I Hated You First by Rachel John

Clay

 

 

 

My house was clean, but not so clean it was suspicious. Same with me. I’d showered but decided to forego cologne. I did my hair but left it a little messy. I was in comfortable clothes but not so much that I looked like a slob. It was the same stupid balancing act I’d been doing for years, but I couldn’t be greedy now. Friendship was a good first step for us. Maybe a step towards disaster, but then, what wasn’t when it came to Lauren? It was a relief when she rang the doorbell, and I ran out of time to stress over how tonight might go.

She had her hair up in a messy bun and a snarky T-shirt on that said Hang On, Let Me Overthink This.

Couldn’t have said it better myself. She looked perfect. The exact sort of trouble I liked from head to toe, and it always amazed me that no amount of time could go by where I wouldn’t feel a kick of excitement the moment our eyes met. She gave me a self-conscious smile before pulling it back into her usual look of indifference.

I glanced behind her to see where she parked, and she turned to follow my gaze before fixing me with a stare. “You’re afraid someone’s going to see my truck in your drive, aren’t you? Well, I beat you to it. I parked down the street.”

Neither of us said anything for several seconds. How did we talk about the need to be secret friends, for no one to find out that we liked hanging out together? Heck, we couldn’t even admit to ourselves we both wanted to be here. I didn’t give a rip about cookies. I wanted to see Lauren. But I’d still used cookies as an excuse, for both our sakes.

Lauren brushed past me and threw her bag on the couch before walking into the kitchen and inspecting my cookie-making setup. I had everything out—pans and mixing bowls, utensils, all the ingredients, and aprons.

I grinned when Lauren picked up the matching apron set and held them out. Under a big cookie-shaped heart were the words, Kiss the Cook. I’d come home with the set after a white elephant gift exchange. Lauren had been there, but I didn’t know if she remembered. I was sort of hoping she didn’t so I could freak her out.

Moving closer, I took one out of her hands and slipped it over my head. “I saw these at the store and thought they’d be perfect for tonight.”

She laughed and pushed me away. “Whatever. I remember you getting stuck with these aprons at the work Christmas party two years ago, Clay.”

“Does that mean we can wear them without any pesky assumptions?” I picked up the one she’d put back on the counter and held it out.

Lauren crossed her arms. “I’m okay with a little flour getting on me. And don’t worry about pesky assumptions. There will be no kissing of cooks going on. Don’t worry.”

“Are you sure you don’t need one? I’m a messy baker. At least, I plan to be. I haven’t really baked anything before.”

“You plan to be messy?” She took the apron out of my hands and put it on, reaching back to tie it around her waist. She was about to say something, but her phone rang and she ran to get it from her bag. When she saw who it was, she put a warning finger to her lips before answering.

“Hi, Noble.”

The dude talked for almost a minute before Lauren cut in with, “No, it’s fine. I understand. Thank you for calling me back. Yes. Everything is set for Friday.” She glanced up at me for confirmation, and I gave her a nod. “Is it okay if we meet at the restaurant?” There was a pause before she said, “Yes, I’m generally punctual.”

He wanted to know if she was punctual? Who was this guy?

“Yes, separate tabs is fine.”

I took a step towards her, but Lauren waved me off, putting a hand over her free ear as if she could block my opinion on the matter. My thoughts about Noble so far weren’t nice ones, and she knew it.

“Okay, see you Friday.” She dropped her phone back in her bag and looked up at me. “Now you can say it.”

“Say what? That Noble sounds like a real winner? I mean, his name is a virtue. And he’s a big fan of punctuality, so he has that going for him.”

Her shoulders dropped and she sank into the couch. “Go on. I know this is your favorite game.”

“Did he really tell you he wanted separate tabs? Because I’m paying for my date, and he can look like a cheapo while I pay for your dinner too.”

“Clay, you can’t.”

“Watch me.”

A thrill ran through me when she got up and stalked over to me, grabbing the front of my Kiss the Cook apron in her fist.

“You’ll have your own date on Friday, and I’ll have mine. No shenanigans.”

“I like shenanigans.”

“I know you do. That’s what I’m worried about.”

My hands came up of their own accord and rested on her hips. If she didn’t step away, I was going to kiss her. And then we’d never get cookies, because she’d run. I knew it as well as I knew my own name.

