How to Date the Guy You Hate by Julie Kriss Page 0,36

left his phone on the arm of his chair, and it was buzzing again.

I wondered who it was. Did he have that many girls following him around? He’d always had girls crazy about him in high school—he wasn’t a player, exactly, just a guy that every girl had a crush on. The good guy, while Dean was the rebel. He wasn’t in high school anymore, but he was even more gorgeous now than he’d been then, and it couldn’t be hard for him to meet women. He worked in a nightclub, after all. I wondered if it had just been that easy for him after Charlotte, if he had just picked up a train of adoring girls like he always had.

The thought made me feel sour, and when I heard him come out of the bathroom I picked up his phone without looking at it. Inside the room again, I tossed it at him. “You should answer whoever that is,” I said. “I’m taking a shower.”

As I stood under the hot spray in the shower—which was as luxurious as a spa—I thought about whoever was on the other end of his phone. And then I thought about the fact that whoever she was—or whoever they were—he wasn’t here with her. He was here with me.

I’m going to fuck you, he’d told me this morning. I leaned my head back under the spray and heard the words in my mind, felt the way he’d kissed me. Maybe we weren’t made for the long term, Jason and me. But we were alone here in this beautiful hotel room, with nowhere else to go. I already knew how good it was when we had sex, how good he made me feel. And besides, I might not get long-term anything. I didn’t know.

I finished my shower and towelled myself off. Wrapping the towel around me, I walked back out into the room.

It was dark, except for a single bedside lamp. Jason was lying on one of the beds, propped up on the pillows. He had taken off the navy blue shirt, and he was wearing his jeans and white t-shirt, his bare feet crossed at the ankles. He was holding the TV remote, figuring out the buttons, but when he saw me he froze. His eyebrows went up.

I walked over to him and got on the bed. I straddled his lap. He dropped the remote. I dropped the towel.

I leaned over him, my hands on the headboard behind him, letting him see all of me.

“I think you promised me something,” I said.

Fifteen

Jason

I didn’t need to be told twice. I leaned up and kissed her, pushing my fingers into her damp hair, running my tongue over her luscious bottom lip. She wound her hands into the cotton of my t-shirt and kissed me hard, sucking on me, tugging the shirt up. I liked it, but I wasn’t about to give in so fast. I’d promised her this morning that I’d fuck her, and now I had my chance. We’d done the fast-fuck-on-the-couch thing. Now I had all night, and Megan naked and wet on my lap, and I was going to do this properly.

I moved my hands out of her hair and down the back of her neck, her back, her waist, her hips, still kissing her while my hands stroked her. She sighed in my mouth and her muscles relaxed, and she moved her hips against me, an unconscious, rolling grind that was better than any strip club had ever seen. I stroked down her hips and grabbed her ass, my hands cupping her, my fingers digging into her. She was warm and supple and perfect. She did that rolling motion again and I gripped her harder, stilling her, pressing her into the hard fly of my jeans, letting her feel me pulsing beneath it.

I broke the kiss and leaned up, away from the headboard. Now she was flush in my lap, her bare knees gripping my waist. I dug my fingers into her ass again, hard, and she bit her lip. She tugged my t-shirt up again and I let go of her so she could pull it up and over my head, throwing it away.

She was beautiful naked—fucking amazing. Her hips fit perfectly under my hands, curved into the dip of her waist as if they were designed to drive me crazy. Her breasts had the perfect shape of my memory, proportioned to her torso like a sculptor had made them, the