Hate You Still by Lyssa Lemire
CHAPTER TWELVE
EMMA
“So, student teaching, huh? How’s that going?” My date, Chris, breaks this ice after we’re seated at Gilliam’s.
I recount the story of my first week, and he laughs. It’s nice to know I’m not the only person who thinks Ms. Kimler is nuts. Always good to have a sanity check from an impartial third party. As impartial as a date can be, at least.
I do a little mental calculation while we’re sharing more about ourselves. It’s been eight months since I’ve last been on a date. I feel a little rusty, and there’s some residual awkwardness, but I think things are mostly going well between us.
He’s alright looking. I try not to compare him to Knox. Ugh, I should be trying not to think of Knox. I should be trying not to even remember that name.
Chris isn’t a hulking mass of muscle. His face doesn’t look like it’s carved out of polished granite. He doesn’t radiate danger and thrill.
Which is good, right? He’s just a normal guy. A nice normal guy, hopefully.
He’s good looking enough. He’s in shape. Studying engineering, so has a bright future ahead of him. Not a million-dollar NFL contract ahead of him – but, probably, not a stint of rehab ahead of him, either, and that’s certainly not something I can say about a certain neighbor from hell whose name I’m trying to keep off of my mind.
Maybe some time with a nice, stable, normal guy is all I need to make it easier to stop thinking about Knox. Hell, maybe if things go really well with Chris tonight, I’ll let him take me back to his place. Maybe just make out a little bit with Netflix on in the background. Or maybe even more than that, depending on the level of chemistry I’m feeling.
Why not? It’s been eight months since I’ve been on a date, but almost a year since I’ve had sex. I’m still in college after all – I should live a little.
In fact, I’m sure that’s why seeing Knox has affected me so much. I’ve been a little bit (or more than a little bit, if I’m being honest) starved of both romance and sex – so, when suddenly I’m confronted with an Adonis of a bad boy parading around without a shirt on, in full view of my front window whenever he gets the chance, my body goes a little whacky.
It probably doesn’t even have anything to do with our history! I’m sure just a hot little hookup with a guy like Chris is all I need to realize that Knox is nobody worth dwelling on. Sure, he’s got more muscles than the average man, and his face has sharper angles – but he’s still just a guy.
And having some fun with another eligible guy might just be the ticket to mental peace.
When the waiter stops by to take our drink order, I order a glass of wine. I’m in the mood to get relaxed and open to wherever the evening and night take us. It turns out Chris and I have a bit in common. Our favorite subject is math, but we both love to read also. He’s into science fiction – not surprising from an engineering major. It’s not usually my thing, but I’ve been able to get into a Sci-Fi romance or two here and there.
He’s telling me about the kind of work he wants to get into after graduating, when my eyes wander over his shoulders and lock onto the absolute last thing I expected to or wanted to see.
No fucking way.
What the hell is he doing here?
Knox Delton swaggers in through the front door. And swagger is the word. He’s got his chest puffed out, his head held high, and he’s sauntering in like he owns the place. His roommate, Gavin, follows behind, a hesitant look on his face. Gavin notices me and whispers something to Knox. Knox seems to blow him off, heading to the bar. Gavin shakes his head and follows.
Of all places, Knox has to be here while I’m on a date that’s specifically intended to help me forget him?
Somehow, the conspiratorial side of me is suggesting that this isn’t an innocent coincidence.
He takes a seat at the bar. God damn, why does he look so good? And why do I notice!? He’s dressed in the simplest outfit possible, a pair of khaki pants and a tight blue t-shirt, but his body is a natural work of art that frames anything he wears in perfect proportions.
He turns around and our eyes lock. Time stops for a minute. I can hear Chris’s voice continuing in the background, but it’s just an inarticulate noise for me as my heartbeat pounds in my ears. Knox’s eyes are like fiery emeralds, burning a hole through me.
Knox breaks our eye contact and I notice his eyes falling on Chris. Immediately, a scowl contorts his face. His nose crinkles and his eyes now look venomous. If looks could kill, my perspective hookup for tonight would be on a trip to the morgue right now.
What the hell is his deal? Is this his way of getting back at me for piling trash up in his house? Is he just going to make my life a living hell whenever I go? Sabotage any date I go on and continue to drive me crazy by parading around outside, where he knows I can see him, without his shirt on?
Mercifully, Knox turns around at the bar to throw back a shot, and at least the spell of his eyes is broken.
