Page 37 of Hate Me Like You Mean It

I left the kitchen without another word and on wobbly knees, ignoring the frantic flutters in my chest. I wasn’t going to overthink this, because there was nothing to overthink.

He’d still choose the cricket ten times over, and I’d be a fool to believe otherwise.

Some lessons you only needed to learn once.

13

Update: Loch Ness asked me what I was doing when I started writing the rules of our new game in a notebook, and when I said it was for my gaming company it opened a whole can of worms. Because apparently Loch Ness also wanted to start a gaming company but never told me because apparently I’M the idea copyer.

So then there would have been TWO gaming companies with the same games which didn’t make any sense at all. We had no choice but to combine them into one. It’s called DNA Games. Like Dominic and Alice but with an N because playing is in our DNA.

I came up with it and Loch Ness liked it a lot so I guess now we are both CEOs.

Rachel

Drinks at Underbite Thursday @ 7. Going with work people. You’re coming.

At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I really (really really really reeeeaaaalllyyy) need you to meet my boss.

Scratch that. YOU really (really really really reeeeeaaalllllyyy) need you to meet my boss.

He’s a babe, babe. I swear you’ll love him.

And before you say no, a doctor’s note or proof of paid ticket to a once in a lifetime event (with a comprehensive 1500 word explanation as to why I didn’t get an invite) are about the only two ways I’m letting you out of this.

Ciao. Love you!!

(Wear the red dress)

(The Givenchy mini)

(Please and thank you)

“What’s that?”

I chucked my phone onto the grass and started gathering my hair into a ponytail. “Took you long enough,” I said. “It’s a pillow for your leg. Why?”

“Exactly.” He gently tossed the soccer ball he was holding from one hand to the other and back again. “Why?”

“Because I don’t have a cast or walking boot, so I had to get creative. Come here.”

I tightened my hair, then dropped to my knees, forcing myself not to stare.

He’d changed into a pair of black soccer shorts and a matching tee. It brought back a lot of suppressed, unwanted memories, and I didn’t need the distraction.

“I still need to be able to move, Lice,” he argued, lowering to sit in front of me. I bent the pillow around the lower half of his nondominant leg and instructed him to hold it in place while I spun a generous amount of duct tape around it.

It wasn’t perfect, but it would reduce his speed and dexterity enough to even out the playing field. Somewhat.

“There.” I patted my handiwork with pride. “You should still be able to run; it’ll just be annoying. As for the blindfold.” I dangled a strip of white Egyptian cotton in front of him, courtesy of what used to be a spare pillowcase, then wrapped it around his eyes. “How’s that?” I asked, securing the knot. “Can you see?”

“Barely anything. A faint shadow when you move. That’s it.”

Good enough.

I pushed to my feet, dusting the grass and dirt from my knees. “Okay, let’s do this. No timer. The game ends when I score.”

“Or run out of stamina,” he added. “If you sit, lie down, or take any sort of break, it’s an automatic forfeit. Falling doesn’t count, but only if you get up right away.”