I Hated You First: Sworn To Loathe You Page 2

  “Good morning to you, too, Lauren.” Parker turned to his sister and puffed out his chest. He’d been the one to buy the lift, and his body language showed it was a decision he’d defend with his last breath.

  He patted the machine like an old friend. “Everybody wants these, working or not. It was in a storage unit, and they were doing me a favor by calling me first.”

  “Doing you a favor.” She laughed. “More like, they know any time they have a piece of incredibly heavy junk on their hands, you’ll be happy to haul it off, and pay them to boot. How much was it?”

  “I don’t have to tell you. You’re not my boss.”

  “Oh, that’s mature.”

  I stepped between them, knowing things would only get less mature from there if I didn’t put a stop to it. I’d been playing the role of peacemaker since we were kids, and while they were a lot more respectful to each other now, it didn’t stop these constant work battles. “Let me finish my inspection. Then you can yell at each other with better ammunition.”

  Lauren sighed. “Okay, sorry. But I’m talking to John about this when he gets back.”

  “Never doubted that for a minute,” Parker called over his back. He was retreating to his workstation, but didn’t look happy about it. John would likely side with Lauren on this one, which never helped their sibling rivalry. Parker and Lauren both called him John and not Dad in the shop, but family issues were family issues, no matter the setting.

  Now that Parker had backed away, Lauren and I were left standing close together for no particular reason. Her arm brushed mine, leaving a trail of warmth. Moments like this were happening too often. For a long time I’d convinced myself it was totally one-sided, that it was wishful thinking on my part to ever assume she did it on purpose. But my gut said she felt something too, a magnetic connection between us that would only lead to trouble.

  Not acknowledging it, letting it be this delicious mystery between us, was not good. And yet, I wasn’t about to say something. She’d deny it and make me feel like a jerk. I knew that as well as I knew she’d been wearing those same Converse shoes for three years, and only changed out the laces occasionally.

  But if we couldn’t talk about it, and couldn’t do anything about it, then it was definitely time to make her go away.

  “Don’t you have more evidence to gather, proving you’re better than Parker?”

  She slowly shook her head at me. “I don’t get you, Clay. Sometimes you’re almost nice.”

  “And that’s almost a compliment.”

  “Hate you,” she muttered under her breath.

  “I hated you first,” I whispered back.

  She stalked off, and I went back to changing out the batteries. These short fixes for our long-term problem were not healthy. I knew it, and yet I didn’t know what else to do. It was second nature by now to be the prickly middleman.

  The scissor lift performed beautifully, but I didn’t put an actual person on it until I’d tried every test I could think of first. Then I made Parker the guinea pig. He was happy to wave at Lauren from twenty feet up in the air.

  She ignored him and stared at her computer. He’d won this battle. I would have been happier about it if I thought it would make any difference in their relationship. I sort of understood Parker’s inferiority complex. His mom left when he was an infant. Shortly thereafter, Lauren’s mom came along and made his dad joyously happy, and then there was a new baby. He was sandwiched in the middle between his over-achieving older brother and the sister he never wanted.

  So much of it was in his head. His whole family loved him; well, as much as he’d let them. Lauren had followed us around like an eager puppy when we were kids, hoping Parker would love her half as much as she loved him. She still loved him now, it was just a lot more hidden these days.

  He just couldn’t appreciate what he had, no matter what they did, and if I picked Lauren over him, it might push him over the edge. I hated that I had to choose at all.

  The scissor lift hadn’t come with any paperwork, so I jotted down the specs for Lauren.

  Evan’s cheery whistle echoed through the warehouse, along with the signature jingling of the keys he kept on his belt. “Morning, everyone. Lauren, good to see you again.”

  Lauren’s head shot up, and she pasted on a smile sprinkled with a good helping of anxiety. “Morning, Evan. Don’t forget to log your hours on the Komatsu fork lift.”

  “Will do. Will do.” He whistled a tune, something Lauren obviously recognized, based on the way she began fidgeting.

  I looked between the two of them, trying to figure out what was going on. Knowing Evan, I wouldn’t have to wait long. The guy never shut up.

  He set down his coffee cup and rubbed his hands together, looking around. “I saw Lauren at Rooster’s last night. She’s got a new boy toy,” he announced to the group at large.

