The Hating Game: A Novel

We both suck in a breath and the room has no oxygen left.

Last night he picked me up under a streetlight and gave me a kiss that was calculated to leave me wanting more. Now I know what my problem has been today. I’ve been craving.

Images of us in another life in Tuscany are still behind my eyelids as he kisses my mouth open, touches my tongue with his, and breathes. He sighs. He’s wanted this. He’s been craving as badly as I have. My mouth is vanilla, his is mint, and they combine to create something delicious.

A miracle has occurred, and I don’t know when, but I know it now. Joshua Templeman does not hate me. Not a bit. There’s no way he could when he kisses me like this.

He loosens one hand from my hair and spreads it across my jaw, stroking my skin, cupping and tilting my face. It’s so completely sweet, even as our tongues begin to get filthy.

I slide my knee over his lap, feeling my inner thighs stretch.

“I swore to myself I wouldn’t come here tonight.”

“Yet here you are. Interesting.”

We both look down at my thighs on his, and I can’t stop myself from sliding my hips forward.

This new position splices power and adrenaline into my blood. I put my hands on his collarbones and look him over. His hair is still a little damp. I cup the nape of his neck in my palm and press my hand against his heart.

I start a slow slide down to his chest, ribs, testing the density of flesh. He’s so firm I can trace the lines between each muscle, even through a T-shirt. I try to tug up the bottom of the shirt but it’s pinned under my knees.

Impatience rips clean through me. I nearly tear his shirt off but I force my fingers to loosen. He must see this flash of violent cavewoman, because he closes his eyes and his throat hums in a groan.

“Sometimes you look at me like you’re . . .”

He forgets what he was saying when I begin to kiss his jaw. His hands lie palms-up on either side of my calves. He’s letting me control this and I like it. I feel him smile when I nibble against his bottom lip.

The couch gives softly underneath my knees, and as our clothes begin to make a warm friction, I feel his arousal, hard and blunt, pressing into the back of my thigh.

“I need it,” I tell him and watch his eyes go viciously black. I take huge handfuls of his clothes and we kiss again.

I roll my hips slowly in his wide lap and his hands slide down my body in a series of slow, squeezing pauses. Shoulders, underarms, the sides of my breasts. I shiver, and he slides his hands lower. Ribs, the curve of my waist. Hips. Butt.

His hands slide down my thighs, his long fingers dragging down the outer and inner seam of my jeans. He traces his fingers along my calves. When I drop my face to his neck, his hands tighten on my ankles, a little reminder he could take control if he wanted to.

“I like how little you are.” He sure sounds like he likes my body as he takes another slow, stroking tour.

As I slide my tongue into his mouth, I begin thinking about a board meeting we’d been in, a few weeks back. He’d been sitting by the window and I remember watching the sun slowly slide along the windowsill, across the floor, across the board table as the afternoon dragged on.

He’d been wearing a navy suit I don’t see him wear often and the pale blue shirt. I’d sat there opposite him, watching the way the sun slowly crept up his body like a rising tide. I’d breathed in the scent of the fabric warming on his body.

I remember how he’d cut his dark blue eyes to me during the meeting, and it had flustered me, made my stomach twist in half. He’d smirked and resumed his patient staring at the PowerPoint presentation, not taking a single note whereas my scribbling hand was cramping.

Those eyes, flashing to my face, made me jump out of my skin. I hadn’t known why. Now I do.

“I was remembering the board meeting a few weeks back.” My head rolls to one side as he kisses under the hinge of my jaw. I have a full-body shiver. His hand spreads across my ribs, thumb nudging the underside of my breast. My total focus narrows down to this half inch of contact.

“Yes, what about it? I’m not doing so well if you’re thinking about it now.”

He returns his mouth to mine and dials it up a little. It’s minutes before I can speak again. Possibly hours. My breath is in little gasping pants, and he bites down gently onto my bottom lip.

His thumb slides up, nudges my nipple softly and continues up to my jaw. I jolt and quiver.

I have to explain myself properly. “You looked at me and . . . And I think I wanted to kiss you. I only just realized.”

“Oh, really.”

I am rewarded by his other hand sliding up the back of my top. Skin against skin. Fingers playing languidly with my bra strap.

“I was remembering how you gave me this look.”

“Like I was thinking about something dirty? I was. You were wearing your white silk shirt with the pearl buttons. And this soft-looking cardigan for the first half of the meeting. Hair up, red lips.”

He leans back and trails his fingertips down my throat to the top of my cleavage. His fingertips dip in, I shudder out the only thing I can think of.

“It’s a cashmere cardigan.”

“You like Doctor Josh . . . I like prissy retro librarian Lucy. Silk-cashmere Lucy. That’s my kink. A pencil in your hair, grilling a department head on absentee stats for last quarter.”

