Love to Hate Her, page 20
Years later and look at me, still obsessed with the same girl.
She finally finds the nerve to glance up into my eyes. I wrap the lock around my finger, tugging gently. The way I did that day. “Your hair is shorter than it used to be.”
“I go to a place every year and have them cut off a ten-inch ponytail so they can donate it.”
“Donate it?”
She nods. “To be made into a wig for people who have cancer and lose all their hair.”
Her fingers find the back of my head, running through my hair the way she did in Dallas on the bed. It feels so good, and she smells so good, and I– “Gus is probably waiting on you.”
She shakes her head. “No. He’s not.”
And then she climbs up and over, straddling my legs.
My hand drops to her bare thighs, my gaze follows. “Why do you always wear skirts?”
“I like them. I feel pretty when I wear them.”
“You are pretty when you wear them. You’re always pretty.” She removes the glass from my other hand, taking a small sip before setting it down on the side table.
“How drunk are you?”
“Pretty drunk,” I admit, still staring down at her creamy thighs. How did she get on my lap? Why am I letting her do this to me? “What made you want to become a teacher?” I ask because if I don’t ask her something ordinary, I’m going to kiss her.
I can practically hear her smile. “I’ve always wanted to be a teacher.”
“Why special education? Why autism?”
Because… What are the goddamn odds that Viola–my Viola–would become a special education teacher with a specialty in autism when I just so happen to have an Autistic daughter. I know she didn’t know. I realize she picked this before I had Adalyn. I know this is a coincidence. But, are there really such things?
Does this somehow mean that this woman is meant to be mine?
“I like helping kiddos who need a little extra help. When I was in college, I did a rotation in an elementary school. There was a little boy there who wasn’t verbal and was reported to have a lot of behavioral problems, especially around other kids. Anyway, none of the other students in my group wanted to work with him, but I would catch him watching me, and one day, I sat down next to him. I didn’t talk to him. We just colored together for a while, and then I had to go. The following week, I sat down beside him again, this time I tried signing a little with him while I talked and he listened. He didn’t know much, which was surprising to me since he didn’t speak at all. The main teacher informed me that his parents were in a bit of denial about his diagnosis. Felt he was just being stubborn by not speaking. It broke my heart, and I started teaching him to sign. By the end of my time there, he was signing fluently, and his behavioral outbursts were less. Obviously, he had other deficits, but I felt like I really made a difference in his life. I even sat down with his parents one time, and they agreed to learn to sign and work with him on it. After that, the decision to get my master’s with that as my focus was easy.”
What started out as a nothing of a question has totally and completely blindsided me.
I didn’t realize I could fall in love with her again and again.
But that’s exactly what just happened, right here, right now.
Every goddamn day she does something. Or says something. And I’m a fool all over again. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Smile through everything. Greet every goddamn day with optimism? Don’t you ever feel the weight of it?”
Her hand comes up, running along my jaw, and I close my eyes, leaning into her touch.
“Of course, I do. Sometimes, all that weight sits so heavy on my chest I can hardly breathe through it. My life hasn’t been all that great.” My eyes eat up the lines of her face, so fucking beautiful, even when she frowns the way she is now. “Actually, it’s been pretty shitty, if we’re being honest. And yeah, I could sit around and indulge in that. I could become bitter and resentful. I could give up. It wouldn’t even be that hard to do.” She tilts her head, her hair spilling around her narrow shoulders. “But then where would I be?”
Her question hangs between us, and I have no answers for her. Giving up is not who she is, so I don’t even bother entertaining her rhetorical question.
“I smile through it, Jasper, because it’s so much better than the alternative. All I can do is keep marching forward, hoping the next step I take will be easier than the one before it.”
“I want to make your next steps easier.”
Her eyes glisten at me. “You already have.”
I shake my head. Nothing I’ve done feels like enough for all that she’s done for Adalyn.
For me.
“I’m so happy Adalyn has you,” I tell her with so much sincerity, the truth behind it steals my breath. I am. I’d give anything for this to last beyond the five months. I could offer her a permanent job, but I’m not that brave. My heart wouldn’t be able to take it.
Instead of saying the easy thing. The simple thing. Viola decides this is the moment to steamroll me.
Her fingers rake through my hair, tugging until my eyes drag up to hers.
“I have a million reasons to leave, Jasper. A million. You push me past my every limit day in and day out. You hate me. Ignore me. Fight with me. Tease me. Tempt me. Make me feel alive and forgotten in the same breath. I have a million reasons to leave. I need one reason to stay. One reason that isn’t your little girl.”
I stare into her, my fingers brushing back the long strands of her hair from her face. I hold that reason on my tongue, tasting its sweetness as it burns me like fire. It’s a truth I can’t let go. One I’m not ready for her to have.
I’ll probably never be.
“He loves you. You love him. How’s that for a reason?”
She shakes her head at me, her frustration palpable. “Is that what you’re really thinking right now while I’m sitting on your lap in the dark? With all that we’ve done together this past week? That I love him?”
