Hate You: Chapter 10

Titch is the perfect gentleman. He ignores my obviously flushed state when I reappear from my little rendezvous with Zach, and when he suggests that he take me home, he does exactly that. He has an Uber waiting out the front of the club and he opens the door so my drunk, unsteady legs can climb in.

It’s the alcohol’s fault. If I weren’t so intoxicated I’d have been able to tell Zach where to go the second he dragged me back into that little alcove. That’s what I tell myself anyway. It’s easy to pretend that what happened had nothing to do with the electricity I feel every time we’re close. It had nothing to do with the sparks that shot around my body when he touched me, or the one whiff of his scent that had my mouth watering and my core heating faster than I could control.

“You okay from here, or would you like me to walk you right up?” Titch says, helping me from the car.

I look up to the front door. “I’m fine. Thank you so much. Tonight was… fun?” It’s not meant to come out like a question, and my face scrunches in confusion when I realise it has.

“Tell me to shut up if you like but…” Titch hesitates, but after blowing out a breath, he continues. I’m pretty confident I know what’s coming, but I’m powerless to stop him, too intrigued to find out how he’s going to play this. “Zach’s a really good guy. I know things are… weird between you, but just give him time.”

“He’s an arsehole. Why would I want to do that?”

He studies my face for a second. “Firstly, because you’re good at your job and I like having you about.” A smile curls at my lips at his honesty. “I love the guys, but there’s something so awesome about having you there. You bring a different dynamic to the place and don’t put up with our bullshit.”

“And second?”

“He likes you.” I bark out a laugh. “He’s just—” He pauses, presumably trying to decide how much to give away, but in the end he sticks to vague. “He has no idea what he needs. Just give him time,” he repeats.

“Yeah, you said that already.”

“Well, that’s because it’s what you need to do. I’ll see you tomorrow. Try to get some sleep.” Titch winks at me and takes a step back toward the car.

“See you tomorrow.” Turning on my heel, I make my way to the front door.

“Water and painkillers before sleep,” Titch calls. I laugh and wonder just how good a job I’m doing right now to appear sober.

After kicking off my heels, I follow orders and go through to my kitchen to down a pint of water. I pull my phone from my bag and look down at the screen. Five thirty in the morning. It’s been a lot of years since I was up this late. Or early. But that’s not the worst of it. I’ve got a missed call from my mother from early yesterday evening.

Ignoring the voicemail, knowing that I’m most definitely too drunk to hear whatever it is she’s got to say, I close everything down and go in search of my bed. I don’t start work until two, so I should get a good few hours in.

I strip out of my skinny jeans and vest. Leaving my underwear where it is, I crawl between the sheets and I swear I’m out before my head even hits the pillow.

An incessant ringing eventually drags me from my peaceful sleep. I don’t need to open my eyes to know that one: I didn’t shut the curtains before I passed out last night, and two: I drank way too much.

I lie still for a few moments, hoping that the loud shrill of my phone will stop and I’ll be able to fall back to sleep. But no sooner has it stopped than it starts again.

Groaning, I roll over and grab it.

‘Mum’ lights up my phone.

Brilliant.

Knowing she’s already tried to get a hold of me a handful of times, I know I can’t ignore her. Swiping the screen, I move the phone towards my ear and wince as I wait for her high-pitched voice.

“Darling, are you ignoring me?” she asks in the exact judgemental voice I was expecting.

“No, Mum. I was sleeping.”

“It is ten o’clock in the morning, Tabitha. You should have been up hours ago.”

“Well, I wasn’t. I went out last night and—”

“Typical. Just typical. You know full well that today is our big meal. You should have been here thirty minutes ago and yet you’re still between the sheets. You need to get yourself sorted, young lady. And if you turn up here smelling of last night’s drink, so help me god.”

“Right,” I all but growl into the phone. How could I have possibly forgotten such a fun event that I’m forced to attend in the hope that one of dad’s ‘friends’ will be able to convince me to begin a respectable career instead of fannying around with pointless hobbies, as my parents describe my love of art.

“Get out of bed, put on a nice dress, and get your backside over here pronto. We’ve got guests arriving and they’re expecting to see you.”

If I thought my head was spinning when I first woke up then it’s nothing compared to right now. I’ve not had nearly enough sleep to deal with my parents today, let alone a whole bunch of their friends.

Knowing there’s no way out of it if I want to keep this roof over my head, I roll my arse out of bed and head for the bathroom.

It’s not until I’m standing with a towel wrapped around my body and a brush in my hand that I remember my hair.

Fuck. Mum’s going to lose her shit. My stomach twists with nerves but I can’t help a smile playing on my lips at the thought of her face.

