The Hating Game: A Novel

We walk into his apartment and he puts my overnight bag with his in the bedroom, like I am returning home. I use the bathroom and when I come out, he’s making me a cup of tea with the concentration of a scientist.

He takes one look at my face. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me.”

My stomach drops out of my body and I grip the edge of the counter. He knows. He’s a mind reader. My eyes are love-hearts.

“You’re completely freaking out,” he states flatly. I can’t do anything but make awkward eye-slides and lip-nibbles. I look at his front door. I can’t get past him, he’ll be too quick.

“No chance. Get on the couch,” he scolds. “Get. Go on.”

I slip my shoes off and go and scrunch myself in a ball on his couch, hugging the ribbon-cushion.

He’s right, I am completely freaking out. It’s the mother of all freak-outs. I’ve completely lost my voice.

I talk to myself in the privacy of my head.

You love him. You love him. You always have. More than you’ve ever hated him. Every day, staring at this man, knowing every color and expression and nuance.

Every game you’ve ever played has been to engage with him. Talk to him. Feel his eyes on you. To try to make him notice you.

“I’m such an idiot,” I breathe.

I open my eyes and nearly scream. He’s standing over me with a mug and a plate.

“I simply can’t condone this level of freak-out,” he says, and gives me a sandwich. He puts the mug on the coffee table. He disappears for a minute then comes back with my gray fleecy blanket.

It’s like he knows I’ve had some kind of shock. He tucks me in on all sides, brings me an extra pillow. Who knows what my face looks like. I avoided looking at myself in the bathroom.

My teeth begin to chatter and I reach for what is quite a good-looking sandwich. No shoddy workmanship here. It’s even cut in half diagonally; my favorite.

I chew like a chipmunk, using my tiny prehensile paws to rip off the crust. I’ve got bright, shifty button eyes and puffed-up cheeks.

“You have not said a word to me since I woke you up. You look shell-shocked. Your hands are shaking. Low blood sugar? Bad dreams? Carsick?”

He discards his plate, his sandwich untouched.

“You’re still tired. You have stomach pains.” Josh begins to rub my feet through the blanket. When he speaks again, it’s so low I can barely hear.

“You’ve realized what a mistake you’ve made, being with me.”

“No,” I blurt through my mouthful. I close my eyes. The worried line on his brow is killing me.

“No?”

I feel terrible. I’m ruining what was the beautiful bubble of energy from our drive home.

“Today is Sunday,” I respond after a lot of deliberation.

“Tomorrow is Monday,” he returns. We both sip from our mugs. The Staring Game has commenced, and I am welling up with questions I am dying to ask, but I have no idea how to go about it.

“Truth or Dare,” he says. He always knows the exact right thing to say.

“Dare.”

“Coward. Okay, I dare you to eat the entire jar of hot mustard I have in my fridge.”

“I was hoping for a sexy dare.”

“I’ll get you a spoon.”

“Truth.”

“Why are you freaking out?” He takes a bite of sandwich.

I sigh so deeply my lungs hurt. “I wasn’t ready for this, and I am having some scary feelings and thoughts.”

He studies me, looking for any trace of lie. He can’t find any. It’s abbreviated, but it’s the truth.

“Truth or Dare?”

“Truth,” he says, unblinking. There is some low afternoon light coming through the windows and I can see the cobalt facets of his eyes. I have to close mine a moment until the pain of his beauty eases.

“What are the marks in your planner?” It pops into my head. He didn’t answer last time; I doubt he will now.

He smiles and looks at his plate. “It’s a bit juvenile.”

“I’d expect nothing less of you.”

“I record whether you’re wearing a dress or skirt. D, or S. I make a mark when we argue, and I make a mark when I see you smile at someone else. Also, when I wish I could kiss you. The dots are just my lunch break.”

“Oh. Why?” My stomach trills.

He considers. “When you get so little of someone, you take what you can get.”

“How long have you done it?”

“Since the second day of B and G. The first day was a bit of a blur. I’ve always meant to compile some stats. Sorry. Saying it aloud sounds insane.”