“It’s the only thing that matters between us.”
“You’re a liar.”
“Am I?” I question, tilting my head, Jules’s words pounding through my skull so loud I can hardly see, let alone think, past them. She loves him. Not you. Again, what reason would Jules have to lie to me about that? They’re best friends. Best friends who likely tell each other everything. Isn’t that what girls do?
“I don’t want to hurt like this when I look at you anymore. I’m tired of hating you while not being able to stop thinking about you.”
My lips descend into the base of her neck, directly over her pulse that thrums beneath me. My eyes close, and I inhale a silent breath. I’m tired of loving you while not being able to have you.
“You don’t hate me, Viola.”
“You’re right. I don’t hate you, Jasper. You’re the one who can’t make up his mind.”
“What is it you’re looking for from me?” I speak against her skin. “What is it you think I have to give you when you belong to him? You want me to stop hating you? Done. You want me to be nice? I can fucking try. You want me to fuck this thing out of us? I will. Tell me what you want, and I’ll give you anything. Because while you have a million reasons to go, and you’re looking for one to stay other than my daughter, she’s the only reason I can give you to stay when I also have a million for you to go.”
Her breath hitches, her head falling back as my tongue swipes out, stealing a taste.
My hands drop from her hair, sliding along her narrow shoulders, over the top of her chest, down her ribs, my thumbs brushing the sides of her full tits through her shirt as I go. Her body trembles against mine as my hands grasp her waist, my nose gliding up the long column of her neck.
My body unable to hold back as I lick and suck and kiss her there.
Only there.
If I kiss her mouth, there will be no going back.
“You need me more than I need you,” she whispers, her voice saturated in desire as she tugs painfully on the ends of my hair, attempting to punish me for punishing her.
I grin against her, nipping her jaw.
“I’ve always needed you more than you need me.” My fingers trail down to the hem of her skirt, toying with the edge. “But the question right now is, how badly do you need this?” I slip under her skirt, skimming up and down her silky panties. I bite back a groan when I feel how wet she is through the thin material. “Is this for me or from him?”
She rasps out something between a moan and a growl. “Nothing between us is about him. When will you finally accept that?”
Everything between us is about him. When will she finally understand that?
“Tell me what you want, and I’ll give you anything,” I murmur again, licking and nibbling along her skin.
I can’t stop. I can’t stop myself even though I know I should. I’ve never tasted her skin before, and now that I have, any willpower I was grasping to has vanished.
I’m an animal with her when all I’ve ever wanted to be is her everything. To own her. Possess her. Drive all else from her mind, but me. I may be drunk, but I’m so fucking high on her.
She yanks back from me, my head lazily falling against the sofa as I gaze up at her, my finger still brushing against her heat. She lets me do this for a moment; my desire reflected back at me in her eyes has my cock straining against my jeans.
I know she feels it.
Feels how hard she makes me.
How easy would it be to shove her panties to the side? To push inside her? To finally feel her?
“Will you?” she asks, and my hand freezes. “Will you really give me anything?”
She clutches my wrist, dragging my hand away from her panties and out from under her skirt. She adjusts her grip, forcing my fingers to my lips. I open automatically, and she slides them into my mouth. I suck her essence off, dying just a little at the way she tastes.
It’s everything and more and not enough.
“Because something tells me that you will not, or cannot, give me the one thing I want.” She leans in, capturing my bottom lip with her teeth and tugging on it, tasting herself. “I can’t have anything less from you than this.” She runs her fingers down my chest, pausing when they’re poised directly over my heart. She pushes in on that spot hard enough that it’s impossible to mistake her meaning. “Let me know if you’re ever ready to put yourself on the line, Jasper. I’ll be waiting.”
And with that, Viola Starr climbs off my lap and walks out my door.
She walks away from me, taking the biggest piece of me with her.
She’s right. I haven’t been willing to put myself on the line. I haven’t been willing to fight. To challenge everything for her. Maybe Jules was lying. Maybe Viola doesn’t love Gus.
Maybe, just maybe, she does want me instead.
If putting myself on the line is the only way I can win her, then I guess I have nothing left to lose.
Except my heart.
Except my brother.
Except my entire goddamn world.
* * *
**Want to know what happens next? Grab your copy of Hate to Love Him and read the thrilling conclusion of Jasper and Viola’s story!
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Also by J. Saman
Wild Minds Duet:
Love to Hate Her
Hate to Love Him
* * *
The Edge Series:
The Edge of Temptation
The Edge of Forever
The Edge of Reason
* * *
Start Again Series:
Start Again
Start Over
Start With Me
* * *
Las Vegas Sin Series:
Touching Sin
Catching Sin
Darkest Sin
* * *
Standalones:
Love Rewritten
Beautiful Potential
Reckless Love
Forward - FREE
End of Book Note
For those of you who haven’t read me before, this is the part of the book where I usually break it all down. Only…this is only book one, so I can’t get too deep into it.
There is so much to Jasper and Viola. So much still to come.
