I Hated You First by Rachel John

Lauren

 

 

 

I ran upstairs to my apartment with donuts for Jenny while Clay waited downstairs in the truck. I had told him several times I wouldn’t hold him to our bet, but he was a man of his word and had called his grandparents and asked if we could come over. In a show of support, I’d let him drive my truck despite my win. Except for peeling out of the parking lot just to tick me off, he’d treated my metal baby very well.

I found Jenny in the kitchen, working out her feelings through culinary means. Whenever she had something on her mind, she cooked or baked. We were both enthusiastic leftover eaters, so it worked out well. And occasionally, when her creations got out of hand, we brought some to the neighbors in our building. The old guy who lived next door did not like chitchat, but he loved Jenny’s stir-fry.

“You’re back early. And without Clay. Dare I ask?” Jenny dried her hands and came over to see what type of donuts I’d brought. Clay and I had devoured half a dozen between the two of us, but we’d left Jenny the chocolate flavored cake donuts I knew were her favorites.

“He’s waiting in my truck. Are you okay?”

“Couldn’t be better. I forgot I’d preordered a book from my favorite author, and it showed up today in my reading app. As soon as this dough is ready to rise, I’m going to dive into it.”

“Good, because I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“Really? I’m liking the sound of that, sister.” She slapped my butt with a kitchen towel and ran before I could retaliate. “I want to hear it all later.”

“Sure, sure.” Assured she’d be fine, I hurried back downstairs so Clay and I could drive over to his grandparents. He had made no promises on what type of visit it would be. Usually, his grandma would hint when it was time for him to go, and that was that. It broke my heart a little, to hear him talk about it so matter-of-factly. The few times I had interacted with his grandma in the past had not been unfriendly, but had definitely not been friendly either. I wasn’t sure if she was purposefully intimidating or if it just came naturally to her.

Clay had moved to the passenger side while I was gone, so I jumped into the driver’s seat and adjusted the rearview mirror before running my hands lovingly over the steering wheel, silently apologizing for letting someone else drive it. When I looked at Clay, he was smirking.

“How come I don’t get a greeting like that?”

“Jealous?”

“Clearly.”

My eyes roved over him, taking in everything that made him so attractive. His mischievous smile, his tall and lean body. No wonder Denise Perkins wanted a piece of this. “Did you ever call Denise?”

Clay’s shoulders sank. “Our minds are clearly in different places right now. No, I didn’t call her, but only because she called me first. I told her I was sorry, but I started seeing someone. And then she pinned me down on dates and times until I either had to admit it was you or pretend it was an old crush who finally gave me the time of day. Technically, both of those are true.”

“So, you told her it was me?”

“Heck no. You’d gain a stalker. Plus, word would get back to Melissa.”

“True. I hadn’t thought about that.” I wondered what Melissa would think of the two of us together. She’d probably be mad she hadn’t thought of it first.

“How is Jenny?” Clay asked, sliding across the bench seat and invading my space. I shivered in anticipation as he leaned in, his deep grey-blue eyes staring into mine. His lips were so close, yet not close enough. “Lauren?”

“What?” I ran my hand over his biceps. Why weren’t we kissing yet?

“How’s your roommate? Was she okay?”

Oh, right. He’d asked me a question. I smoothed the front of his shirt as if ridding it of the imaginary wrinkles I’d placed there when I’d grabbed it inside my short-lived fantasy. “She’s fine. Jenny’s not one to let anything get her down for long. Besides, she’s been shipping the two of us since the day you showed up to drive me to work when my truck was acting up. She practically shooed me back out the door just now.”

“Shipping?”

“Yeah, like when you want two people to get together because you sense something the two of them don’t see, you ship them. Relationship.” My hands went back to his biceps under the hems of his short-sleeved tee. His muscles were smooth and warm. Way nicer than the leather of my steering wheel. Sorry, truck.Still love you.

I leaned in and kissed one of his biceps and then immediately felt really stupid. It was like my brain had short circuited and my lips had been put in charge of decision-making. I laughed nervously. “I don’t know why I did that I—”

Clay’s mouth closed on mine. “Don’t.” Another kiss. “Worry.” More kissing. “About it.”

