Loathe to Love You by Ali Hazelwood

            “No, I just . . . I had to be at work. Because of a deadline. I was going to warn you, but . . .” You didn’t want to cross some kind of unspoken line? I want to ask. But one does not speak of unspoken things, so I just go with:

            “Of course.” I clear my throat. “I’ll go to my room. Get dressed.”

            “Right.”

            I make to leave. Except that Liam’s still standing there, blocking the exit. The only exit, if one doesn’t count the window, which I briefly consider before acknowledging that it’s not a feasible option. Not in my current state of dishevelment. “You are . . .” He doesn’t seem to understand where he is. I’d gesticulate and point it out, but I have to clutch my towel with both hands to avoid flashing him, and—

            “Oh. Oh, right, I . . .” He takes a large step to the side. Too large—he’s basically plastered against the sink now.

            “Okay. Thanks again for letting me use your bathroom.”

            “No problem.”

            I really should leave now. “And I borrowed a bit of your shampoo. Well, stole. It’s not as if I’m ever going to return it. But, you know.”

            “It’s okay.”

            “I love Old Spice, by the way. Solid choice.”

            “Oh.” Liam looks everywhere but at me. “I just grab the first one I see at the store.”

            I know in that moment, I simply know, that Old Spice is William K. Harding’s favorite brand of personal hygiene products, and that he suffers deep shame because of it. “Right. Of course.” He can be adorable, sometimes. “Hey, just FYI, I’m not embarrassed. So you shouldn’t be, either.”

            “What?”

            “I don’t care that you saw me naked. Because I know you don’t care. Just saying, we don’t need to be weird about it. Believe me”—I laugh—“I know you’re not going to use your annoying ginger roomie’s tiny freckled boobs as spank bank material.”

            I expect him to reply with a joke, like he usually does, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t reply at all, in fact. Just presses his lips together, nods once, and all of a sudden things feel even more awkward. Crap.

            “Anyway. Thanks again.”

            “You’re welcome.”

            I step out with a small wave and notice two things: he’s staring hard at his feet, and his left hand is a tight fist at his side.





Seven


            Three months ago

            There’s nothing wrong with the waveguide. That, I know for sure. The transformer and the stirrer seem fine, too, which has me thinking that the problem is in the magnetron. Now, I’m not really an expert, but I’m hoping that if I tinker with the filament the assembly will fix itself and—

            “Is this because last night we watched Transformers?”

            I look up. Liam, a soft smile on his face, is standing on the other side of the kitchen island, taking in the microwave oven parts I meticulously laid out over the marble countertop.

            I might have made a mess.

            “It was either this or writing Optimus Prime fan fiction.”

            He nods. “Good choice, then.”

            “But also, your microwave isn’t working. I’m trying to fix it.”

            “I can just buy a new one.” His head tilts. He studies the components with a slight frown. “Is this safe?”

            I stiffen. “Are you asking because I’m a woman and therefore unable to do anything remotely scientific without causing radioactive pollution? Because if so, I—”

            “I’m asking because I wouldn’t know where to start, and because I am so ignorant about anything remotely scientific that you could be building an atomic bomb and I wouldn’t be able to tell,” he says calmly. As though he doesn’t even need to be defensive, because the idea that me being a puny-brained girl never even entered his mind. “But you clearly can.” A pause. “Please don’t build an atomic bomb.”