“I wish I’d thought of doing it, if it makes you feel better. I’m equally insane.”

“You cracked the shirt code pretty quick.”

“Why do you even wear them in sequence?”

“I wanted to see if you noticed. And once you did notice, it pissed you off.”

“I’ve always noticed.”

“Yeah, I know.” He smiles, and I smile too. I feel him take my foot in his hands and he begins to rub.

“Those days-of-the-week shirts have been oddly comforting.” I lie back and look at the ceiling. “No matter what’s going on, I know I’m going to walk in and see white. Off-white. Cream. Pale yellow. Mustard. Baby blue. Bedroom blue. Dove. Navy. Black.” I’m ticking them off on my fingers.

“You forgot, poor old mustard has been replaced. Anyway, you won’t be seeing my stupid shirts soon. Mr. Bexley has told the interview panel to have a decision by Friday.”

“But that’s only a day after the interview.” I’d thought maybe there would be a week or two of deliberation. I’m going to either be victorious or unemployed next Friday? “I feel sick.”

“He’s told them if they haven’t worked out who’s the right candidate five minutes into the interview, they’re morons.”

“He better not try to sway the interview panel. We need this to be fair. Ugh, I hadn’t thought about reporting to Mr. Bexley directly, without you as the buffer. I tell you, Josh, the man has x-ray eyes.”

“I want to blind him with acid.”

“You keep a vial of acid in your drawer?”

“You should know. You’ve been snooping in my desk and planner.”

There is censure in his tone but his eyes remain friendly as he slides his thumb into my arch and makes me purr.

“You’d resign, if I got the job?” He says it gently.

“Yes. I’m sorry, but I’d have to. At first it was my pride making me say it. But now it’s clearly the only option. I want you to know, that if they decide you’re a better fit for the role, I’ll resign happily. I’ll be happy for you, Josh, I swear. I know more than anyone how hard you’ve worked for it.”

I arch a little and sigh. “You’d be my boss. It’d be hot as hell, making out with the COO every chance I got, but we’d get caught for sure.”

“But if you get it?”

“I can’t expect you to resign, but I can’t be your boss. I’d give you inappropriate tasks and Jeanette would have a stroke.”

“And if I were your boss, I’d work you so fucking hard. So fucking hard.”

“Mmmm. I’d have dirty dreams all night.”

“You told my parents I was probably about to be chief operating officer. Did you mean it, or were you just adding to your long list of brags about me? It’s okay if you didn’t mean it.”

“If I were the recruiting panel, I’d look at our CVs side by side and you’d probably edge me out. You’re so good at what you do. I’ve always admired how well you work.”

I rub my hand on my chest to try to relieve the ache.

“Not necessarily. It’s not just the CVs. There’s the interviews. You’re charming. There’s not a person alive who doesn’t adore you instantly.”

“Says you. I’ve seen you in action, when you’re making an effort. You’re like a 1950s politician. Smoother than smooth.”

He laughs. “But you love B and G. And everyone there hates me. That’s your advantage over me. Plus you have your top-secret weapon Danny is spending his weekends on.”

“Yeah.” I dart my eyes away.

“It’s got to do with ebooks, I’m not an idiot,” Josh says.

“Why can’t you be an idiot for once? Just once, I want to keep a secret from you.”

“You’re keeping a secret from me right now. We haven’t gotten to the root cause of your freak-out.”

“And we’re not going to.” I pull the blanket over my head altogether.

“Very mature,” he comments and swaps my feet, squeezing my toes and circling his thumbs. “You can’t keep secrets from me for long. I know you too well. I’ll get it out of you.”

“Well apparently I’m a complete open ebook.” I groan in the dark. “Did Mr. Bexley tell you about my digitalization project? Please don’t screw me on this, Josh. Please. My entire presentation is based on it.”

“Do you seriously think I’d do that to you?”

“No. Well, maybe.”

I expect a whip-crack response. He says nothing, but continues to massage my foot.

I flip the blanket off my face. “Why didn’t you smile at me when we first met, and say, Pleased to meet you? We could have been friends all this time.” It feels like a tragedy. I’ve lost so much, and we have no time left.