He continues his slide down my torso, fingers pressing into my ribs.

“What a specific kink. I can’t believe you can remember what I was wearing. But hey, I can roll with this. I could get some nerd glasses and scold you.” I frown sternly and hold my finger to my lips. “Be quiet.”

He groans theatrically. “I couldn’t take it.”

“Can you even imagine how it would be between you and me? All day, every night?”

He knows exactly what I mean. “Oh, yeah.”

“Like you said just before: The trick is to find someone who’s strong enough to take it. That one person who can give it back as good as they get.”

“Can you?” His eyes look like he’s on drugs. Pupils inked, irises hazy.

“Yeah.”

We kiss with a new intensity, sparked by our shared boardroom fantasies. Lucy and Josh starring in graphic, sweat-slicked pornography.

He arches against me. His hard-on is pressing so hard against the back of my leg my hamstring feels bruised.

He breaks the kiss. “Slow up. I want to ask you something.”

He sits back a little and we stare into each other’s black eyes. His mouth is softened, pink and I want it all over me. Licking and biting mouthfuls of my flesh. My breathing is so loud that I almost can’t hear what he says next.

“When you called me tonight, did you nearly call Danny instead?” I start to protest but he smoothes his hand down my arm.

“I’m not being a jealous psycho. I’m just interested.”

“You already won that competition with him. He’s my friend now. We are only going to be friends.”

“You haven’t answered, though.”

“He’s the sensible option. I’m not doing many sensible things with my evenings these days. I’m glad I didn’t call him. I’d probably be sitting in a movie, instead of here.” I bounce a little on his lap.

Josh tries to smile, but it doesn’t quite work. “I’d go to a movie with you. Look, it’s getting late.”

His hands slide down my back to grip my butt. He tilts me, and drags me down the hardness of his arousal. Then he lifts me off and sets me aside.

He sits forward on the edge of the couch and puts his face in his hands. He’s breathing as heavily as I am. It does my ego no harm.

“Fuck.” He sighs it. “I am so turned on,” he says with an embarrassed half laugh, and I completely understand his desperation.

He’s surely got to be wondering why he’s subjecting himself to this. He’s an adult man, reduced to teenage make-out sessions with his weird colleague.

“Do you want to hear how turned on I am?”

“I’d better not,” he manages.

“I guess I should go home.” I pray he tells me to stay. He doesn’t.

He talks through his hands. “Give me a minute.”

I take our mugs and my bowl into the kitchen and rinse the bowl. I look at the frying pan and put it in the sink and fill it with hot water and suds. My legs are trembling and doing a poor job of holding me upright.

“I’ll do it,” Josh says behind me. “Leave it.”

My eyes badly want to drop below his waist, but because I am a lady I resist.

He feeds my arms into my coat and we both put our shoes on. We carefully stand on the opposite ends of the elevator, but we stare at each other like we’re one second away from slamming the elevator to an emergency stop to put ourselves out of our misery.

“I feel like your Easter egg.”

He catches my hand at the curb and walks across the street with me. When we reach my car, I tilt my mouth up to his. He carefully takes my face in his hands and he kisses me. A simultaneous shocked gasp rocks us. It’s like we haven’t kissed in an eternity. He presses me against the car door and I whimper. Tongues, teeth, breath.

“You taste like my Easter egg.”

“Please, please. I need you so badly.”

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow,” he replies. He turns me in his arms, and presses his mouth against the back of my neck. Even through my hair, the heat of his breath makes me inhale so hard it’s more of a snort.

“Is this an asshole control-freak thing?” I wriggle free.

“Possibly. Sounds consistent with my character.”

I have a thought. “Are you planning on sexing me comatose on the morning of the interview so you beat me?”

Josh puts his hands in his pockets. “It’s worked for every other promotion I’ve gotten in my life. Why stop now?”

“You want to make sure I’m all over you like a rash at the wedding.”

Something about the look on his face makes me step back and press my back to the cold door of my car.

“You haven’t lied and told them all about the brain surgeon you’re betrothed to?”

He smiles. “Dr. Lucy Hutton, MD. She’s brilliant, yet unorthodox.”

“I’m serious. Answer the question. I’m coming as me, aren’t I? I’m not supposed to be acting?”

“No.”

I bite my thumb and look down the street. Why do I feel like he’s lying?

“Well, I’m beginning to think you’re leaving me horny to make sure I’ll keep coming back here. I’m like a cat. You’re leaving out a saucer of cream.”

Josh laughs, a big proper laugh like I’m hilarious. Delighted, irritated electricity floods me. I’m crackling with it. In this moment, I’m more alive than I’ve ever been.

Fight with me, kiss me. Laugh at me. Tell me if you’re sad. Don’t make me go home.

“We’ll have to see if it’s true. If you’re back tomorrow night, I’ll concede it’s part of a deliberate strategy.” He looks down at me with undisguised pleasure.

