The Boy I Hate(18)

“Will you get the light?” Renee whispered then.

Tears burned in Samantha’s eyes, but she nodded and turned to switch off the light.

“Night, Sam,” Renee said in a groggy voice.

“Night, Ren,” Samantha whispered back, squeezing her eyes shut, but the tears fell to her cheeks anyway. Right now, she thought to herself. Right now would be the perfect time to confess. To let it out. Right now, before it festered. But she couldn’t. She flipped over, facing the stairs that would take her back to Tristan’s, and more tears slipped down to her cheeks and fell to her chin.

“I love you,” Renee whispered through the darkness. Her voice was half asleep, so quiet Samantha would’ve never been able to make out the words had she not heard them a million times before.

She swallowed, barely able to contain her own sorrow. “I love you too.”





7





Chapter Seven





Present Day



She looked into his eyes, her heart pounding. What did she remember? Is that what he wanted to know? Her eyes shifted to the pavement, where the “I dare you” in the question didn’t feel quite so loud. “Not much,” she said softly.

He flashed one of his panty dropping smiles and adjusted his stance. “Well that’s good.”

She titled her head to the side. “Is it?”

“Yeah.” He tucked his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and relaxed. “I don’t remember much about you, either. This trip would have been extremely awkward had you remembered me.” He looked to the open trunk and moved his suitcase over a few inches. “The good news is, we have three thousand miles to change all that.”

Her heart pinched at his easy grin and she adjusted her stance. It shouldn’t have affected her. Especially when he’d confessed to not remembering her just the second before, but he was so damned attractive she couldn’t help it. The reaction was much like her mouth watering at the scent of a lemon, or her nose retreating when she smelled something foul. It was one of those involuntary actions she had no control over.

But she still didn’t like it.

Especially when she knew what happened when you got too close to Tristan Montgomery.

She looked back toward the sculpture, trying to regain composure. “I have a lot of reading to catch up on,” she said sweetly, then turned toward the sculpture and squatted down to get ready to lift. “I’m afraid getting to know you isn’t one of my top priorities.”

He grinned slightly, raising his brows as he grabbed the other end. “Suit yourself,” he replied, lifting, and moving the sculpture toward the trunk. But then his eyes narrowed, as though he was aware the tension between them was not one of strangers.

She followed after him, ready to be rid of this task, and on the road.



An hour later, her hair whipping around like the tail of rattlesnake, Samantha dug through her oversized bag looking for a hair tie. The top of the convertible was down, blowing her hair in every which direction, but Tristan didn’t seem to notice. His arm was braced out the open window, his aviator glasses darkening his eyes, but the rest of his expression looked very much like a man who didn’t give a shit.

She heaved a heavy sigh, hoping he’d hear it and take the hint. That he’d sense her annoyance and close the top. But he seemed oblivious, caught up in his own thoughts—his own world. They’d loaded the rest of her belongings without much hassle. Filling the trunk and half of the back seat with luggage, garment bags, and pillows. But they hadn’t spoken at all, beyond what was necessary. Which was just fine with her. She didn’t want to talk to Tristan. He was her means of getting from point A to point B. To bring her sculpture to Renee on her wedding day. That was it.

Samantha finally found a tie at the bottom of the bag and began braiding her hair over one shoulder. Her eyes focused on the horizon as she tried to settle herself down.

Traffic was light, which allowed them to fly down the highway. She kicked off her shoes and dragged one leg into her lap before slouching forward to retrieve her audiobook. It was impossible to find comfort. To be at ease sitting next to the man who’d stolen her first kiss. Her mind had been spinning ever since the moment she first saw him. Because the night she’d come home from the cabin, she’d made a vow. To forget Tristan Montgomery, to forget the kiss that had rocked her harder than an earthquake—and to never tell Renee her secret.

She’d been successful for the most part. Because most of the time she pretended he didn’t exist, and it worked. Except for those tiny moments, when a lingering snippet would sneak into her subconscious. Triggered by the oddest things: a falling star, a twig floating in a puddle of water, or even the scent of winter-mint gum. She’d always been able to stuff it down again, as effortlessly as pulling a wily hair. But now the subject of her reverie was sitting beside her, completely silent, yet very much present.