Hard to Hate
August 7, 2020
My life was shattered when my sister and best friend, Sierra, was taken from me by a drunk driver.
Now, months later, instead of worrying about finishing college, I'm ordering shot after shot trying to drown away her memory. A sexy but arrogant man steps in, takes my drink, steals my breath, and tries to save me from myself in one swoop. And I hate him for it.
Realizing I'm on a downward spiral, I decide to get my life back on track. First step - get a job. Any job. Something to keep me busy and not thinking about Sierra.
I nail my interview for the waitress position at the hottest club in town. I'm excited and ready to begin my new adventure until the jerk from the bar walks in. As it turns out, the jerk from the bar is the club owner. And my new boss.
I want to hate him. I try to hate him. Problem is, the more I get to know him, the more I find he might just be too hard to hate.
Excerpt
The bartender sets it in front of me, but before I can reach it, the man next to me snatches it away.
“Hey,” I exclaim in protest.
“I think you’ve had enough, Sweetheart.” His voice is deep, his tone calm and even but it still it sends a chill down my spine. I’m not sure if I should be scared of him or turned on by him. I’m drunk enough to not put too much thought into it. Instead, I focus on the one thing that I do know I want – my drink.
I poke my finger into his hard chest as I stumble forward. “I am not your Sweetheart. And that is not your drink. It’s mine. Hand it over.”
“This drink?” he says dangling it in front of me like a carrot before a horse. As I reach for it, he retracts his hand and brings the glass to his lips, downing every last drop.
“You asshole,” I shout at him.
His lips turn up in a smirk that sets my body on fire despite the fact that he just made himself my enemy. I can’t help but notice his lips. How very kissable they are. Not to mention how they just drank my whiskey. Overcome with temptation, I decide that if he wants to take what’s mine, then I’ll just take what’s his.
Moving onto my toes, I reach my arms around his neck and press my lips to his. I was right, his lips are amazing. And so is the whiskey that I can taste on them. One of his hands comes to rest on my waist, his other moves behind my neck. For a moment he kisses me back, but then just as quickly, his hand pulls my head back tearing my lips from his.
“Why don’t you let me take you home,” the man says.
After that kiss, I’m admittedly tempted. But he stole my drink. So the answer is most certainly no. His hand is still on my waist, holding me steady. “There is no amount of alcohol in the world that would get me to go home with you,” I say, though I’m not sure that my body would agree.
“Oh, I’m pretty sure you would go willingly, even without alcohol, but that’s not what I’m suggesting.”
“You are such an arrogant bastard. I wouldn’t go anywhere with you.”
“That kiss says otherwise.”