Lauren’s eyes dropped to my chest, and she stepped away, rubbing her arms like she was cold. “Let’s get cracking on those cookies. They’re not going to make themselves.”

We put a counter between us and got to work opening and mixing things. I did whatever she asked, her silent servant until she relaxed enough to look me in the eyes again.

“You want music?” I asked, moving over to the iPod docking station I had on the counter.

She shrugged. “Sure.”

With no restrictions put on me, I scrolled to my Seventies playlist, which no one could ever resist dancing to, especially me. Our shop class teacher used to make us listen to a lot of Abba and the Bee Gees, and it just stuck with me.

When Stayin’ Alive came on, Lauren’s eyes widened, and she covered her mouth to hide a smile. I pretended not to notice and sashayed my way over to the oven to pre-heat it.

“What are you doing?” She leaned over the counter, resting her head on her arms and watching me. “This is not you.”

“How do you know what’s me?”

“Is this like, some sneaky seduction technique to get under my skin?”

I smiled. “On your skin.”

She touched her neck self-consciously. Her beautiful neck that was turning red along with her face.

“So, let me get this straight. You’re afraid to dance with me because you think it’s some seduction technique I’ve been saving to use on you? Are you saying it would work? I’m asking for purely scientific reasons.”

She rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know what to think.”

“Well then, relax, and don’t overthink this.”

She stared at me for several seconds before adding the chocolate chips to the dough in the bowl. And then her head rocked back and forth, and before I knew it both of us had our arms in the air and we were shaking our hips like no one was watching. And no one was. This whole night was our little secret.

We sang along to How Deep is Your Love while spooning out the dough, and I had the tray of cookies in hand to put in the oven when Lauren froze.

“Did you hear that?” she asked, glancing toward the entryway.

“Hear what?” I put the tray down and moved to the iPod, pausing the music just in time to hear the doorbell again. Thank goodness I’d locked the door, because I had a pretty good idea who might drop by unannounced.

I tilted my head toward the hallway, and she didn’t need more encouragement than that to go hide before I jogged to the entryway. I’d never wished for a salesman I could slam the door on more in my life.

But no, it was Parker. He walked in without an invitation the second I opened the door and walked straight to the kitchen, taking in the cookies in progress. He glanced back at my Kiss the Cook apron and raised one eyebrow. “You definitely need a social life more than I do.”

“I was actually in the middle of an important… thought. And you interrupted.” Dang it. Why didn’t I have anything going on that gave me a legitimate reason to kick him out of my house?

“Well, sorry to interrupt. I’ll be quiet so you can finish your thoughts or whatever. Are you going to stick those in the oven? It’s preheated.”

He made himself comfortable at my kitchen table with his feet propped up on another chair, and I picked up the tray and shoved it in the oven with a little more force than necessary.

“I’m gonna go use the bathroom.” I stalked down the hall, closing the bathroom door on the way before checking the guest bedroom and then mine for Lauren. Where was she? I moved over to my closet and began sliding the door open. There was a tug on my ankle, and I jumped forward and hit the closet door before grabbing the sides and regaining my balance. I was lucky I didn’t take the door off its tracks.

“Lauren!” I hissed, dropping to the floor next to her. “What are you doing? Stop trying to wrestle with me all the time.”

“Yeah, you wish. So, who’s over stealing my cookies? Parker or Evan?”

“Parker. And technically the cookies were for me, so he’s stealing my cookies.”

“Our cookies. Fight me on it.”

“I know you’d like to.” I gave a strand of her hair a soft tug, enjoying our banter too much. It was the last of it we’d get tonight, which was a shame. “I’m sorry you’re hiding in here.”

“It’s just how things are,” she whispered. “But you better go back. I have to get out of your house.”

I glanced up at my bedroom window. It was the best bet. The path to the back door was across from my kitchen, and there was a good chance Parker would see her if we tried that way.

I got up and lifted the blinds and undid the top and bottom locks before pulling the window open as quietly as possible. Then there was the screen to remove. I didn’t want to ruin the screen unless I had to, and that meant removing the little screws before popping it out of the frame. This was taking too long.