In an attempt to make her happy, I quickly dry and curl it with my straighteners before pulling a dress and pair of shoes she’d approve of from my wardrobe. It’s a simple floral summer dress that shows off a hint of cleavage. The light chiffon fabric skims over my thighs and comes to a stop at my knees. It’s not something I’d choose; it’s one of those dresses Mum bought for me over the years specifically for her events.

A large sigh falls from my lips as I grab my bag and head out the door. I don’t intend on spending too long at my parents’. I’ll show my face, eat a little, assuming the hangover starts to wear off, and then I’ll make my excuses so I can get back here and changed before work this afternoon.

“Tabitha, what on earth have you done to your hair?” Mum snaps the second I walk into her kitchen. I might be late, but I’m still one of the first here.

“I coloured it, Mum. Wanted something different.”

“Something different would have been walnut, or some copper hues. That… That’s just… tasteless.” Her top lip curls up in disgust, and I somehow manage to stop my eyes from rolling.

“Well, I like it. I was feeling a little wild and needed a change.”

“It looks ridiculous. None of Dad’s friends will even consider hiring you looking like that.”

“I don’t want them to hire me, Mum. I don’t want to work for any of them.”

“Tabitha, how many times do we need to go over this? You need a respectable job, or you need a man who’s willing to keep you.”

A bitter laugh falls from my lips. “No, Mum. That’s what you think I need. I, however, am perfectly happy with my life right now. I don’t need a job just to impress you and Dad, and I most definitely do not want to be a kept woman.”

She tuts but my dad joins us, thankfully cutting off any of her words.

“Tabi— whoa, what’s going on with your hair?”

“I dyed it pink. Jesus, it’s not like I became a crack whore or anything.”

Mum gasps at my choice of words whereas Dad’s chin just drops in horror.

“Well, I should hope not. Something like that would really tarnish the Anderson name.”

Of course it would.

“Right, where do you need me? I’m not staying long.”

Mum flaps around with the tea towel in her hand, looking like she’s about to cry. Fuck knows why, she’s not cooked a single dish in this kitchen. Everything’s been delivered in perfect condition. “Just… just go and be nice. And try to be respectable, despite the hair.”

“I’ll try.” I give them both the most insincere smile I can muster and walk from the room to the sound of Mum complaining to Dad.

Dying my hair might be me pushing back against the life they’ve dragged me into, but I know it’s barely the tip of the iceberg. What I really need to do is tell them where to go and walk out, but there’s a part of me that isn’t ready. Walking away from them means walking away from the money and the flat. I might hate everything they stand for, and I know it makes me a huge hypocrite, but I can’t help it. Going it alone is scary, especially when I don’t have a proper job or any clue what I want to do. I could do as they suggest and get myself a job with one of the people spending the afternoon here, but it’ll keep me tied to them. I want my own life, I just need to figure out what it looks like.

I end up sitting next to one of Dad’s ‘friends’ while my mother gives me evils from across the table. Charles is one of Dad’s associates, although I’ve not really got a clue what he does aside from drink too much and sleep with younger women behind his wife’s back. She’s sitting beside him, utterly clueless as he leers at me and spends more time looking at my cleavage than he does my face.

Every time I feel his gaze on me, my skin prickles and my stomach turns over.

“It’s been lovely chatting to you, Charles, but I really must go.”

“Oh, Tabitha. Stay a little longer.” He lifts his wine to his lips at the same time he places his hand on my thigh. A little squeal of shock falls from my lips and I stand, forcing my chair to clatter to the floor. My mother’s eyes narrow in frustration, and my father also glances my way, looking very unimpressed with my little outburst.

“I’m sorry. I have somewhere to be.”

I march off before he has a chance to try to stop me again.

“Tabitha, what the hell was that?”

“He was trying to touch me up under the table.”

“Charles? Really? His wife was sitting right the other side of him.”

“Believe what you want. I’m leaving.”

“You can’t go. Your mother’s not even served dessert yet.”

“I’m not hungry, and I need to get to work.”

“To work? You didn’t tell us you’d got a job.” No, and there’s a very good reason for that.

“I haven’t had a chance, but I’ve got to go or I’ll be late.”

“What sort of place has you starting work on a Sunday afternoon?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes it does. We need to know where our daughter is spending her time.”

“I’m twenty-seven years old. Is that really necessary?”

“Yes,” they say in unison. Dropping my head back, I suck in a long breath as I try to keep my calm. The last thing any of us needs is me acting like a spoilt child.

“I’m working part time doing admin in a tattoo studio by me.”

Mum’s eyes go so wide I almost expect them to pop out and start rolling around on the floor. Dad, on the other hand, just starts laughing. Frown lines form between my brows as I try to figure out what’s funny.

