How to Date the Guy You Hate by Julie Kriss Page 0,59

odd looks, I moved on and did a circuit of the room again.

He wasn’t there. The panic faded and the anger seeped in. Did he think he was punishing me? Was this some kind of snit? That didn’t seem like him. Where the fuck did you go, Jason?

Everyone was sitting down, chairs scraping, silverware clinking. The wedding party had assembled on the dais at the front of the room, where they’d sit while the speeches went on. There would be those endless “kiss the bride” toasts, and joking speeches from the best man and the maid of honor, and a tearful speech from Aunt Janice about how happy they made each other. In a second, everyone would be sitting and the room would be quiet. Still no Jason.

I saw the places set for us at one of the tables, empty. People were starting to give me looks again.

Damn it. I put down my drink and slipped out the door just as the orchestra stopped and a round of applause began. I walked back to the B & B, thinking I’d try his room. I knocked on his door to no answer.

He wasn’t in his room. He was in mine.

He’d taken off the three-piece suit; he was back to wearing worn jeans and his Thunderbird shirt, his hair tousled, the sexy watch on his wrist. My suitcase was open on my bed, and he was pulling the clothes I’d left strewn around the room and folding them. “Hey,” he said casually when he saw me.

“Hey?” I nearly shouted. “What are you doing? How the hell did you get in here?”

“You took the key with you when you left. I had to leave it open.”

He was right. I’d taken the key with me when I’d walked out of here, after having wild sex with him, and then insulting him. I kept my gaze away from the dressing table in the corner where he’d made me come. “Are you going to tell me what you’re doing with my things?”

He straightened and looked at me. His gaze was dark, implacable, unlike Jason’s usual cocky expression. “We’re leaving,” he said. “In fifteen minutes.”

“What? We can’t leave now.”

“Sure we can,” he said, putting my pajama t-shirt in my suitcase. “We just walk out and go.”

“The speeches are starting,” I said. “Everyone will know. And that’s my bra.”

He had my rattiest bra in his hand, the one that no woman ever lets a man see, no matter how dire the situation. I had the urge to tackle him and wrestle it out of his hand, but that would only draw his attention to it.

“Well, I hope it’s yours,” he said, throwing it in the suitcase without noticing. “Otherwise that would be weird, since it’s in this pile with your underwear.”

Oh God, he was looking at the pile of my underwear. “Jason, you can’t just do this. You can’t just walk in here and go through my things.”

“No,” he said. “I can just walk in here and fuck you, and that’s all.”

I was silent.

“These,” he said, pulling the one thong I’d brought out of the pile. “Definitely wear these. I left your jeans out, too.” He dropped the thong on top of the jeans, which were lying on the bed. “And this shirt.” He picked up my dark green t-shirt that said EAT SLEEP CHESS REPEAT on the front and dropped it on the pile. “That’s what you’re wearing. Everything else gets packed. You have fifteen minutes.”

“This is insane!” I said. “It’s rude to leave.”

He came toward me, and in one move he gripped my hips through my dress and tossed me back on the bed. Then he grabbed one of my ankles, hoisted it upward, and undid the buckle on my vintage high heel shoe.

“Listen,” he said. “These people make you feel like shit. They’re not making you feel like family, they’re making you doubt yourself. They don’t know you or what you’ve been through, what you’re still going through, and they don’t seem to fucking care. They just judge you. You tried, Megan. You really did. But it pays to know when to cut your losses.”

“And you know when that is?” My voice was high, distressed.

“Yes. It wouldn’t matter that these people are assholes, except that it’s getting to you, and it pisses me off to see it. So we’re leaving.”

I stared up at him. “This is because you’re mad at me.”

“I get it,” he said, tossing the first shoe into the suitcase, then letting my