“We could never have been friends.”

I try to pull my foot back but he holds on to it.

“So that’s a sore point.” He squeezes the arch.

“I’ve always wanted to be friends with you. But you didn’t smile back. You’ve been one-up ever since.”

“I couldn’t. If I’d let myself smile back, and be friends with you, I probably would have fallen in love with you.”

It’s all the past tense of that statement that kills the leap of joy inside. Because he didn’t, and he isn’t. I try to brush over it.

“You said that to me after the elevator kiss. We’d never be friends.”

“I was angry at the time. I was delivering you to Danny, and you were looking hotter than hell.”

“Poor Danny. He’s so nice. You’ll have to apologize for how you hung up on him. He’s been nothing but nice to me and all I’ve done is give him two shitty dates and made him lose a Saturday.”

“He got to kiss you.” When he says that, Josh looks like he wants to destroy planets. “And he’s not doing the freelance work completely out of the goodness of his heart.”

“Under different circumstances he’d be a great boyfriend.”

Josh is making black scary serial killer eyes at me. “Different circumstances.”

“Well, I’m assuming you’re going to chain me in your basement and keep me as your sex slave.”

This conversation is like a tightrope. One misstep and he’ll know. He’ll know I’m in love, and then I’ll wobble and fall. No safety net.

“I don’t have a basement.”

“Too bad for me.”

“I’ll buy us a house with a basement.”

“Okay. Can I come with you when you house hunt?”

I smile despite the doomed sensation dripping into my blood. I love the energy we create between us when we banter like this. It’s the most intense sensation of pleasure, knowing he’ll always have the perfect response ready. I’ve never known anyone like him; as addictive to talk to as he is to kiss.

“Truth or Dare,” he says after a bit.

“It’s not my turn.”

“Yes, it really is.”

“Truth.” I have no choice. He’ll dare me to eat the mustard again.

“Do you trust me?”

“I don’t know. I want to. Truth or Dare?”

He blinks. “Truth. It’s all truth from this point forward.”

“Have you ever lived here with a girlfriend?”

“No. I’ve never lived with anyone. Why do you ask?”

“Your bedroom is girly.”

Josh smiles to himself. “You’re such a moron sometimes.”

“Thanks. Hey, should I go home? I don’t have anything to wear tomorrow.”

“Would you believe, I own my own washer and dryer.”

“How newfangled.” I go into his bedroom and kneel on the floor to unzip my bag. “I hope Helene doesn’t notice I’m in the same outfit.”

“I’d say the only person at B and G who notices that much about you will be the same one who laundered those walk-of-shame clothes.”

I sit up on my heels and look at his bedroom. He’s put the Smurf I gave him beside his bed. There’s also white roses, petals unfurled and loose. He didn’t have a vase, so he used a jar. I close my eyes. I can’t move for a bit.

I love him so much it’s like a thread piercing me. Punching holes. Dragging through. Stitching love into me. I’ll never be able to untangle myself from this feeling. The color of love is surely this robin’s-egg blue.

When his feet appear in the doorway I take my dirty clothes and hug them to my chest. “No looking at my underwear.”

“That would be rude,” he agrees. “I will close my eyes.”

I sit on his bed. I smooth my hands over the covers, twiddling the silky thread count. I push one fist into his pillow. He dreams. He lives. And he will do it all without me. He finds me sitting there with my head in my hands.

“Shortcake,” he says, and I know he is genuinely regretful.

It’s the strangest sensation. I need to confide in him. He’s the one person I should not trust, but I’m nearly bursting with the secret that I love him and it is hurting me.

“Talk to me. I want to know why you’re upset. Let me work this out.”

“I’m scared of you.” I’m scared of him finding out my biggest, newest secret.

He doesn’t look offended. “I’m scared of you too.”

When our mouths touch, it’s like it’s for the first time. Now that I have this pale blue love running through me, the intensity is too much. I try to pull back but he smoothly lays me back.

“Be brave,” he tells me. “Come on, Luce.”

My mouth is filled with my heart and his breath when we kiss again. I can feel myself trembling as he tastes my fear.