“Hey, Clay,” Parker hollered. “You didn’t set a timer on the oven. How long do these cookies need?”

From the sounds of it, Parker was talking to the bathroom door. The one I wasn’t in.

Lauren tapped my arm, mouthing, “go.”

She’d have to make her own escape. I came out of my room and went out to set a timer for the cookies, giving it my best guess. Now that Lauren wouldn’t get to eat them, I didn’t care whether they were under or overdone.

Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed with a text. I checked it while Parker was too busy stuffing his face with piping hot chocolate chips cookies to notice. I wanted to punch him.

Lauren: Don’t forget to put your screen back on and lock your window when you get a chance. You owe me cookies.

Clay: Next time at your place.

I put my phone away and placed a few cookies on a plate before sitting on the couch and turning on the TV.

“We should watch that documentary on drug traffickers,” Parker suggested.

I didn’t have a preference so I tossed him the remote before going in the kitchen to get a glass of milk. I took a detour to my bedroom first to lock my window. Lauren had propped the screen up against the house after removing it. I’d put it back on later.

“We had a really unproductive ownership meeting this afternoon,” Parker said when I returned with my glass of milk.

“Oh yeah?” I stared at the TV, expecting him to continue, but when he didn’t, I turned to look at him. He was staring at me thoughtfully.

“Does it make you uncomfortable for me to talk about it?” he asked.

“Talk about what?”

“Ownership.”

“Why would it?”

“I don’t know. I guess because you’re sort of one of us, but sort of not.”

There was no good way to answer that, so I didn’t.

“Have you thought of saying something to John? About ownership?”

Not this again. Somehow, it made me feel worse that both he and Lauren had considered it, but not John. I got it. I wasn’t one of his kids. Moving on. “No. Let’s pretend we didn’t have this conversation.”

“Yeah, okay.” He hit play on the show and any further conversation we had was about government corruption, and what it would be like to be a cop in a country where anyone could be bought.

Parker left soon after the show was over, and I got ready for bed, debating whether to call Lauren or not. I finally did while sitting in bed waiting for sleep to overtake me.

“Clay?”

“That would be me.”

“Did the cookie monster ever leave?” she asked.

“Yes. I promise I’ll make you new ones.”

“I was only teasing. They were your cookies, Clay.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to share them with you.”

She was quiet for a minute. Likely not used to hearing anything sweet coming out of my mouth.

“What did Parker want?”

“I don’t know. To watch TV somewhere else. To make uncomfortable conversation.”

“What do you mean uncomfortable?”

I paused, not sure how honest I wanted to be. But being real with Lauren was this new refreshing thing I was getting addicted to. I wanted her to see me. The real me. “Parker asked how I felt about the company ownership.”

Lauren sucked in a breath. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, he asked if I thought about saying something to John. And the answer is still no, by the way.”

I thought she’d launch into me, but Lauren was quiet. Eerily, guiltily quiet. And I refreshed that conversation I’d had with Parker with new eyes based on her reaction.

“Lauren, did you say something to him? Oh, no. Did you say something at the ownership meeting today?”

“I’m sorry. It’s just, John moved up the timeline. Like he wanted us to sign papers and everything right then, and I thought if I didn’t say something it would be too late, and I knew you never would.”

I dropped the phone, stung. I knew she was sorry, sorry enough to admit it right away and not cover it up. But I was still angry. Everything I wanted was getting twisted and tangled in ways that would end with me losing it all.

“Clay, say something.”

I ignored her, but I didn’t end the call either. I just breathed in and out, and thought. Finally, I picked back up the phone and put it to my ear. “Why, Lauren? Now it’s going to nag at John. It will be in the back of his mind when he talks to me, and it’s going to annoy him. But he’s not going to change his mind. He’s a decisive guy. Don’t you think he’s thought this through?”

“I wish I could take it back. I didn’t think of the consequences if he didn’t agree with me, and I’m sorry for that. I don’t think John’s going to be annoyed, though. You’re part of us.”

“I’m not. I have to go.” I hung up and launched back against my pillow. Everything was wrong. The anxiety of going into work the next day kept me up for the next few hours. I even tried Lauren’s technique of reading paperbacks. I had a biography of John Adams on a shelf and got two chapters in before I threw it on the floor and attempted counting sheep.