Hate to Love You - Chapter 5: Chapter 5

Hannah
Luck must have finally been shining down on me because I didn't run into Fuckface for the next two days. It was amazing. The sun was brighter, the temperature was warmer and the air just smelled a whole lot sweeter. I was finally starting to recover from the trauma of my interactions with him.
After everything that went down, I phoned Bailey and told her everything — because everyone knew that the best kind of therapy came from your best friend. Though, in this instance, she was useless. All she could focus on was trying to get me to tell her how hot he was. It was with great reluctance and disgust that I finally admitted he was one of the hottest men I'd ever seen and that he had the body of a Greek God (her words). At least it seemed that way. I was praying that under his clothes he was actually really hideous. A bit of a far reach but it made me happier to picture it.
I didn't even complain when my mom called to complain about my dad's new girlfriend, Kelly. She was ten years younger than him and looked like she starved herself (again, not my words). I just listened as I ate microwaved ramen and mini-pizzas.
And then my dad called soon after to complain about my mother annoying him while I ate cookies and cream ice cream. She was apparently making very rude public posts about him and Kelly, which I thought was hilarious. Afterward, I settled in to watch a new series I was interested in and was pleasantly surprised by how good it was. Even sleep was good that night. I usually slept well, but I woke up in an extra good mood the next morning.
All was good with the world again.
It was a Friday, and classes had gone smoothly. Fuckface didn't show up for our shared class, but I made sure to sit near the front just in case. Still, not seeing his face put an extra spring in my steps. To celebrate, I decided to treat myself to a meal at Moxie's, the popular bar and grill near campus. I went early to avoid the evening crowd, intending to focus on my assignments while enjoying a plate of their famous loaded nachos.
I parked my car in the gravel lot outside and approached the weathered brick structure, taking in its rustic charm. Apparently, this bar was as old as Dale University itself.
The faded paint on the exterior hinted at its age, and the creaking sign above swayed in the evening breeze, adding to the overall nostalgic feel of this place. The low hum of chatter and distant notes of music seeped through the door.
Entering through the swinging double doors, I found myself enveloped in a warm, inviting atmosphere. The interior was adorned with vintage posters and memorabilia, all displayed on the walls. The rows of lights overhead cast a soft, golden glow as generic rock music played in the background.
Several flatscreens played a recording of an old football game. It had to be one of our team's matches because one-half of the players were wearing blue, black and silver — our college's colors. The few patrons that were here focused on the screens or quietly chatted amongst themselves.
As I walked further into the establishment, I noted the array of signed posters and photographs on the walls. Some of them were a testament to the talented musicians and artists who'd played here in the past. The rest were sports posters with scribbled autographs all over them.
The bar itself was an impressive sight — a polished wooden structure that spanned one length of the room. Behind it stood three bartenders, manning the bar with the vibrant spread of bottles on the shelves behind them.
To the side, I spotted a row of private booths, each tucked away for those seeking a bit of seclusion. Which meant it was perfect for me. I flagged down one of the waitresses as I scooted into the furthest booth from the exit, sitting so that my back was facing the entrance. I put my bag onto the seat next to me and got settled in.
°•°•°•°
I found myself lingering at the bar much longer than intended, completely engrossed in my work. In the zone, I managed to make significant progress on two of my assignments.
Finally, after a while, I sat back, stretching my arms and fingers. They ached from typing for two hours straight. Looking around for the waiter, I blinked in surprise when I saw how crowded the place had gotten. The place had transformed into a lively hub of activity, brimming to the max with college students. Nearly every table was occupied, and the air was filled with laughter and animated conversations.
I thought about taking off, but I was still hungry. So I flagged down the waitress who'd helped me before, and ordered another plate of nachos. It had gotten a little colder, so I put on the dark blue hoodie I'd stored in my bag and got to work packing my laptop and books away while I waited for my food.
"Hey," a deep voice sounded from above me, "Is it okay if my friends and I take over this table? There's no other tables left, and we're a pretty big group."
I quickly finished zipping up my bag and looked up to address the man who'd spoken to me. I fully intended to agree because I was happy to finish my nachos at the bar.
Of course, that was until I saw who it was.
His eyes locked onto mine, recognition flickering across his face at the same time as me. His reaction was immediate — a sudden jerk of his head as a bitter, humorless laugh left his lips.