“Ah,” he says. “I think I’m beginning to see what the issue is.”

“No you don’t.” I twist my face away. The sun is setting outside on this confusing day, and the light filters through his filmy drapes, pearlescent and pretty. The entire moment is frozen, date stamped and slotted into my memory vault.

He kisses me like he knows me. Like he understands me. I raise my hand to push him away, and he links his fingers into mine. I bite him, and he smiles against my lips. I slide my knee up to get enough leverage to slide away, and he hooks a hand under my leg.

“You’re beautiful when you’re scared,” he tells me.

I can’t speak as he trails his mouth to my ear. He sighs. My world narrows down a little more. When he kisses my pulse, I know he is thinking about all of my tiny inner miracles and the first tear wells up in my eye. It slides down my cheek, down my neck.

“We’re getting somewhere now,” he tells me as he licks my tear.

I raise my hands into his hair, and press him to me as he presses soft kisses like stamps down my neck. Each pushes me deeper in love. When he smoothes his hand down my torso I wince.

“Let Doctor Josh take a look,” he says, pulling off my sweater and T-shirt in one motion.

He smoothes a steady hand down my throat, over my bra, between my breasts, to my belly. The light in here is brightly diffused, and he can see every vein and pastel paintball bruise as he looks down at me, eyelashes fanned so perfectly I feel the next tear coming.

I love him so much I can’t hold it in much longer. I’m vibrating from it. I’m showering sparks. He makes it even harder to hold on when he speaks, fingers stroking my marred skin.

“I’m sorry you’ve been bruised so often because of me. I should have protected you from myself. I’ve been set to a default for a long time. Sort of like, I attack before I can be attacked. You’ve been on the receiving end, days, weeks, months, and you’ve handled it like no one else ever could have.” I try to speak but he shakes his head and continues.

“Every day, every minute, I’ve only ever been sitting there, looking at you. What I’ve done to you has been the worst mistake of my life.”

“It’s okay,” I manage to say. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not. I don’t know how you’ve coped with me. And I’m sorry.” He drops his mouth to the bruise on my ribs.

“I forgive you. You forget, I’ve been a complete bitch to you.”

“But you never would have been, if I’d just smiled back.”

“I wish you had.” My voice breaks traitorously. I may as well have said, I wish you loved me. I hold my breath. With his crazy-intelligent brain, I know he’s joining the dots seconds behind me. I struggle up the bed, but he crawls easily over me, and lays my head on his pillow.

“It made no difference. I loved you the moment I saw you.”

I’m falling backward, through his bed. He loops an arm around my waist. I jerk like he’s caught me.

“You love . . . What? Me?”

“Lucinda Elizabeth Hutton. One and the same.”

“Me.”

“Lucy, heiress of the Sky Diamond Strawberries dynasty.”

“Me.”

“Could you show some ID so I can be certain?” His eyes are lit and the smile I love best of all is glowing on his face.

“But I love you.” I can hear how incredulous I sound.

He laughs. “I know.”

“How do you always know everything?” I kick my feet against the mattress.

“I only figured it out a few minutes ago. Your heart has been breaking.”

“I can’t hide anything from you. It’s the worst.” I try to put my face into the pillow.

“You don’t need to hide anything from me.” He takes my chin in his fingers and kisses me.

“You’re scary. You’ll hurt me.”

“I guess I’m a bit scary. But I will never hurt you again. Anyone who ever does will find out about scary.”

“You hate me.”

“I never have. Not for a second. I have always loved you.”

“Prove it. There’s no way you can.” I am satisfied that I’ve thrown out the unwinnable challenge. He rolls onto his side and rests his cheek on his bicep. My heart is pounding.

“What’s my favorite color?”

“Easy. Blue.”

“What kind of blue?”

“Bedroom blue!” I point at the wall. “The walls. Your shirt. My dress. Pale Tiffany blue.”

He tugs me to sit, then goes to the end of the bed. He opens his wardrobe door, and I see all of the shirts hanging in color sequence.