So, I’m just going to say thank you for hanging in there with me. Hopefully you’re invested enough in this couple to read the second book. I seriously cannot wait for you to see Jasper in the second half. He really is everything!
I also have a special surprise for you at the very end.
Thank you to my family and my editor and my betas and my street team and my reader’s group peeps. You’re all amazing!!!
Keep reading for an excerpt of Reckless Love!
XO ~ J. Saman
Reckless Love - Prologue
Lyric
* * *
I can’t stop staring at it. Reading the two short words over and over again ad nauseum. They’re simple. Essentially unimpressive if you think about it. But those two words mean everything. Those two words dive deep into the darkest depths of my soul, the part I’ve methodically shut off over the years, and awaken the dormant volcano. How can two simple words make this well of emotions erupt so quickly?
Come home.
I don’t recognize the number the text came from. It shows up as Unknown. But I don’t have to recognize it. I know who it’s from. Instinctively, I know. At least, my body does, because my heart rate is through the roof. My stomach is clenched tight with violent, poorly concealed, sickly butterflies. My forehead is clammy with a sheen of sweat and my hands tremble as they clutch my phone.
It’s early here in California. Not even dawn, but I’m awake. I’m always awake, even when I’m not, and since my phone has, unfortunately, become another appendage, it’s consistently with me.
It’s a New York area code.
Goddammit! I suck in a deep, shuddering breath of air that does absolutely nothing to calm me, then I respond in the only way I can.
Me: Who is this?
The message bubble appears instantly, like he was waiting for me. Like there is no way this is a wrong number. Like his fingers couldn’t respond fast enough.
Unknown: You know who this is. Come home.
I don’t respond. I can’t. I’m frozen. It’s been four years. Four fucking years. And this is how he reaches out? This is how he contacts me? I slink back down into my bed, pulling the heavy comforter over my head in a pathetic attempt to protect myself from the onslaught of emotions that consume me. I tuck my phone against my chest, over what’s left of my fractured heart.
I’m hurting. I’m angry. I’m so screwed up and broken, and yet, I’m still breaking. How is that even possible? How can a person continue to break when they’re already broken? How can a person I haven’t seen in four years still affect me like this?
I want to throw the traitorous device into the wall and smash it. Toss it out my window as hard as I can and hope it reaches the Pacific at the other end of the beach, where it will be swept away, never to return. But I don’t. Because curiosity is a nefarious bitch. Because I have to know why the man who was my everything and now my nothing is contacting me after all this time, asking me to come home.
Unknown: I’m sitting here in my old room, on my bed, and I can’t focus. I can’t think about what I need to be thinking about. So, I need you to come home.
I shake my head as tears line my eyes, stubbornly refusing to fall but obscuring my vision all the same. Nothing he’s saying makes sense to me. Nothing. It’s completely nonsensical, and yet, it’s not. I still know him well enough to understand both what he’s saying and what he’s not.
Me: Why?
Unknown: Because I need you to.
Me: I can’t. Too busy with work.
That’s sort of a lie. I mean, I am headed to New York for the Rainbow Ball in a few days. But he doesn’t need to know that. And I do not want to see him. I absolutely, positively, do not.
Unknown: My dad had a stroke
My eyes cinch shut, and I cover them with one hand. I can’t breathe. A gasped sob escapes the back of my throat, burning me with its raw taste. God. Now what the hell am I going to do? I love his father. Jesus Christ. How can I say no to him now? How can I avoid this the way I so desperately need to? Shit.
Me: I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Is he okay?
Unknown: He’ll live, but he’s not great. He’s in the ICU. Worse than he was after the heart attack.
I shake my head back and forth. I can’t go. I can’t go home. I was there two months ago to visit my parents and my sister’s family. I have work—so much freaking work that I can barely keep up. I don’t want to see him. I won’t survive it. I’ll see him, and I’ll feel everything I haven’t allowed myself to feel. I’ll be sucked back in.
Things are different now.
They are. My situation has changed completely, but I never had the guts to call him and tell him that. Mostly because I was hurt. Mostly because I felt abandoned and brushed off. Mostly because I was terrified that it wouldn’t matter after all this time apart. If I see him now, knowing how much has changed…Shit. I just…Fuck. I can’t.
I don’t know what to do.
I’m drenched in sweat. The blanket I sought refuge in is now smothering me. I’m relieved his father is alive. I still speak to him once a month. Wait, let me amend that—he still calls me once a month. And we talk. Not about Jameson. Never about him. Only about me and my life. I’m a wreck that Jameson is contacting me. I can’t play this game. I never could. It was all or nothing with him.
Unknown: I miss you.
I stare at the words, read them over again, then respond too quickly, Liar.
Unknown: Never. I miss you so goddamn much.
I think I just died. Everything inside me has stopped. My heart is not beating. My breath has stalled inside my chest, unable to be expelled. My mind is completely blank. And when everything comes back to life, I’m consumed with an angry, caustic fury I never knew I was capable of.