“What about you, Emma?”
“Oh, uh – sorry, what?” I’m flustered at having missed what Chris is talking about. Here I am, supposed to be giving him my attention, but I’m still focused on the one person I shouldn’t be thinking about right now.
Snap out of it, Emma! Who cares that Knox is here? It is a free country after all. And, shit, Gilliam’s is a popular place. The reason he’s here might have nothing to do with me. And I might have totally misinterpreted that look he gave me and Chris.
I try to suppress every objection that presents itself to that round of rationalization, shoving Knox out of my mind by force. Who cares that he’s about ten feet away from me? It’s irrelevant. I’m here with Chris.
“What do you plan on doing after graduation? I mean, obviously, you’ll be teaching, I assume. But, like, middle school, high school? Do you want to stay local or move somewhere else?” Chris asks.
I answer his question and try to get back into my conversation with him. It was going well before he-who-shall-not-be-named showed up, after all. This date is still promising.
I’m able to shift my focus back to Chris and we keep talking. We continue to have a lot in common, he continues to seem like a nice guy, and the wine is helping me loosen up. It’s also helping me forget about a certain something (or somebody) a couple feet to my left.
That is, until Chris excuses himself to use the bathroom, and the momentary lack of a person on the other side of the table to hold my attention urges my eyes to wander. And they settle on Knox, who’s looking back at me.
Is it just a coincidence that he’s looking right at me while I glance in his direction for the first time in like five minutes, or has he been looking at me this whole time?
A smirk quickly appears on his face, before he gets up from his seat and walks over to a girl at the bar a couple chairs away from him. An uncomfortable feeling creeps up my spine as he leans toward her, and she erupts in high-pitched giggles. My eyes narrow and my jaw clenches.
Why the hell would I have this reaction – or any reaction – to Knox talking to some random girl? I know he talks to girls all the time – shit, I know he does a hell of a lot more than talk to them. I quickly snap my head back to Chris’s seat and hope he comes back soon, trying to once again tune out whatever Knox is up to.
Finally, my date returns.
But it’s hard to keep my attention focused on talking with Chris when high-pitched giggles are erupting from Knox’s direction every couple seconds, including some noises that sound more like moans, which have me straining every ounce of self-control I have not to turn around again to see what the hell is going on over there.
But it’s almost like the harder I try to ignore him, the louder and more ridiculous he gets. As Chris and I are eating our dinners, I can hear him talking to two different girls now, and the very indecent proposals he’s making to them are uttered at such a volume and not only does he have no interest in keeping the conversation private, he’s practically begging everyone within earshot to take note.
And why does it feel like there’s one person in ear shot in particular who this performance is directed towards?
I redouble my effort to focus on Chris and only Chris. Our conversation is still going well after dinner, and I’m finishing my second glass of wine. We start talking about movies and it turns out we both love horror movies, and reminisce over seeing the original The Conjuring in theatres years ago.
“We should re-watch it together sometime,” he says.
The suggestion makes me blush. I feel a tiny flutter in my stomach. This guy is really alright. In fact, it’s been a long time since I’ve been on a date that went this well.
Too bad the mini-moment Chris and I are having is again interrupted by a racket coming from Knox’s direction. This time it’s loud and ridiculous enough – including even the sound of a glass breaking on the floor – and both Chris and I are forced to turn our heads to the source.
Knox is laying himself down on the bar. “You wanna do some shots off my abs, babe?” he asks one of the girls he’s been flirting with, sounding as sleezy as can be. “Sorry for breaking that glass, honey,” he says to the woman bartender. Honey? Barf city. “I’ll let you do a shot off my abs, too, to make up for it.”
Instead of responding to his ridiculous statement with a stiff slap like he deserves, the bar tender actually blushes and giggles! Ugh. Have some self-respect, girl.
He lifts up his shirt and I feel red blotches break out all over my face and neck and I notice the ridges of his highly pronounced abdominal muscles while he’s laying down. Fuck, I can even see the bones of his hips and his deep v-cut rise like a mountain plane.
I look back over to Chris and have to kick myself when I subconsciously start making comparisons.
Okay, Chris probably doesn’t have a six (more like eight) pack that can shred a block of cheese. But he’s also not an insufferable jerk who ruins everyone’s night at a restaurant just to screw with the neighbor who wants nothing to do with him.
He’s a good guy. A reliable guy. A guy I have a lot in common with, a guy I can talk to.