The thought of returning didn’t properly occur to me. The following day now glows with promise.

“One more.”

He kisses my cheek and I groan in misery.

“Get outta here, Shortcake. And remember, I don’t want to see you freaking out tomorrow.”

I can’t get my seat belt on properly. I’m so wired it’s like I’m having drug withdrawals. He taps my window to make me lock the door.

I’m halfway home when a scary thought crystallizes.

I can’t wait for work tomorrow.

TODAY HIS SHIRT is the color of a saucer of cream.

Act natural, Lucy. Walk in there like sex on legs. No awkwardness. Go.

He looks at me, my ankle wobbles, and I drop my handbag. The lid of my lunchbox pops off and a tomato rolls across the floor. I drop to my hands and knees and my stiletto heel gets caught on the dangling buckle belt of my coat.

“Crap.” I try to crawl.

“Smooth.” Josh gets up and walks to me.

“Shuddup.”

He unhooks my coat and gathers up my lunch, before holding a hand down to me. I hesitate minutely before I take it, letting him haul me up.

“Can I rewind my entrance?”

He pulls the coat from my shoulders and hangs it up for me.

Mr. Bexley’s door is open and the lights are on. Helene’s a late starter. She’s probably still in bed.

“How was your evening, Lucinda? You look tired.”

My stomach sinks in dismay at his impersonal tone until I look at his face and realize his eyes are lit with mischief. If Mr. Bexley is eavesdropping, he’ll hear nothing out of the ordinary.

This is a dangerous new game, the Act Natural Game, but I’ll give it a try. “Oh, it was nice enough, I guess.”

“Nice. Hmm. Get up to anything interesting?” He’s got the pencil in his hand.

“I sat on the couch.”

He shifts in his chair and I look at his lap.

“Serial killer eyes,” I mouth at him. I sit on the edge of my desk, take out my tube of Flamethrower and begin to apply, using the wall nearest me as a mirror. He looks at my legs with such naked lust I nearly smudge it. “And what did you get up to, Josh?”

“I had a date. At least, I think it was.”

“What’s she like?”

“Clingy. She really threw herself at me.”

I laugh. “Clingy is not an attractive trait. I hope you kicked her out.”

“I guess I sort of did.”

“That’ll learn her.” I begin to gather my hair into a high bun before smoothing down my dress. It’s a fine cream wool knit, stretchy and warm, and I admit I wore it to match his shirt. He likes prissy librarian Lucy? He’s got it today.

He watches my hands. I watch his. They’re white-knuckled.

“Not sure if I’ll see her again, though.” He sounds bored, and he’s clicking his mouse on his computer. When his eyes cut sideways to mine, I flash to last night and my insides clench.

“Maybe take her to your brother’s wedding? Always gratifying to walk into one of those situations with a hot date.”

We both look at each other, and I ease myself slowly into my chair. The Staring Game has never felt so dirty. The phone rings. I look at the caller ID and the word FUCK lights up in neon in my brain.

Josh takes one look at my face. “If it’s him, I’m going to—”

“It’s Julie.”

“A bit early for her, isn’t it? You’re going to have to be firm with her.” The phone continues ringing, and ringing.

“I’ll let it go to voice mail. I’m too tired to deal with this now.”

“You will not.” He dials star-nine and answers my extension. They teach call center operators to smile when they answer a call. People can hear a smile in your voice. Joshua needs to learn this.

“Lucinda Hutton’s phone. Joshua speaking. Hold.” He hits a button, and points at me with his receiver. “Do it. I’m watching you.”

We both watch the hold light flashing.

I’m still that smiling girl in the strawberry patch. Look at me, I’m a good girl. I’m the sweet little thing, adored by everyone. Nothing is too much trouble.

“I want to see you be as strong with other people as you are with me.”

I press the flashing button. “Hi, Julie, how are you?” My ear nearly burns from her deep sigh.

“Hi, Lucy. I’m not well. I’m incredibly tired. I don’t even know why I came in. I’ve just sat down, and already the screen is killing me.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

I lock eyes with Josh. He intensifies his eyes into narrowed scary blue lasers. He’s imbuing me with his powers. I am NOT going to care what excuses or requests she’s going to make. “What can I do for you today, Julie?” Professional, but a hint of warmth in my tone.

“I’m supposed to be working on this thing for Alan, which he’s going to polish up and send up to you.”

“Oh, yes. I need it by close of business.”

Josh gives me a sarcastic thumbs-up.

“Well, I’m having a bit of trouble finding some of the old reports in the network drive. It keeps saying shortcut moved. Anyway, I’ve tried a bunch of things and I think I need to step away, you know?”

“As long as I get it by five, it’s fine.” Josh looks at the ceiling and shrugs. I thought I was being firm there, but he’s unimpressed.