Kissing him was like the sun warming my back on a winter day, like hitting the gas pedal on a long empty stretch of freeway. I wrapped my arms around his back and held on.

Eventually, though, we were abruptly reminded that we were in an apartment complex parking lot. We both turned and looked through the driver’s side window to see the guy who had pulled into the spot next to us. Staring. Smiling. I wanted to swing open my driver door and dent his car, but I wisely refrained. Clay and I really did need to pick better places to make out.

“To my grandparents’ house,” Clay said with a groan, slowly letting me go. He stayed in the middle seat as I put the truck into drive. I liked his thigh right up next to mine, which I knew was no accident on his part. I think we both needed the continual physical contact, a promise we were in this for real, and neither of us would back out.

“We don’t have to go to your grandparents if you don’t want to. Like you said earlier, today’s just about spending as much time together as possible before…” I paused.

“Before your dad gets back.” He finished my sentence of dread.

“He wants Parker and I to sign something saying we won’t date employees once we’re part owners.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, but I’m not going to do that.”

“It makes sense in a way.”

“No. Don’t even defend it.” I gripped his knee. “I know I’ve sent you mixed, panicked signals, but it’s because I’ve been getting used to the idea of us, not because I don’t want it. I’m actually a little scared of how much I want it.” I took in a deep breath and blew it out. In every previous relationship, I’d avoided big feelings, and especially, admitting to having them. Denver had told me I was hard to read. I would go further and say I was hard to reach.

Clay nudged my shoulder. “I’m here for whatever kind of signals you want to send, baby.”

“That’s the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard.” But l was secretly grateful for it. He knew me well enough not to push too hard. I needed time to think. If Clay was what I’d wanted all along, why was I still locked in my protective shell, afraid to open up to him? Was it just habit?

No. I looked over at him, sitting in the middle seat while I drove, which some guys would have considered emasculating. Clay wasn’t just some guy. He was the guy. Mine. I wanted him for keeps. And that was scary. Everything went back to my fear. Before, I’d been cautious, maybe even callous. But now, I was terrified of how much I liked him and what upheaval it would cause to both our lives to pursue this.

“So, where am I going?”

“To my grandparents. Unless you want to die. Once you tell them you’re coming, you show up, or else.”

“Well, if death is on the line, by all means, let’s go play some Scrabble.”

“I don’t know about the Scrabble thing.”

“Bird watching then.”

“Or coupon clipping.”

I nodded. “Coupon clipping. I’m down with that.”

“Judging the neighbors for leaving out their garbage can.”

“Clay.”

He laughed. “Mockery is my love language.”

“Well, that explains some things.”

His playful mood lasted until we turned onto our block, and then we both got quiet. I parked in front of his grandparent’s house, but my eyes were on my parents’ house not too far down the street. My mom would be home. I wouldn’t even mind her knowing about us. Maybe she already suspected. Maybe she could help prep my dad.

Clay lightly squeezed my knee. “I know what you’re thinking. You want to tell her.”

“Not today. Your grandparents are waiting.” That, and I wanted to call her first. Surprises weren’t really Mom’s thing. Or mine, for that matter.

I opened my door and slid out, and Clay took my hand as we walked up to the door. His hand in mine felt so nice, I had to hold back the tears threatening to pop out. That never happened. What was wrong with me?

“Anything else I should know?” I asked, suddenly nervous. What would his grandparents think of the two of us together? Forget what I’d said. I wasn’t ready for anyone else to know yet.

“I’ve never brought a girlfriend to meet them. No pressure.”

“Am I your girlfriend?” I blurted out.

He’d been about to knock but he dropped his hand. “Are you?”

“I don’t know. Last I checked, there wasn’t a protocol for this sort of thing.”

Clay laughed. “Are you afraid of labels, Lauren?”

“No.” I squeezed his hand. “Okay, I’m your girlfriend.”

“Good.” He locked eyes with me.

“Good.”

The door opened before I could kiss his face off.

His grandma stood there with her kitchen broom in hand. I wasn’t sure if she’d been sweeping, or if it was just part of her intimidating look. “What are you standing there for? I could hear you talking but you never knocked.” She looked at him before her eyes rested on me. Studying me. “Parker’s sister.” She looked at our clasped hands and her eyebrows raised as if to say, interesting.