With Knox’s escapades showing no signs of slowing down, we get the check and head outside.
“Still good for re-watching The Conjuring together some time?” He asks, his voice sweet and eager, with a smile on his face and a sparkle in his eye.
I’m about to answer yes. But then I think of what it’s going to be like when I get home. When Katie asks me about my date, I’m probably just going to unload a stream of conscience of insults and complaints about Knox’s behavior.
I’m going to stew in my room because I’ll still be angry about how he tried to ruin my date. I’m going to obsess over how I should have reacted rather than staying glued to my seat doing nothing. I’m going to imagine myself heroically walking over to Knox, throwing my drink in his face, and telling him off with such fury and righteous conviction that the whole restaurant applauds me, and shame him so badly and utterly that he finally slinks off out of my life for good.
Instead … I answer Chris’s proposal with one of my own. “How about right now?”
He looks taken aback but happily surprised. “Want to go watch it at my place?”
Our date went well enough with Knox right next to us doing everything in his power to screw it up. At his place we’ll be able to hang out and connect more without my attention being pulled elsewhere.
There’s not much I’d put past Knox, but I’m pretty sure he’s not going to be able to sneak into Chris’s apartment and ruin our night there.
Okay, maybe I shouldn’t jinx that …
“Yeah,” I answer, giving Chris a demure smile.
This is actually the first time I’ve ever gone back to a guy’s place after the first date with him – not withstanding two impromptu hookups at house parties I had as a freshman. But that’s a little different, and not something I made a habit of after I got adjusted to college life.
“Awesome,” Chris answers, smiling. His eyes are bright with excitement. “Let’s go.”
It feels good for a date to be going well, and I like Chris, but … as we drive back to his apartment, I don’t feel the thrill that I think should be there. I don’t feel the excitement, the gnawing tension.
But, hey, I’m just getting back into the dating scene. No need to overthink things.
I send Katie a text so she knows where I am. She responds hyper-excited and with a string of suggestive emojis. I laugh and try to get myself in the right frame of mind.
Chris parks in the small gravel parking lot beside his building and we get out of his car. If tonight ends up with a nice make out session – or, what the hell, even an orgasm – that’ll go a long way to helping me put a certain neighbor from hell out of my thoughts – for good.
We settle onto his couch and pick the movie from Netflix. We’ve both watched it a lot, so during the beginning when they’re just introducing the characters and the story, we spend more time talking to each other. We both sink into the indentations in the couch and slide closer together, so our arms are touching.
We start paying more attention once the drama and scares start. All the lights are off in his apartment, creating a spooky atmosphere, where we’re only lightly illuminated by the ethereal light of the television. It’s joined by just a tiny trace of orange light from the streetlamps outside his window, which only heightens the creepy ambiance.
I gasp at a jump scare and lean my body closer toward Chris’s. He responds by wrapping his arm around me. My breath hitches. It feels … I don’t know … not right?
There’s a sensation that I can’t shake: the feeling that the arm that’s around me isn’t the one I want around me. Like it’s just a substitute for something – someone – else.
Chris turns his head to me. I turn mine to meet him. His face approaches mine, his lips on an unambiguous path to my mouth. A shiver travels down my back – but not one of excitement. This doesn’t feel right.
His lips barely graze mine when I pull my head back. Every nerve and muscle in my body are all telling me one thing: I don’t want this.
But why?
Chris is a good guy. He’s pretty good looking. We have a lot in common. Things are going well.
Why does my body instinctively revolt against his touch, against his kiss?
“I … I have to go,” I fumble my words as he looks at me confused.
I get up from the couch and start collecting my things.
“Is … is everything okay? Did I do something?” Chris seems taken off guard – I’m sure this isn’t the reaction he expected.
“No, not at all. You’re fine, everything’s fine,” I say apologetically. “I just … have to go.”
I wish I could give a better explanation of myself – but I can’t even explain things to myself right now. All I know is that, despite what I told myself in the lead-up to it, when things were about to get intimate, everything inside me screamed that this wasn’t right.
That he wasn’t right. But why not?
While walking the couple block from Chris’s apartment to mine, I try not to admit to myself what I can sense subconsciously. That when Chris’s lips grazed against my own, the feeling in my stomach was disappointment.
Because, deep down, I can’t deny that I wished they were another pair of lips. A pair of lips belonging to a different man.
But I don’t dare admit to myself who that man is.