“Josh, you dork.” I start to laugh and point, but he grabs my ankles and drags me to the end of the bed. There’s a full-length mirror, and I see myself, at long last sitting on the bed in his robin’s-egg bedroom. His walls are the blue of my eyes. I’ve been a bit slow.

“But that’s the prettiest blue in the world!”

“I know. Good lord, Lucinda. I thought I’d be busted the moment you saw this room.”

He sits on the bed behind me, one knee up, and I fall back into the perfect cradle of his body.

“How somebody can’t recognize their own eyes, I’ll never know.”

“Seems I didn’t recognize a few things. Hey, Josh.”

“Yes, Shortcake.”

“You love me.” I see him smile in our reflection at the confusion and wonder in my tone.

“Since the moment I saw you. Since the moment you smiled at me, I felt like I was falling backward off a cliff. The feeling has never stopped. I’ve been trying to drag you down with me. In the worst, most ill-conceived and socially retarded way possible.”

“We’ve been so awful to each other.” I feel his cringe, and his hands begin to stroke me. “I mean, how can we even begin to start again?”

“Time for a new game. The Starting Over Game.”

I smile. Eyes bright, dazzling, full of hope and certainty this merger will be the most exciting, passionate, challenging thing ever to happen to me. “Nice to meet you. I’m Lucy Hutton.”

“Joshua Templeman. Please, call me Josh.” I see the blinding flash of his smile in return, and now I’m properly crying. Tears running down my neck.

“Josh.”

“Sounds like heaven coming out of your mouth.”

“Josh, please. We’ve been colleagues for one minute, you’re rather flirtatious. Let me hang my coat.”

He unclips my bra. “Allow me.”

“Thank you.” We are playing the Staring Game in the mirror, and his eyes begin to darken. He fills his hands with my white skin.

“I grew up on a strawberry farm. It’s named after me.”

“I love strawberries. I’m so lovesick, I eat them constantly. Can I nickname you Shortcake? It’ll be a dead giveaway that I love you.”

“You love me! We’ve only met a minute ago.”

“I do. I’m sorry, but I work fast. I hope it’s not too forward of me to say, but your eyes are incredible, Lucy. I die when you blink.”

“You’re smooth. What do you know. I love you too. So much. Every time your dark blue eyes hit me, I feel like I get a mild electric shock.”

I reach behind me to tug off his T-shirt. He helps me out and pulls it off.

“I’ve been wondering since I met you—granted, only minutes ago—what you’ve got under this shirt. My goodness, your body. But I want you for your mind, and your heart. Not this impressive disguise.”

He looks at the ceiling. “I think I’ll paint my bedroom this weekend. I’ll probably feel annoyed the whole time I do it. And I’ll happily farewell my current girlfriend, a tall boring blonde called Mindy Thailis. She’s not you and it eats me up. It makes the fact I sleep alone and desperately celibate in this Lucy-blue room even more romantic when I eventually tell you.”

He slides me in between his sheets and spoons behind me. My cheek is pillowed on his bicep, and he kisses the side of my neck. I’m shivering.

“Sounds like a good plan. It’ll pay off. Desperately, huh? So, pray tell, what is the aim of the Starting Over Game?”

“The same as all the others. For you to love me.”

“Mine was to make you smile. How lame.”

“I laughed my ass off every day on the drive home from work, if it makes you feel any better.”

“I guess. But you’ve won. I’m going to have to know forever you’ve won all the games.” I’m sure my mouth probably has a sulky pout to it. He rolls me onto my stomach and begins to kiss up my spine.

“Do you trust me now that you know everything?”

For a moment we shimmer against each other; my skin trembling for the touch of his lips.

“Yes. And if you get the job, I will be happy for you.”

“I already resigned. My last day was Friday. Jeanette came in and did the paperwork. I’m on vacation now.”

“What the fuck?” I blurt into his bed.

“I don’t want anything that means I can’t have you. There’s nothing worth it.”

“But I didn’t have a chance to compete against you.” I don’t know whether to laugh or scream.

“You still have to do your interview against the other candidates. From what I’ve heard, one of them is a real contender. The independent panel might decide you’re completely incompetent.”