“This is Lauren, Grandma.”

“Yes, I see that. Come in. Are we really playing Scrabble? You’ve never wanted to before, Clayton.”

“Whatever you’d like to do, Grandma.”

I followed the direction of his gaze over to a scary-looking Nutcracker doll on the mantle across the room. It was like the eye of Sauron as far as he was concerned. I could just tell. Maybe I could accidentally knock it over and break it on our way out. Except I wanted to make a good first impression. Dang it.

His Grandma motioned to the table. “Well, I have the game set up. Or we could play Password instead.”

“No, Scrabble is fine,” Clay said quickly, leading me into the kitchen.

“What’s Password?” I whispered.

“Worse than Scrabble. All I know is it involves a long staring contest and one word answers. They play it for hours.”

“You’re a Harwood, aren’t you?” Clay’s grandpa stood when we came in and reached out to shake my hand.

“Yep. I sure am.”

“That’s enough chitchat. Let’s play.” Clay’s grandma sank into the seat across from us and took her seven letter pieces from the pile, placing them on her wooden rack. Clay was not joking. When it came to game playing, she meant serious business.

On the ride over, we had agreed to play as a team, but one frown from Clay’s grandma was all it took for him to take his own rack and place letters on it. Admitting to me he was intimidated by the game had been humbling enough. Now he was tossed into what I knew would be a cut-throat game, and it was all my fault. I took a peek at his letters, swapping them around in my mind while his grandparents took their turns.

I nudged his foot with mine before saying, “That bridge closure sure was a pain.”

“Yep. Lots of traffic.” I was so glad he’d gone along with my weird statement, because otherwise he’d totally give away my blatant attempt to help him. Unfortunately, one look from him was all it took to know he had no idea what I was doing.

There was an E available for his use at the end of his grandfather’s word, and he had B, R, I, D, and G sitting there, waiting to be used. I nudged his foot again and looked right at his letters.

And then he got it. He placed them on the board, and took his respectable points. I went next, smiling at his grandma who had continued to study me with interest. Interest was better than contempt. Interest, I could deal with. It meant they cared about Clay, and I wanted them to care about him. There was no one in the world who deserved to be loved more than him.

I picked up the hand loose at his side and rested it on my knee, and then began tracing letters into his palm before each of his turns. MIFFED. TOXIC. JULEP. I was concentrating so hard on helping him that I was losing, by a lot.

“Are you left-handed, Lauren?” Clay’s grandma asked after jotting down her triple word score. She stared me down, and it was like she was gazing into my soul.

“No. I’m just holding Clay’s hand.”

“Why?”

“Because I like him.”

“Clay, what does miffed mean?”

I bit my lip and glanced over at him. We were so busted.

He squeezed my hand. “Miffed means you’re upset?”

“Use it in a sentence.”

“Grandma is miffed because someone dropped something toxic in her mint julep.”

There was this awkward silence right after where laughter should have been. Like a stand-up comedian telling fart jokes at a women’s country club meeting.

His grandma’s eyes narrowed. “If someone tried to poison me, I’d be pretty miffed. Almost as miffed as I’d be if someone cheated while playing Scrabble with me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I echoed him, and for a half second, I saw a ghost of a smile cross her face. It was so brief I wondered if I’d imagined it.

She turned to her husband. “Did you know they were cheating?”

“Since bridge,” Clay’s grandfather acknowledged in that quiet, gravelly voice of his.

“And you weren’t going to say anything?”

The old man shrugged. “In my house growing up, if you didn’t cheat at cards, you weren’t trying hard enough.”

“Have you ever cheated while we’ve played?”

“No, ma’am. I didn’t want anything toxic dropped in my anything.”

“Harold.” Clay’s grandma shook her head, but that ghost of a smile was back, less ghostly this time and much more alive.

Clay stared at his grandparents like he’d never seen them before. I was pretty sure his grandpa didn’t say much of anything on a good day and never made jokes. Had that been a joke just now?

Suddenly aware we were watching them and their cute interaction, Clay’s grandma waved her hands at us, shooing us back to our letter tiles. “Whose turn is it?”

“Mine,” I admitted. I put down QUAKE on a triple word score and suddenly I was back in the game.