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?”
Ace closes his laptop. “Norway. It’s quiet, the scenery is remarkable, it’s cold. And let’s not forget the Northern Lights,” he says, looking into the distance. We both like the cold—interesting.
