How to Date the Guy You Hate by Julie Kriss Page 0,19

parse that. Did he mean that he’d been so in love with her that it would be too painful to go to her wedding? Or did he mean that he was so happily rid of her that he never wanted to see her again? I’d barely ever seen them together—he’d been deployed for most of the time they’d been together, and they’d broken up shortly after Holly and I became friends—but physically, Jason and Charlotte together were… perfect. She was tall, willowy, and blonde, and he was tall, muscular, and dark. She had no flaws that I was aware of. He’d likely never ground her into the grass in a public park. They’d probably made perfect love on perfumed beds, covered in rose petals and surrounded by candles while someone played the harp nearby.

I didn’t want to picture that. At all.

He’d probably been gone on her. Any guy would be.

I put my fork down, the topic of Jason and Charlotte in bed making my stomach turn, which in turn made me angry. Why the hell did I care about it, even a little? Why couldn’t I just be over this guy already?

Jason was watching me, his dark eyes missing nothing, and for a moment the air was heavy between us. “Okay,” he said finally. “Suit, dress pants, haircut, drive to Cape Cod, don’t look like a Fight Club extra, try and be nice. When do we leave?”

“A week from Thursday,” I said, pushing my plate away. “The wedding’s on Saturday.” I glanced out the window. “Shit, it’s still raining, and I have to drive to my appointment. I have to go.”

He was still watching me, and I didn’t like the perceptiveness in the way he looked at me. “It sounds important.”

I shrugged, the motion tight. “It’s just a thing.”

“A thing you had to get off work for.” He scratched his chin. “You want me to come?”

For a second I stared at him, surprised into silence. Then the words came out, sharper than I intended, because I was in a spin and I didn’t know what to say. “Why would I want that?”

His expression closed down slowly. “Well, I have some free time, and you look upset. Jesus. I can be nice, you know.”

“No,” I said, reaching into my jeans pocket and pulling out some money. “I do not need you to come with me. I don’t need you to do anything except pick me up on Thursday morning so I can go to the wedding from hell.”

His jaw was tight, but he slid his phone across the table toward me. “Text yourself your address,” he said, “and that way we have each other’s numbers, too.”

“Fine,” I said, opening his texting app. “There better not be any dick pics in here.”

“You wish,” he said, his voice deep with meaning.

I’m packing some heat.

I stared hard down at the phone and texted myself, then slid the phone back across the table at him. “Have a nice day,” I said.

“See ya, Sunshine,” Jason said, and I walked out the door.

Eight

Megan

I got most of the way to Detroit before I admitted to myself that I’d been a bit of a bitch.

It was Jason’s fault, I told myself at first. He brought it out in me. He goaded me somehow, so what did he expect? He’d pried into my appointment. He’d brought up Charlotte.

But no, that was me. I’d brought up Charlotte.

I sat in slow traffic on the interstate and ran a hand through my hair. Okay, so I was a little on edge. I had a really good reason. And he could have at least been nice about it, right?

Except I hadn’t told him my reason. And he had been nice. Or he’d tried to be.

Fuck.

I made it to the hospital with barely fifteen minutes to spare. I found my way through the maze of hospital parking, then jogged through the massive complexes of buildings to the Cancer Center, stopping twice to ask for directions in the halls. I finally got to Dr. Pfeiffer’s office, sweaty and damp, my sneakers squeaking on the floors and my purse banging against my thigh.

I had never met Dr. Pfeiffer before. I’d been referred to him by my mother’s oncologist, who had contacted me and recommended he refer me for an appointment. Dr. Pfeiffer, it turned out, was in his late forties, one of those vital, thick-bodied men who gave off a lot of presence and an air of lively intelligence. He sat down on the chair across from