How to Date the Guy You Hate by Julie Kriss Page 0,5

and annoyed, and that just made me contrary, so I picked up the Midol box and scanned it. Then I looked at the computer screen. “The price isn’t coming up right,” I said sweetly to Jason.

He figured it out almost immediately—I’d give him that. Even tired and hung over, he figured it out. He closed his eyes, as if he had a pounding headache, as I picked up the intercom phone and pressed the ON button.

“Price check,” I said into the intercom, hearing my voice reverberate through the store. There were shoppers in the aisles and at least four people in line behind Jason. “Price check on Midol. I repeat, Midol. Cash one.”

Jason’s eyes were still closed, as if he was wishing he were somewhere else right now. “Megan,” he said again, his jaw clenched, “is this really necessary?”

“I’m afraid it is,” I said to him. “You have to pay the right price, Jason. It’s important.”

Doug appeared from around the end of the aisle. “Megan, that price check,” he called over the heads of everyone in line. “Is it regular strength Midol or extra strength Midol?”

I made a show of lifting the box and checking it. “Extra strength, Doug,” I called back, my voice carrying. “Extra strength Midol.”

“Sure thing,” Doug said, disappearing back down the aisle.

“Oh, my fucking God,” Jason said softly.

“I know. I’m sorry,” I said insincerely. “This will only take a minute. Then you can take your Midol, and your cramps will go away.”

He lifted a hand—one big, long-fingered, well-formed, pure-sex hand—and scraped it slowly over his face. I could hear the rasp of his stubble, the sound reverberating straight between my legs. Damn him.

“It’s for my mother,” he said.

Oh. Right. He’d moved back in to his mother’s house after the breakup with Charlotte. I hadn’t thought of that. How old was Mrs. Carsleigh? Still young enough to need Midol, obviously. Which meant that Jason, at twenty-four, was still a guy who would get out of bed hung over on a rainy Sunday to buy his mother some Midol.

Fuck.

Doug came back and gave me the price. The computer had it right, of course. So I rang it through and took Jason’s money without another word. It didn’t matter that I’d been a bit of a bitch to him while he was doing something nice. It didn’t matter. He deserved it. I told myself that as I yanked the money out of his hand and dumped out his change. As I snapped the box of Midol into a bag and shoved it at him. Fuck you, Jason Carsleigh. Fuck you.

He took his change and paused, as if considering saying something. “Jesus you’re pissed at me,” he said. “I wish I knew why.”

He turned and walked away, his tall, muscled body moving easily in his sweatshirt and worn jeans.

I watched him walk away, my stomach sinking.

I wish I knew why.

I did a quick calculation of the dates, and I realized with a sudden shock that I had hated him for just under five years. Five years. More than a fifth of my life. The idea felt like a slap to the face, and my anger drained out of me like a deflated balloon. Jason was right; this was exhausting. I wasn’t the kind of girl who hated people for five years. In fact, I didn’t hate anyone—Jason was the only one. He was the only person on the planet who made me this certifiably insane.

And suddenly, I wanted him to understand the reason. I didn’t want to keep it to myself anymore, like a closely held secret. I wanted him to know. I wanted it to matter.

Doug was a few feet away, straightening a shelf of breath mints and lip glosses, and I turned to him. “I’m taking a break.”

He looked at me and frowned. The old man waiting to pay for his Eno frowned, too. “It’s not time for your break,” Doug said.

There was an arcane system dictating who took breaks when that I had never bothered to understand, but Doug knew it by heart. “I’m taking it now,” I said, untying my apron and sliding the loop up over my head.

“Fine,” Doug huffed, not wanting to make a scene in front of the Eno man. “But you can’t take your break at one forty-five.”

I dropped the apron. Jason was getting away with every second wasted here. “Whatever. I’ll be right back.”

I stepped out the front door. Drug-Rite was in a strip mall, and past the concrete overhang I