"Okay, this is getting weird now. What the actual fuck is happening right now?" He shook his head in disbelief.
I glowered at him. "This table is occupied. Move along."
"It clearly isn't." He gestured at the rest of the open seats.
"Uh... hi. I'm sitting here. Meaning it's occupied." I looked at him like I thought he was stupid. Which I did.
"Oh really? Congratulations on stating the obvious. Now, do you mind finding another place to sit? We need the space." The smile he gave me was anything but nice.
I crossed my arms and arched a brow. "Who's 'we'?"
"My friends. Now move. Please," he added at the last second.
"I don't think so. First come, first served — remember?" It felt good to throw his own words back at him.
He looked up as if he were begging God to give him patience. "Now you're just being a bitch."
"A favorite pastime of mine," I gave him a smug smile, wiggling my butt as I made a show of getting comfortable. I would stay here the whole night if it meant he didn't get this table.
He glared at me for a few more seconds before shifting his gaze towards the front of the bar. Suddenly, he let out a sharp whistle that made me jump, signaling to someone. He jerked his chin towards the booth — my booth.
I leaned out and looked back to see a group of five guys approaching us. They were all mountains of men, like him.
Swiveling my head back to him, I gave him another fierce glare. But before I could protest, he sat down next to me and nudged me along with his big fat ass. I gasped in outrage as my butt slid across the leather. The warmth of his body seeped into mine immediately, prompting a war between me and my body. I didn't want to be touching him, but my body sure liked how warm he was.
As he pressed against my side, a series of unfamiliar sensations coursed through me, all of them deeply unsettling. Hyper conscious of him, I could feel the subtle shifting and tension in all his movements, hinting at a fraction of the strength he possessed. His arm, large and heavily muscled, plastered itself against mine, leaving a burning sensation in its wake.
Disturbed, I scooted as far away from him as possible, staring at him with wide eyes.
What was all that?
He frowned at me, appearing unaffected and at ease. Something was definitely wrong with me. I swallowed, rendered speechless by his outrageous actions. I opened my mouth to reprimand him but another voice interrupted before I could speak.
"Hey, man. Glad to see you found a seat. Though everyone was saying we could sit with them." One of the men, a large black man with a cornrow ponytail and an impressive beard, chuckled. His eyes, as well as those of his friends, found me, and both of his brows shot up.
"Who's this?" he asked.
"Just ignore her, Tate. Take a seat, guys." Fuckface waved a dismissive hand in my direction and I scowled at him, having regained some of my composure.
"Uh..." One of the other guys looked at me uncertainly. "Okay... ignore the pretty lady. Why do I think that's going to be hard?" He gave me a playful wink.
The guy who'd just smiled at me had an identical twin standing next to him. Both had hair similar to mine — though theirs was more sun-kissed and had whiter streaks. Their eyes were a dark brown, almost black with specs of gold reflected from the lights above. Both had a dimple as they gave me identical smiles.
The other two guys standing next to them each had distinct features. One had thick, straight hair and eyes that suggested East Asian descent. The other guy sported a more modern hairstyle, with shaved sides and a crown of coiled curls that gleamed from whatever product he used. His complexion boasted a warm brown hue and his eyes were a light brown and olive mixture.
"Are you really not going to tell us who your friend is?" The other twin asked as he slid onto the leather bench across from us. He smiled sweetly as I narrowed my eyes at him.
"I'm not his friend. And you guys can't be here. I'm sitting here," I argued.
They completely disregarded my presence, squeezing themselves into the booth without a second thought. Tate sat down right next to Fuckface, who then moved over even more, leaving no space for personal boundaries. It meant being squished up against him once again, feeling the pressure of his body against mine.
As if that wasn't enough, the curly-haired guy decided to join the party, cramming himself in and pushing Fuckface even closer to me. I found myself trapped in an uncomfortably tight space, wedged between a rock and a hard place. Literally. The wall loomed on my left, while Fuckface held court on my right, leaving me with no escape. The rest of the crew settled on the opposite side, blissfully unaware of the sardine-can situation I found myself in.
"This is the girl I was telling you about — Hoodie-Girl." Fuckface jerked his head at me as he rested his massive arm on the bench behind me. I scowled at the offending limb, leaning forward to avoid touching it.
