Home > To Hate Adam Connor(2)

To Hate Adam Connor(2)
Author: Ella Maise

So, I went back for more. I remember telling myself, Just one more time, Lucy, and that’s it. I sincerely thought it would be a crime not to experience that level of hotness again, and I’m no criminal. What could possibly go wrong, y’know…

Then somehow we ended up having those one-night stands a few times a week. So, technically he wasn’t a one-night stand, but I’d still like to call him just that. He also proved to be a tough cookie when he started to fall asleep in my bed before my brain would start working enough to remember why I needed to kick him out of it.

Funnily enough, that’s how I used to end up going for sleepy time on my best friend Olive’s boobies. Sleeping and cuddling with your one-night stand is a big no no. The best part; Olive’s boobs were The.Best.Freaking.Pillows.In.The.World! Trust me on that. So soft, yet so firm. It was basically magic, but that’s a story for another time.

Long story short, I’d started to fall for Jameson. I thought maybe it was time for me to give good ol’ love a spin and see if I was still cursed or not. True, I wasn’t necessarily expecting a happily ever after at my first try because real life is rarely all unicorns flying around and farting rainbows in the clouds, but hell, I hadn’t been expecting a sudden cut and run either. I was just dipping my toes into the water, not trying to electrocute myself.

So, yup, still cursed.

No love for this gal. Hurray…I guess.

“Hello? Lucy? Ah, there you are. Is there a reason you’re talking to yourself?” Olive asked as she appeared at the end of the hall where I was dumping a trash bag filled with Jameson’s clothes. I straightened up and let out a deep breath as I took in her appearance. The yoga pants and baggy white shirt she was wearing were practically her uniform when she didn’t want to think about what to wear. And baggy or not her boobs still managed to look good. Her strawberry blonde hair was in a messy bun on top of her head and looked like it had seen much cleaner days. My guess was she had come straight from her writing cave.

“No reason at all. Just entertaining myself,” I answered, clearing the invisible sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. “What are you doing here this early? I thought you were coming around later. And is there a reason why you look like you haven’t showered in a week?”

She was in the process of looking through the trash bags I had lined up against the wall that contained the clothes Jameson had chosen to leave behind. At my question, Olive’s head snapped up and her lips spread into a wide grin.

“Not a week, but maybe two days? I only have a few chapters to write then it’s officially The End for the story.” She shrugged and went back to her rummaging, looking for God knew what. “Who has time to shower anyway?”

It wasn’t a question, but I answered her anyway—under my breath of course. “People who like to be clean instead of smelly like you maybe?”

“And to answer your ungrateful question,” she continued. “I came early because I’m the best friend anyone could have. Why do we have to go through his clothes? Why didn’t the bastard take them with him?”

“We aren’t going through his clothes, you are. I’ve already gone through them. I’m just gonna leave them outside. Jameson texted to say his friend was coming over to take care of them. I don’t care either way.”

“Or we could burn them to make a statement.” She kicked one of the bags toward the door and reached out to lift up my small, bright yellow weekend bag.

“And what statement would that be exactly?”

“I don’t know…to show him that we are a united front against him? And it would be therapeutic for you, too.”

“Right. How about we stick to moving me out of here as quickly as possible instead.”

She shrugged and grabbed the bag I was holding out to her. “By the way, I’m pretty sure Jason would’ve said something if I smelled. And look who’s talking—you look like death warmed up. Your beautiful blue eyes are practically dead. Even your dark hair somehow looks…darker.”

I clasped my hands over my heart and batted my lashes. “Aww, thanks, my little green Olive. You look lovely too, with your greasy hair and sleepy eyes. Combined, it all does wonders for your complexion.”

A small smile playing on her lips, she shook her head and carried the bags downstairs to her car. I opened the bathroom door and checked the medicine cabinet to make sure I hadn’t left anything behind. Then just to be safe, I checked the bedroom again. When I was sure everything was packed and ready to go, I carried my last suitcase into the living room where Olive was waiting for me with a full bottle of tequila.

“I brought this,” she said, using her hands to present the bottle to me, as if that baby needed any extra presenting.

Taking a few steps to make it to her side, I snatched the bottle from her hands, ignored her gasp, and plopped my ass down on the shit-colored sofa, as I liked to describe it.

While I was busy trying to screw the top off, Olive sighed and dropped down next to me. I took a quick gulp and screwed up my face when the precious liquid burned my throat then handed the bottle back to her waiting hands.

She’d been my friend for three and a half years, and I doubted anyone else knew me better than her. She was a writer—a crazy successful author who’d made the bestseller lists with her very first novel. My favorite part was that she was the lucky, lucky wife of the hottest actor in Hollywood, who had also been her childhood crush. You’d think that shit would only happen in books, but nope, she did it. She scored the hottest guy. I liked to think I’d given her a small nudge in the right direction, encouraging her to go after what she wanted, but her chemistry with the guy was off the charts, so I knew with or without me, they still would’ve ended up together. And, well, despite being a hotshot celebrity, Jason Thorn was one of the good ones. He was completely in love with Olive—otherwise I would have totally organized a sneak attack on him to get his paws off my best friend.

“So…” Olive started after she took her own gulp of tequila and coughed a few times. “What was the subject of the conversation you were having with yourself when I walked in?”

I took another sip, a big one. That one definitely went down easier. “Actually, I was reminiscing about your pretty boobs and thinking how come you’re so selfish about sharing those puppies.”

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