“I was hoping to go home and get it done first thing tomorrow, when I’m fresher.”

“Didn’t you just get here?” Am I going crazy? I recheck the clock.

“I came in quickly to check my email.” Her tone is that of an absolute trooper.

“Alan said it would be okay if I cleared it with you first.” She’s jingling her car keys in the background.

I steel myself with blue-laser strength. “I’m sorry, that’s not going to work for me. I need it by five, please.”

“I’m aware of the deadline,” she counters, voice sharpening by one degree. “I’m trying to let you know Alan is not going to have it to you on time.”

“But it’s really you who needs the extension, not Alan.” There is a long pause while I wait for her to speak.

“I thought you’d be a bit more flexible on this.” Her tone is slipping further into an impressive combination of petulance and ice. “I am unwell.”

“If you do need to go home,” I begin as I watch Joshua’s brow transform into a scowl, “you’ll need to take today as sick leave, and bring a doctor’s note.”

“I’m not going to the doctor for tiredness and a headache. He’ll tell me to sleep. That’s what I want to go and do.”

“I’m sympathetic if you’re feeling unwell, but that’s the HR policy.” Josh smoothes his hand over his mouth to hide his grin. I’m playing the HR Game with Julie.

“Sympathetic? I wouldn’t call this sympathetic at all.”

“I’ve been fair with you, Julie. I’ve given you extensions a lot of times. But I can’t keep staying late to finish these reports.”

Josh circles his hand in the air. I keep going. “If it’s late, I end up having to stay back.”

“You don’t have any family here, or a boyfriend, do you? Late nights don’t affect you like they do for people with husbands and . . . well, people with families.”

“Well, I’m not going to get myself a husband or a life if I keep staying until nine o’clock at night, now am I? I’ll expect the report from Alan at five.”

“You’ve spent too much time in the company of that horrible Joshua.”

“Apparently so. Also, I can’t do the internship for your niece, it’s not convenient for me.” I terminate the call.

Joshua lies back in his chair and starts laughing. “Well, shit.”

“I was amazing, wasn’t I. Did you see me?” I punch the air and mime giving Julie an uppercut. Josh rests his folded hands on his stomach and watches me shadowbox my reflection.

“Take that, Julie, and your life and husband and your phony sleep disorder.”

“Let it all out.”

“Take that, Julie, and your me-graines.”

“You really were amazing.”

“Take that, Julie, and your French manicure.”

“Okay.” He’s smiling at me, openly, in this exact office that was once a battlefield, and I flop back down into my chair and close my eyes and feel the glow of his pleasure from across the marble superhighway. So this is what it feels like. This is what it could have been like, all this time. It wasn’t too late.

“No more late nights for me. I’ve probably totally destroyed my relationship with her, but it was so worth it.”

“You’ll have a life and a husband in no time.”

“No time at all. Probably by next week. I hope he’s super nice.” I open my eyes and the way he looks at me makes me wish I hadn’t said it. We both hesitate, and his eyes flick sideways. I’ve interrupted our flow.

“Please, let me enjoy this moment. Joshua Templeman is officially my friend.” I link my fingers and stretch my arms over my head.

“I’m going for my breakfast meeting. Josh, I need those figures by lunch,” Mr. Bexley says, walking in between us. I think we all know this breakfast meeting is with a plate of bacon.

“They’re already done; I’ll email them through now.”

Mr. Bexley harrumphs, I suppose his best attempt at thanks or praise, and then turns to me.

“Good morning, Lucy. Nice dress you’ve got on there.”

“Thanks.”

Ugh.

“Got your nails sharpened, do you then? Interviews coming soon. Ticktock.” He ambles to the edge of my desk and peruses me from the neck down. I resist the urge to cross my arms over myself. I don’t know how Mr. Bexley hasn’t noticed Josh’s murderous glare refracted dozens of times. He continues his usual gimlet-eyed assessment of my appearance.

“Don’t,” Josh says to his boss, voice metallic.

“I’m pretty well prepared for the interview.” I look down at my front. “Mr. Bexley, what are you looking at?”

I calmly level my eyes at Mr. Bexley, and he physically jolts. He quickly averts his eyes and begins to comb his fingers through his sparse hair, his face burnished red.

Man, I kick ass today.

Josh clenches his jaw and looks down at his glass desk so angrily I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter.

“From the little sneak peek I had in Helene’s office, I do think you’re well prepared. Doctor Josh, we may need to discuss strategy.”

Holy shit. He’s going to tell Joshua about my project. I swing my panicked stare to Josh, who looks at his boss like he is an absolute idiot.

And then he reminds me that no, he is not my friend, and no matter how much kissing we do on his couch, we’re still in the middle of our biggest competition.

“I’m not going to need any help beating her.”