"No way! Hoodie-Girl — the cockblocker!" One of the twins laughed. The others laughed too, looking at me with renewed interest.
"Hoodie-Girl." I scoffed. "Real creative. A lot of girls wear hoodies, you know."
"Well, I don't know your name." Fuckface shrugged and my whole body jolted with his.
I could feel every breath he took. It was distracting. Not to mention, the man was a hotbox. For a split second, I could understand why other women wanted to be near him.
Alarmed, I tried to move away from him but my butt was plastered to the stupid leather seat. "Just like how I don't know yours either. And you never will." As I wiggled, I became aware of his stare and looked up at him with a frown.
"What?" I growled. "Why are you looking at me like that? Stop it."
"Wait... you really don't know who I am?" he asked, pure shock on his face.
Just how self-centered was this guy?
"No. I don't. And you better not tell me. I prefer to call you by the name I've given you in my head."
"And what's that?" Tate chuckled. His smile was charming as he leaned his forearms on the table and looked at me. I got the distinct impression they were all poking fun at me.
I smiled sweetly. "Fuckface."
All of the guys burst into laughter as Fuckface glowered down at me. "Well, I think Bitch suits you perfectly."
Awe, did I hurt his fweelings? 'Bout time someone did.
"I'm happy for you. Now go away. Like I've been telling you, this table is occupied," I paused and then said, "I have friends coming over so you need to leave."
He let out an ungentlemanly snort. "It's hard to believe you have any friends, but fine. We'll leave when your 'friends' get here."
"Or they can join us," the Asian guy shrugged. "The more, the merrier." His accent revealed he was Canadian.
"Are all your friends as hot as you?" The first twin asked, drawing my attention.
I gave him a blank stare. "My friends would eat you alive."
His eyes widened and he laughed. "I believe you."
"So... Hoodie-Girl," Curly started, "Mind telling us what your problem with our buddy is?" He jerked his chin at Fuckface.
I shot said 'buddy' a nasty look. "My problem is that I'm seeing way too much of your 'buddy'. He's everywhere I go and he won't leave me alone — like right now."
"Maybe you're everywhere I go," Fuckface stated matter-of-factly.
I ignored him. "And he's a perverted asshole who only thinks with his penis, uncaring of the innocent eyes and ears around him."
"I seriously doubt you're innocent."
"And," I stressed, continuing to ignore him, "He's arrogant, self-entitled and just a straight-up asshole. Of course I have a problem with him."
"Huh... she has a point. I've just never heard anyone put it that way." Curly pursed his lips, impressed.
"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?" Fuckface whined like a little bitch.
Curly shrugged. "You might be my captain, but even I know you can be a major douche. I might be with the girl on this one."
Captain? This asshole was their captain? Who voted for him? God, I hope he's the captain of the badminton club or something like that. Wait, I think we have a guy on our hockey team who's known for being a major asshole. It fit.
"Guess who'll be doing burpees for the whole of Monday's practice." Fuckface glared at his teammate.
The guy rolled his eyes but kept quiet.
"This is great and all. Now, for the last time, can you please leave?" I waved my hand in front of Fuckface's face.
"No," he stated firmly, a deliberate display of arrogance as he made a show of settling into his seat like I did earlier. He wiggled his irritating ass and widened his legs with an infuriatingly self-satisfied grin. Inevitably, his leg pressed against mine, causing a surge of irritation to course through me.
The rest of the crew paid no mind to our ridiculous behavior, carrying on with their own conversation. With a fiery glare, I retaliated by stomping on his foot, making sure to deliver the blow with the heel of my boot. His surprised cry of pain was music to my ears. Served him right. His glare burned back at me, and he swiftly hooked my foot with his own, trapping it firmly between his feet. Despite my attempts to free myself, he was too strong for me.
Desperate to create some distance, I resorted to pushing him away, putting my hand on his thigh for leverage. However, as soon as my palm made contact with his thick, muscled thigh, even more of an unwelcome awareness crept over me. The warmth of his leg sent a jolt of unexpected electricity through my hand, and I quickly pulled away.
"This is stupid. Just stop," I growled, leaning away from him.
"You stop."
We locked eyes, matching scowls etched on our faces, neither of us willing to back down. We stayed like that for a long pause, not saying a word.