“That’s a good one, Tabby. Next you’ll be telling us you’re a stripper.”

The frustration that’s been simmering just under the surface all day begins to erupt. “I’m not joking, Dad. I’m really working at a studio, and I’m actually really enjoying it.”

“But… but the men who go to those places are—”

“Are a hell of a lot more respectful than the one you sat me beside this afternoon. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m already late.”

I pull the front door open and march down my parents’ driveway towards the Uber that’s waiting for me.

“Change of plan,” I tell him once I’ve climbed in, and I rattle off the studio address. I’m late, and I really don’t have time to change. Zach can screw it if he doesn’t like it.

The neon sign has been turned to open and is shining bright. There are a couple of clients already sitting in the waiting room when I push the door open and step inside. Every single set of eyes turns to me and runs down my body. I get it, the floral dress really doesn’t fit. My skin prickles with awareness, but it’s not from their scrutiny. He’s here somewhere. He’s looking right at me.

I quickly glance around the room, but finding no one, I take a step towards my desk and drop my bag.

It’s then that he makes himself known. He appears in the doorway to the kitchen. His eyes are narrowed, but not enough to miss the storm brewing beneath. His face is set and his jaw is ticking with frustration. His arms are crossed over his chest, the muscles in them bulging and straining against the dark fabric of his t-shirt.

“You’re late,” he snarls. His eyes drop from mine in favour of my body and his eyes widen before an evil, humourless laugh falls from his lips.

Stepping towards me, his fingers wrap around my wrist, his touch burning all the way to my core as he drags me towards his room and away from prying eyes.

“What the hell are you playing at?” he demands the second he slams the door shut behind me. He doesn’t move, leaving me the choice of pressing my back against the cold door or my front to his warm chest. I decide that staying as far away from him as possible is the right thing to do.

“I’m sorry, I got stuck at this thing.”

“What? The Queen’s fucking tea party?”

“Well, no. It was just a meal at my parents’ but—”

“But nothing, you look… you look… fuck.” His hands find his hair and he pulls it painfully hard as he takes a huge step back from me and turns around, cutting himself off from me.

“I’ve got clothes under my desk from yesterday. I’ll quickly change and we’re all good.”

I push from the door and turn to reach for the handle, only when I wrap my hand around it I don’t find cool metal but a hot hand instead.

“Stay here,” he barks before pushing past me and storming back towards reception.

“O… okay,” I mutter to myself as my heart thunders so hard in my chest I can feel it in my ears.

It’s only seconds before the sound of his pounding feet heads back this way. I move away from the door, afraid he’ll push it open so hard that it’ll knock me off my feet and take a seat on the edge of his chair.

Anticipation fills me, making my hands tremble for what kind of Zach I’m going to find when he comes back.

The door shuts, but I refuse to look over. This arrogant arsehole isn’t going to have me at his beck and call.

“Change,” he demands, throwing the bags onto my lap.

“Only because you asked so nicely,” I seethe, taking the bags in my hand and standing.

He turns, his eyes find mine, and my breath catches. They’re so dark, but right now I’ve no idea if it’s with anger or desire, and that thought has my thighs clenching with need. I might have been drunk last night, but that doesn’t mean I don’t remember exactly how it felt to have his hands on me. And although I know it was a mistake of epic proportions to allow it to happen, it doesn’t mean I’m not standing here craving a repeat.

“Don’t,” he warns, his thumb and finger gripping my chin, ensuring our connection holds.

“You’re going to need to let go if you want me out of this dress.” His eyes flash with heat. “Is that what this is all about? You don’t really care about the dress, you just want me to strip out of it.”

“Trust me, Tabby Cat. If I wanted you naked, I could think of easier ways than this.”

My chest heaves as he continues to stare into my eyes. My breaths fan across his face where he’s so close. His jaw clicks, but other than that he gives nothing away, whereas I feel like I’m about to melt into a puddle.

“Get moving, Kitten. You’ve got a fucking job to do.”

“Well, if you’d let go I might have a chance.”

His eyes drop to my lips when I bite down and wait. His fingers grip that little bit harder and I half expect him to give in and lean towards me, but when he does release me, he does the opposite. He lets go and pushes me enough that I fall back onto the chair.

I watch as he moves to the other side of the room. His shoulders are pulled tight with tension, the muscles in his back rippling as he lifts his hands to his hair once again.

“Get a move on, you’ve already wasted enough of my time.”

Scrambling to my feet, I pull clothes from the bag that I purchased yesterday and left under the desk when we went out. Thankfully there’s enough to make a full outfit, albeit a small one.