  Herbert smiled before going out for a cigarette break. The man loved gossip, but he loved his nicotine more. John made him smoke on the driveway at the back entrance. Half the time he ate his lunch out there too.

  “Congratulations.” I approached Lauren’s desk and opened up the laptop where we logged repairs.

  She could have skewered me with a thousand lasers with the glare she gave me in return. It was a come-hither look as far as my hormones were concerned, but I was used to ignoring those.

  She gritted her teeth. “Don’t start, Clay.”

  I held my hands up in surrender. “I’m sure this guy’s the one. There’s no reason to get all defensive about it.”

  I couldn’t even say it with a straight face. She had every reason to keep her boyfriends a secret from me. I had become an expert over the years in picking them apart, piece by tiny, annoying piece. Not that I could take all the credit. I didn’t choose the guys, and I certainly didn’t make her break up with them. That was on her. All I did was open up a window of doubt, and she did the rest.

  It kept her single, and it kept her hating me. Win-win. Or lose-lose. Sometimes I really despised this game we played.

  “Has John met him yet?” I asked.

  “Nope.” She practically ripped a paper out of the printer and held it out to me half crumpled. “We have someone interested in the Caterpillar 420. They’re coming in a half-hour. Make sure it’s clean and that Herbert didn’t leave any sunflower seed shells in it from when he was working on it, and make sure the hours match what’s on here, and take the keys up front.” She must have realized how bossy she sounded because she put on what sort of could be considered a smile and added, “Please?”

  “As you wish.” The words were out of my mouth before I could rethink them.

  Lauren’s face froze for a second, and then she raised an eyebrow. “Don’t try to butter me up, Clay.”

  I grinned, taking the paper from her. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  She reached out and gripped my forearm before I could walk away. “You won’t say anything to John, will you?”

  “About the boy toy?” I concentrated on keeping my voice even. The last thing I needed was my voice to crack, or worse, get all breathy with excitement over her touching me.

  “I know he’ll hear about it anyway, but just…” She released my arm, muttering to herself. “It’s hopeless. Evan will tell him the second he sees him.”

  “I won’t say anything to your dad.” It was all I could promise her. I couldn’t get in the middle of every fight in the Harwood household, especially the ones that involved my boss.

  She waved me off, and I went to get the equipment ready, putting my focus on the job where it belonged.

  Evan was too busy doing maintenance tasks on our truck fleet to say a word to anybody about anything, and I was relieved. Until John came over and hovered while I replaced the worn out track pads on a mini excavator.

  John was never one for idle chitchat. Whatever he had to say, he always came out and said it point-blank. But I still almost drilled one of the bolts into my hand when he opened with, “I want
you to break up Lauren and this new boyfriend of hers if things start to get serious.”

  “And why would you think I’m qualified to do that?” I concentrated on keeping my response casual. This felt like a kick in the pants from Karma, one I should have seen coming.

  I tightened the last bolt, and John picked up the worn-out pad I’d taken off, turning it over in his hands. “You’ve always been like a protective older brother to her. It’s no secret Lauren listens when you make fun of whoever she’s dating. And you and I both know she’s too young to date anyone seriously. Not anyone good enough for her, anyway.”

  Lauren had just turned twenty-three. How was I, at twenty-five, so much more mature and wise? John never asked who I dated or why. When would Lauren be old enough in his eyes to have a serious relationship? When she was thirty? Forty-five? After he wasn’t around to see it? John was a helicopter parent, but this was taking it to a whole new level.

  “I’m going to have Lauren bring him to lunch Sunday at our house. Make sure you’re there, too, so you can meet him.”

  I considered declining, but John would insist, even if I had an excuse ready, which I didn’t. So, I nodded, focused on my work, and reasoned I could untangle myself from this trap later. But even after John left, I couldn’t relax. The more I thought about it, the worse I felt.

  John was an observer. Somewhere along the line, he’d caught wind of what I did to Lauren’s boyfriends, and now he wanted to mold my gift for his own purposes. I felt exposed. My messed-up relationship with Lauren was a private battle I waged in my head and my heart where no one could see it. Or so I’d thought. Now it belonged to my boss. This wouldn’t end with her current boy toy. That much I knew.