My gaze inadvertently wandered, capturing the subtle details of his face. The faint scattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks, barely noticeable. His eyes, a vibrant green that transitioned into darker shades, holding an intensity that drew women in. A faded scar on his forehead and a small beauty mark below his right eyebrow. And those lashes, stupidly long and thick, framing his piercing gaze.
But amidst his undeniable beauty, it felt unfair. How could someone be so gorgeous on the outside, but so rotten inside? He was a modern-day Dorian Gray.
"Excuse me? Ma'am?" A female voice halted all conversation at the table. I pulled my gaze from Fuckfaces' to look at her.
She was staring at the guys with a wonderstruck expression. "Here's your food," she mumbled, not looking at me.
The girl put the plate on the table and all six of the guy's eyes zeroed in on my Nachos. I quickly reached for the plate, dragging it to me. "Don't even think about it," I warned them all.
"Come on, Hoodie-Girl. Just a bite," one of the twins pleaded. The other was already extending a sneaky hand towards my plate. I slapped the offending hand and he pulled back like a wounded puppy.
"Hey, could we each get a plate of whatever she's having." Tate smiled up at the waitress.
She blushed and nodded fervently before zooming off.
"Sharing is caring," the louder twin argued.
"Hey, man, wait until yours gets here," the Canadian guy said.
"But I'm hungry now," the twin whined, rubbing his flat stomach and pouting.
Curly rolled his eyes. "Grow up."
"Fine," I replied. "But you can only have a bite. I don't like sharing my food — especially with strangers."
"Really? Thanks." He immediately dove in for my food, snagging way more than a bite.
"And me?" And then the other twin took some too. I gasped as my food began to disappear right before my eyes.
"No more!" I yelled when twin number one came back for seconds.
"Come on, Hoodie-Girl. You can have some of mine when it gets here," he bargained.
Just as I was ready to fire back with a retort, my attention was abruptly stolen by a hand reaching for my precious nachos from the right. My eyes shot up in disbelief as Fuckface shamelessly scooped up a massive load of nachos and stuffed it into his mouth-hole. I gaped at him in horror.
I was going to kill him.
He saw the look on my face and shrugged. "What? It's just some nachos."
"Just some nachos?" I stood up. "You know what? You can all have them. I don't want it anymore now that it's been contaminated. Enjoy, boys. I'm out of here." I grabbed my bag off the table and glared at Fuckface. "Move."
He frowned. "Calm down, woman. I didn't mean anything by that. Listen, you can have some of mine if you're that upset. Just sit down." He held up both of his hands, trying to calm me down like some feral dog.
"Fine," I muttered under my breath.
Without further hesitation, I started crawling across his lap. With one hand on the table, I put my right knee on his leg. He flinched when my knee got a little too close to his family jewels.
"What are you doing?" He asked, putting a hand on my lower back when I wobbled.
I reached back to slap his hand off me. I couldn't concentrate when he was touching me like that.
"You refused to budge, so I'm getting out of here the only way I can," I answered, a touch of exasperation in my voice.
"What about your friends?" he said sarcastically. "You're just going to leave before they get here."
I remembered my lie and cleared my throat. "I'm saving them from the trauma of having to meet you. Now shut up — I'm tired of talking to you."
Shifting my attention to Tate, who was seated next to him, I boldly placed my hand on his lap, using it as leverage to propel myself forward. He simply grinned and leaned back, offering me the necessary space to execute my maneuver. Thankfully, Curly, showing some courtesy, got up from his seat and opened up my path to freedom.
Standing, I straightened my clothes. I turned back to see them all staring at me with amusement, except Fuckface — he just looked annoyed.
"I'd say it's been pleasant, but it really hasn't. Goodbye, gentlemen — let's never see each other again, yes?" I gave them a wry smile before turning around to march off.
"I like her," one of the twins announced.
"You're also doing burpees on Monday," Fuckface retorted.
Looking straight ahead, I paused when I realized that everyone's eyes were on me. Swallowing the sudden unease, I shouldered my bag and calmly walked past all of the people staring at me, acting like their gazes held no effect on me. This was becoming a common occurrence any time I was near Fuckface. More reason to stay away from him.
I was nearing the door when the waitress called out to me, "Wait, ma'am! You haven't paid!"
Right.