I elbow him and he laughs.

“But you’ll always know you could have gotten it. When we fight I’ll be worried you’ll bring it up.”

“I’ve worked out a solution. Something so Machiavellian even you will deem it a perfect solution. It retains all of the competitive bullshit we thrive on.”

“I’m scared to ask.”

“I’m the new divisional finance head of Sanderson Print. B and G’s most bitter rival.”

“Josh. What? No.”

“I know! I’m an evil mastermind!” He drops a kiss to my nape and I squirm away and roll over.

“How on earth did you manage that?” I feel faint.

“They’ve been pestering me for ages about coming over for a chat. So I did, and I told them I wanted to work on their completely fucked-up financial situation before they completely fold. They said okay. No one was more surprised than me, but I hid it well.”

“Is that why you took a day off?”

“Yeah. And I needed to buy you a Matchbox car. They took forever to give me my formal offer. That’s why I never needed help to beat you. I didn’t want to beat you.”

I smooth my hand over his shoulder, the glorious curve of his arm. “So that’s that.”

“I had to make a few conflict of interest statements.”

“Such as?” I watch his eyes crinkle in memory.

“I disclosed that I’ll be in love with the soon-to-be chief operating officer of B and G.”

I can just imagine him telling them, cool and calm.

“You didn’t. Were they okay with that?”

“My new boss seemed to think it was kind of sweet. Everyone’s a romantic. I had to sign some nondisclosure stuff. If I tell you anything, I will be sued. Luckily, I have a good poker face when it comes to you.”

“Oh man, how angry was Mr. Bexley? He’s not a romantic.”

“Furious. He was on the verge of calling security. Thankfully Helene came in and defused things. Once I told them my reasons for leaving, they were pretty understanding. Helene said she’s always known it.”

“Reasons.”

“I had one weekend left to make you love me.”

I gape in horror. “You didn’t tell them that.”

“Yes. You should have seen Jeanette’s face.”

“Pretty big gamble, Josh. Hell in a handbasket.”

“It paid off, thankfully.”

He’s pressing his mouth to my skin and sighing, breathing, like I’m a dream he never wants to wake from. He’s breathing me in like he’s a filthy addict.

“Can you be sure that you won’t resent me one day? You’ve given up a big chance, Josh.”

“I’ll be buried in numbers all day long. I can continue my crusade to save one publishing house from financial ruin at a time.”

“Please try not to make people cry anymore. It’s time for you to be your true self. You’re a Mr. Nice Guy.”

“I make no guarantees. But for me, this role at Sanderson is honestly a better fit. The best part is, it means I’ll be coming home to you on my couch every night. I couldn’t have gotten this decision more right if I tried.”

“Every night? Well, I can’t on the long weekend. I’m going to Sky Diamonds for the week. I don’t suppose you’re busy then.”

“Take me with you,” he says in between kisses on my shoulders. “I know the way. I’ve mapped the journey. Flights and hire cars. I’ll grovel to your dad. I know exactly what I’ll say.”

“I don’t get it with you and that place.”

“I need to go there so I can start at the beginning. So that I can know everything about you.”

“You sure do love strawberries.”

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

I’m so ridiculously in love. I decide to try it out loud. “I’m in love with Joshua Templeman.”

His reply is a whisper in my ear. “Finally.”

I pull back. “I’m going to have to change my computer password.”

“Oh yeah? To what?”

“I-love-Josh.”

“4 eva,” he replies.

“You cracked my password?”

He rolls me onto my back and smiles down at me with eyes bright with mischief.

There’s nothing else I can do. When the white flag of his sheets settles on my skin, the Hating Game is over. It’s primal. It’s a miracle. And it’s forever.

“Yeah, all right. Forever. What game should we play now?” I look up at him and we play the Staring Game until his eyes spark in memory.

“The Or Something Game really intrigued me. Can you show me how it works?”

He tosses the blankets over us, blocking out the entire world. He’s laughing, my favorite sound in the world.

Then there’s nothing but silence. His mouth touches my skin.

Let the real games begin.