Hate to Love You - Chapter 22: Chapter 22

Tristan
That was probably the wrong thing to say, given the seething glare I could feel burning into my profile, but I was too frustrated to think clearly. I should have put her down and walked away, and yet, here we were.
"I hate you."
"No, you don't," I countered, stepping around my car to the passenger door. Realizing I needed to grab my keys and open the door, I quickly maneuvered her over my shoulder. She gasped in outrage, using my shoulders to steady and hold herself upright.
"This is kidnapping! You can't just—just—get away with this!"
Unlocking the car, I pulled open the door and deposited her wiggling body into the seat. "Look around us, babe. Do you see anyone rushing to your rescue?"
"I know you think you can get away with anything, but this is pushing it. Again, why are you doing this and where are you taking me?"
I didn't answer her because I was still in the middle of an internal battle with myself. Was I seriously about to take her to my place? There was no way this was a good idea.
It was official — I've lost my mind.
Making sure all parts of her were inside, I slammed the door shut, locking it as she lunged for the door handle. "Tristan, stop this! You're being crazy right now!"
Yeah, well, she drove me crazy. This was all her fault and has been since the beginning. She should have just kept her mouth shut and stayed facing the front of the classroom that day, or else we wouldn't be in this fucking situation.
Walking around the car to the driver's side, I unlocked the door and climbed in. Sitting back in my seat, I took a deep breath. "Put your seatbelt on."
"Fuck you."
I finally looked at her, jaw clenched. Her hands were fisting the material of her bag as she glared at me.
Taking another deep, calming breath, I explained, "I'm taking us somewhere private — where we can just talk. I don't know what that was back there, but I'm not about to hash it out with you in front of an audience. Now," I leaned closer, "put on your seatbelt. Please. Or I will put it on you myself."
"Stop talking to me like I'm a child." But she reached for the strap and pulled it over her body, clipping it in.
I shrugged as I started the car. "It worked, didn't it?"
Feeling another scowl directed at me, I sighed again. I wasn't exactly helping matters by antagonizing her. "I'm sorry — let's start over, okay? Why don't we begin with you explaining why you're upset? What exactly happened back there?"
I was met with silence, and after pulling out of the parking lot and onto the road, I glanced back at her. She was staring out of the window, arms crossed. Sensing my gaze, she replied, "I meant it when I said we weren't compatible."
I strongly disagreed with her. We were fucking dynamite together, and I'd never experienced such a powerful pull to a woman before. When she relaxed and loosened up, we were amazing together.
"You're going to have to elaborate. How aren't we compatible?"
She seemed reluctant to actually explain what she meant, looking away as she answered, "We're too... different. Our interests don't align."
"Our interests?"
"I don't want a relationship."
My eyebrows shot up, and I laughed, drawing her attention away from the window. "Neither do I. I have too many other responsibilities that take up all my time. A girlfriend would be too much of a distraction, and I don't need that right now." I shrugged. "Plus, my future is uncertain. I don't know where football will take me."
She frowned. "So then what do you want? A one-night stand?"
I glanced at her briefly before returning my focus to the road. "Can I be honest?"
"That would be nice."
"I don't know what I'm doing with you. You're so good at fucking with my head—"
"—what's that supposed to mean?"
"Let me finish." I chuckled. "You mess with my head because you're always in it. I need to concentrate on football, and right now, you're my biggest distraction."
Her tone revealed a mix of hurt and defensiveness as she spoke, "Then why do you keep messaging me? And talking to me? If I'm such a distraction, then let me go. I'll go my separate way, and you can go back to your emotional support ball."
I shook my head to myself, choosing to ignore her lashing out. "It's not as simple as that." I tapped the wheel with my thumb, keeping my eyes on the road ahead. "Every time we fight or piss each other off, I tell myself to just forget about you — to leave you alone and go back to the way things were before." And I gave it the good college try in the beginning. "But that never lasts. Soon enough, I'm thinking about you again. And how much I want to see you — how much I want to argue with you because you're so fucking hot when you're mad at me. I mean, look at me right now. What is wrong with me? I've never kidnapped anyone before and—"
"—so you admit you're kidnapping me!"
