How to Date the Guy You Hate by Julie Kriss Page 0,14
he?”
Slowly, I dribbled the basketball, once, twice, and came across the court toward her. “I kicked him out of Zoot Bar on Saturday night,” I said, keeping my eyes on her. “He was making a girl uncomfortable, and he thought it was okay because she was his ex. So I hauled him from the club and dumped him on the street.”
Her eyes went wide at that. I looked at her mouth as I came closer, still dribbling the ball, and wondered what those perfect lips would taste like. Apparently I already knew. “What’s the real question?” I asked her.
She watched me come closer, but she didn’t move away. Instead she tensed her jaw and met my eyes with hers. “You said you were sorry,” she said. “About what happened.”
“I am,” I said.
“If you want to make it up to me, I need a favor.”
“Yeah?” I came closer still. I was standing nearly at the edge of the court now, while she stood on the grass. “You want me to mow your lawn?”
Megan’s lips parted, and then the corner of her mouth quirked in a smile before she tamped it down again. I took that as a good sign.
“I don’t need you to mow anything, jackass,” she said. “I need you to take me to a wedding.”
My first instinctive reaction, deep in my spine, was distaste—who the fuck wants to go to a wedding?—but I ignored it. She had the right to ask something of me. “Whose wedding?” I asked.
“My cousin’s.”
“Is the cousin the bride or the groom?”
“The bride.”
“And why the fuck do you need me to take you to your cousin’s wedding?” I asked.
“The groom is my ex.” The words were fast, and her cheeks went red. She hadn’t meant to say that.
“Interesting,” I said, bouncing the ball again. Who the hell was Megan’s ex? I hadn’t heard she had boyfriends. Then again, I knew nothing about her. Nothing at all. Except apparently what she looked like naked. If only I could remember all the details. “So you need me to show up at this thing to prove you’re over him and that you’re not a single loser. Am I close?”
She didn’t even flinch. “Something like that,” she said, blinking rain from her eyelashes. “Show up. Wear a suit. Look hot. Pretend you like me.”
Pretend I liked her? All I wanted was for her to drop her arms so I could see whether her nipples were hard. Jesus, it had been months since I’d had sex. Months. “It seems like you’re the one who’ll have to pretend, since you hate my guts.”
“I won’t pretend to like you,” she snapped.
I caught the ball in my hand, stilling it. The silence was sudden and complete.
Megan looked at my expression, and suddenly she looked uneasy.
“I’ll tell you what,” I said.
She looked like she was about to back out, but then she steeled herself. “What?”
I held up the basketball. “Beat me at one on one, and I’ll take you.”
“That’s idiotic,” she said. “I can’t win. You’re at least six inches taller than me. Plus you’re a fucking athlete.”
“Football, not basketball,” I said. This was cheating—basketball was my sport of choice, but Eden High had a football program, not a basketball program, so I’d played football instead. But Megan didn’t know that.
“You’re a Marine, you idiot,” she said. “I have no chance. No way.”
“Fine. Just get one in the basket, and you win. That’s it.”
Her eyes narrowed, and her body went still. Ah, so this was the competitive soul that lived behind the easygoing bohemian. “Just one?”
“Sure,” I said. “Actually, if it makes it easier for you, we can—”
But she was already moving, and in a flash she’d tipped the ball from my hand and was tearing across the court with it. She was wearing a jersey dress and sneakers, and her legs flashed, her wet hair bouncing as she headed for the basket.
I shouted and turned, darting after her. My legs were longer than hers, and I dodged around her as she moved, trying to get in front of her to block her shot without touching her, but damn her, she was already in the air. She made a nice layup—impressive for someone maybe five-five who didn’t have the benefit of a warmup—and tossed the ball at the basket.
It missed.
“Fuck!” she shouted. I had never heard Megan swear like that, and it made me unexpectedly picture her being filthy-mouthed in bed, maybe saying something like that when she came. The jolt in my shorts