Home > To Hate Adam Connor(3)

To Hate Adam Connor(3)
Author: Ella Maise


She quirked her eyebrow at me and pulled her legs up to get comfortable. “Who said I’m selfish? I share very nicely with my husband.”

I gave her a genuine smile. “Are you ready to share exactly how? As in with details? Like what’s his favorite position? Doggie? Does he take care of your boobs? Is he nice to them?” I knew she wouldn’t share—I had tried before; I didn’t understand why, and it never stopped me from trying to get answers. Plus, it was fun watching her squirm. That’s what friends got for hoarding important details like that.

“Sorry, no bueno.”

Doing my best to give her my version of the evil eye, I offered her some alcohol. She passed, which was good for two reasons. One, more for me—yay—and two, well, she got out of hand when she got drunk.

“Not to sound like an ungrateful friend, but I thought you said you’d come around two PM, not ten AM. And you came bearing gifts too. Are you being nice to me ’cause I’m a victim?”

She looked clueless as she glanced at me. “A victim? A victim of what?”

“A victim of love, of course,” I returned, acting outraged. “I got chewed up and spit out—and not in a sexy way.”

She rolled her eyes and gave her attention to the phone buzzing in her handbag. After checking the screen, she sighed. “Sorry, my poor victim of love, I need to take this. I’m scheduling meetings with potential agents.”

“You go ahead and do that, and I’ll keep doing this tequila.”

As soon as she left the room, I closed my eyes and let my head rest on the back of the sofa.

So Jameson was gone. So I wasn’t in a relationship anymore. Whatever, right? I’d never planned to get into one in the first place. I should’ve been happy. I should’ve felt better knowing I’d been right about the existence of a curse on our family.

Did I feel anything like happiness at that moment?

Not even close. But I knew I would live, so there was no point in acting like my life was over. Thanks to my family, I’d seen worse. Jameson was a saint compared to them.

When Olive came back, I tried to avert my gaze so she wouldn’t focus on my watering eyes.

Oh, shush! I hadn’t been silently crying or anything, I was just allergic to the damn apartment.

“How about we get out of here?” Olive asked softly.

Apparently I hadn’t been quick enough to look away. I wiped away a lone tear and took my last sip from the bottle. As much as I wanted to get sloppy drunk with my best friend and possibly start a big fire and make voodoo dolls with big junks, we couldn’t. Adulting sucks big balls.

“Yeah. We should do that,” I agreed.

Olive reached for the bottle in my hand, and I reluctantly gave it up, after a short struggle, of course.

“I’ll hold onto this, and we’ll continue later.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” She narrowed her eyes on me. “Hell, you know what? I’ll even let you cuddle me.”

Perking up, I wiggled my brows at her. “And while I’m cuddling you, will you be cuddling your pretty husband?” I sat up straighter. “Olive Thorn, are you granting me a cuddling threesome because I’m a victim of love? If so, I’ll totally take that.”

“No, you little perv. Jason has a shoot tonight. I’ll cuddle you until you go to sleep. Then I’m sneaking out of your room to sleep with my pretty husband.”

“Ah, now you are just twisting the knife that’s already been lodged into my heart.”

“Good. I’m still angry at you, you know.”

I made a miserable face. “Me? What did I do? I’m the victim here.”

“And I’m your friend. You waited six days to tell me what that asshole did. You robbed me of my friendship rights.”

“Oh, come on. You can’t get angry at me for that. I just didn’t want you to be miserable with me. I gave myself one week to cry my eyes and heart out, and I did just that. It didn’t even take a week. Now it’s done. Over. Tonight, we’ll celebrate my singleness. I saved you the best part: the celebrations. We’ll have a Tinder party and swipe right on every one. As far as I’m concerned, I’m a kickass friend.”

She offered me her hand and pulled me up. “Nope. You robbed me. It’s as simple as that. I didn’t get to cry with you or curse at Jameson for leaving you. Now how am I gonna make the transition from sadness to anger and then straight to celebration? I’m still pissed. And I’m sad, too. Because my emotions are all over the place. I talked Jason’s ear off the entire night after your phone call. He agrees with me completely. You definitely violated my rights.”

I tilted my head and patted her arm. “Aww, you love me. I’d hug you, little Olive, but you smell even worse up close.”

She gave me a hard push. Laughing, I fell back on the couch. “No need to be an angry waterfall, Olive. Be a lake. Like me. Look how calm I am. Fine,” I added when she kept standing over me with a raised eyebrow. “If it’ll make you feel any better, I’ll probably cry some more tonight, so you’ll still have your shot at being miserable with me.”

“That’s more like it. Thank you. Do try to cry at the beginning of the festivities, okay?”

Shaking my head, I got up on my own as we started a logical discussion of how long we should cry before starting the celebrations.

After Olive helped me carry the last suitcase to her car, I left her with the bags and went upstairs to do a last check, which was how I found myself alone in the living room, just gazing around. Remembering.

When Jameson had had his motorcycle accident a few months before, Olive and I had rushed to his side at the hospital. That had been the first time I’d accepted that I loved him.

When it became obvious that he was gonna have trouble looking after himself with all those stupid broken bones, I’d asked him if he wanted me to move in with him so I could help him out. When he smiled that sexy, confident smile—the one that encouraged your brain to do some stupid shit—and said he thought I’d never ask, I was relieved for two reasons.

One, I wouldn’t have to beat him to a pulp until he realized he needed me while he was already in a hospital bed. Because, let’s face it, that wouldn’t look good for me, and, yeah, I liked his face a little too much to mess it up. Two, I’d get to move out of an apartment I was sharing with two very stupid people—stupid ex-friends to be exact, both to Olive and me.

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