Her words halted my thought process completely and I had to stop and laugh. Fuck, I hope she never changed.
Clearing my throat, I emphasized, "I'm borrowing you. I promise to return you in the same condition."
Her tiny answering laugh surprised me and it stole all of my attention before she quickly cleared her throat and blanked her expression. "So let me get this straight — you're suffering from a major case of blue balls and you want to do the dance with no pants, but you also don't want a relationship?"
"Wow, I don't think I could have worded that any better," I teased her light-heartedly.
Ignoring me, she continued, "And it's specifically my pants you want to take off?"
"They are nice pants." The corner of my lips tipped up as I cast a look at her pants. "Cotton?"
"...yes."
"I bet they slide right off." I winked at her, laughing when she snorted and rolled her eyes at me.
She leaned back into her seat, resting her head on the headrest. After a small silence, she rolled her head to look at me, all traces of humor gone. "I can't say yes, Tristan."
I held her gaze for a few long seconds before asking, "Why?"
She sighed as her eyes found something ahead. "Because I might like it," was her tired, whispered reply. A second later, she looked like she regretted saying that out loud.
"And that's a bad thing?" I ventured, brows furrowed slightly.
She gave me a sad smile. "Not necessarily, but it is bad for me. I haven't told you this before because... well, I've had no reason to, but the truth is I've only been single for a year."
I couldn't lie, the disappointment that hit me gave rise to several darker emotions. If she was still hung up on an ex then things were bound to get complicated. Sure, maybe she could use me to get over him, but I wasn't sure if I actually liked the thought of being her rebound. The possibility of her thinking about any other men while we were together made my gut twist.
She didn't wait for my response, announcing abruptly, "I was sixteen when I lost my virginity."
I stayed quiet, caught off guard by the direction she was suddenly taking the conversation.
"His name was Tommy Russo, and he went to the same high school I did. Our parents were also close friends in the church, so we used to sneak off during sermons when everyone was distracted."
Both of my brows shot up into my hairline. "You had sex in a church?" I whistled, impressed. "Didn't think you had it in you. I don't know whether to high-five you or tell you to go confess because you've been a very bad girl."
She made a noise of protest and disgust. "I did not have sex in a church. All we ever did was kiss."
"Sure. I believe you." I grinned, nodding.
She groaned and looked out of the window. "You're impossible."
Chuckling, I reached for her hand to get her attention. Her eyes dropped to the hand holding hers before rising to meet mine, and I squeezed. "I'm only joking, okay? I did say we were going to talk, so I'm all ears. Please — keep going. I would love to hear all the nitty-gritty details about how Trever Rusco popped your cherry."
She pinched the back of my hand. "Tommy Russo, and I wasn't going to tell you about any of that, you idiot. The point I was trying to get to was that I slept with him to spite my mother."
"Ohhh." I nodded my head, completely lost. "That makes complete sense. At least tell me — was he any good?"
The corner of her mouth tipped up. "No." Shaking her head, she continued, "But that's not the point. I should probably start by explaining what kind of person my mother is. I know I've told you a little bit about her already, but I was barely scratching the surface." Her finger traced my thumb absentmindedly and I could see her mind racing as she stared at our hands, all humor leaving her eyes.
Through our various conversations this past week, I'd picked up on the strained relationship Hannah had with her family. She never spoke with affection or fondness about anyone except for her brother. I got the impression her mother was a bit of a religious fanatic with controlling tendencies, while her dad had abandoned her to deal with her mother and care for her brother alone. Thank fuck I never had to meet either of them because I didn't know if I could stay silent.
"She's... a lot— to say the very least. I don't even know where to start." She rubbed her forehead as if the thought of her mother gave her a headache.
Glancing at her and then at the familiar route we were on, I said, "Tell you what — we're nearly there, so how about I make you a cup of coffee while you gather your thoughts and then you can tell me about everything? Sound good to you?"
"Sure." She frowned when she realized that she was still touching my hand and quickly dropped it to look out at the scenery. "You never told me where we were going, by the way."
"My place."
When I saw her tense, I quickly added, "Not to fuck, or anything. To talk. With our clothes on."
I gave her an innocent smile meant to reassure her, but I don't think it worked.