Loathe to Love You by Ali Hazelwood

            I don’t like the word dating. I don’t like the idea of it. But with Ian . . . I don’t know. It seems different with him.

            “I guess we’ll see. I’m not sure he would want to date,” I say, staring at Sadie’s Froot Loops. The ensuing silence drags on so long, I’m forced to look up. She and Mara are staring at me like I just announced that I’m quitting my job to take up macramé full-time. “What?”

            “Did she really just use the word date?” Mara asks Sadie, pretending I’m not sitting right here.

            “I think so. And without referring to the disgusting fruit?”

            Mara frowns. “Dude, dates are amazing.”

            “No, they’re not.”

            “Yes. Try wrapping them in bacon.”

            “Okay,” Sadie acknowledges, “anything is amazing if you wrap it in bacon, but—”

            I clear my throat. They turn to me.

            “So, you’re gonna go out with him?”

            I shrug. Think about it. The idea is so foreign, my brain catches on it for a moment. But remembering the way Ian smiled at me back in Svalbard helps me push right through it. “I think I’ll ask. If he wants to.”

            “Considering that he saved your life, contacted Great-Aunt Delphina, and put up two dudes he’s never seen before so their girlfriends could hang out with you . . . I think maybe he does.”

            I nod, my eyes fixed into the mid-distance. “You know, when I fell, my expedition leader said that no one was coming to rescue me. But . . . he came. Ian came. Even though he wasn’t even supposed to be there.”

            Sadie frowns. “Are you saying that you feel like you have to date him because of that?”

            “Nah.” I grin at her. “As you know, it’s pretty impossible to get me to do something I don’t want to.”

            Sadie bats her eyes at me. “I always manage.”

            “Not true.”

            “Yes, I do. For instance, in ten minutes I’m going to take you to the NASA doctor Ian wrote down the address for, and we’re going to get your foot checked out.”

            I scowl. “No way.”

            “I am.”

            “Sadie, I’m fine.”

            “You really think you’re going to win this?”

            “Fuck yeah.”

            She leans forward over her bowl of cereal with a small smile. “It’s on, baby. Let the best bitch win.”



* * *





            Sadie, naturally, wins.

            After the doctor tells me stuff I already knew—high sprain, yada yada—and gives me a better brace I can walk on, I take Sadie and Mara to my favorite coffee shop. Their planes are leaving late tonight, and we squeeze as much as we possibly can out of the day. When we get to Ian’s apartment, I expect . . .

            I don’t know, actually. Based on what I know of the guys’ personalities, I figured we’d find them brooding in silence, checking their work emails. Occasionally clearing their throats, maybe. But Ian buzzes us into his place, and when we walk into the wide living room, we discover all three of them sprawled on the huge sectional, each holding a PlayStation controller as they yell in the direction of the TV. Further inspection reveals that Liam’s and Ian’s avatars are shooting at some gelatinous monster, while Erik’s huddles in the far corner of the screen. He’s yelling something that could be Danish. Or Klingon.

            None of them look like they’ve bothered to shower or change out of their pajamas. There are two empty pizza boxes on the wooden coffee table, beer cans scattered all over the floor, and I’m pretty sure I just stepped on a Cheeto. We stop in our tracks at the entrance, but if the guys notice our arrival, they don’t show it. They keep on playing until Liam gets hit by a stray bullet and grunts like a wounded animal.

            “I hate that I love him,” Mara mutters under her breath.