  4

  ___________

  Lauren

  Pulling out of the lot after work, I was in the mood for some angry rock music. Not quite the garbage Parker listened to, but something that would match the frustration I felt inside. I settled for a girl power rock band I’d listened to in high school long after it would have been considered cool. In fact, the more Parker and Clay made fun of Shadow Behind the Sun, the more l had clung to the band’s cheesy, angst-filled lyrics. Their songs filled me with nostalgia for a time when life had been less complicated, when straight A’s and not getting speeding tickets was enough to make my dad happy.

  Dad had lectured me when I talked to him about Parker’s scissor lift purchase. He said I was tattling, as if I’d caught Parker using Mom’s good sewing scissors to cut poster board. And yes, I’d tattled that time, too.

  Dad didn’t get it. We were adults now. I was happy about the scissor lift being a good buy. Anything good for the company was good for me. Team player right here, ladies and gentleman. This was about Parker’s undying confidence in making gut purchases. Like gambling, there was an ugly side to any lucky streak. I wasn’t being petty; I was trying to be proactive. But Dad missed all that, and when I tried to explain, he’d turned the conversation to the new guy in my life. Or tried to. I shut that down like a strict librarian with chatty patrons.

  Once again, I considered leaving the company I loved, the one I’d help build up to what it was today. I’d been battling for my place with Parker and my dad for so long that it was hard to tell whose fault it was that we were like this—so stubborn, so in each other’s business. Connor was the smart one. My older brother hadn’t worked for the company since high school.

  I merged onto the freeway, loving the punchy power of my old ’92 Chevy Silverado. Dad had offered to get me a new work truck several times, especially after we had to replace the alternator and the transmission and finally give my Chevy a paint job worthy of the Harwood fleet. But there was no better engine than the small block 350 in this thing, and I’d fight anyone who said differently.

  By the time I reached my apartment, I was calm. Jenny stood at the stove making dinner. It smelled amazing.

  “Best roommate ever,” I said, hanging my cross body bag on a hook and coming into the kitchen to have a look at the stir-fry sizzling in a pan.

  “How was work, dear?” she joked. She pointed at the wooden spoon next to the rice pot, silently commanding me to stir. I complied.

  “Are you looking for gossip or do you actually want to hear about my work?”

  “Gossip, of course.”

  “My dad found out about Denver.”

  Jenny laughed. “You hide him like he’s a shameful secret. Denver is just about the most respectable specimen you could drag home.” She ticked off his qualities on her fingers. “He works for a bank, he has good personal hygiene, nothing on him is pierced, and he takes you on real dates.”

  “You make fun of him.” I stole a piece of carrot out of the pan and ate it quickly.

  “Too much salt?” Jenny asked.

  “Nope, perfect.”

  “I make fun of him because he’s a little too perfect, a little too cookie-cutter. You need someone who’s going to challenge you once in a while. And, you know, maybe someone with less gel in his hair.”

  I sighed. Jenny knew me too well; enough that she could see all the reasons I’d picked Denver out in the first place, even if she didn’t fully understand the motivation behind it. Denver was nothing like my family, nothing like Clay, and I liked that.

  Clay Olsen. It always seemed to come back to him.

  Stupid childhood crush. I’d like to crush it until it was a fun little detour in my history that no one had to know about, like the Justin Bieber poster I used to keep on the back of my bedroom door.

  Case in point, after talking to Dad about Denver today, my mind had dwelled on the fact that it was Herbert who told Dad about my boyfriend, not Clay. I’d asked Clay not to say anything, and as far as I could tell, he’d kept his promise.

  It shouldn’t matter. He shouldn’t matter. Clay had always been there. I should be bored with him by now, despite his dark blue-gray eyes, his wavy brown hair, and his big strong hands that could fix anything. Stupid crush.

  “So, what does this mean? Did your dad ask to meet him?”

  “Huh?” I pulled myself out of my thoughts and back to the conversation at hand. “No, but that’s not good news. Normal dads ask. My dad? He’ll probably recruit a spy or go visit Denver while he’s working at the bank and pretend he’s interested in a home equity line of credit.”

  Jenny stopped stirring the meat and vegetables and looked at me. “He’d do that?”

  “I certainly wouldn’t rule it out. Let’s discuss this with food in our mouths.”

  “So lady-like, Lauren.”

  “So hungry.” I grabbed a plate and dished myself up a nice helping of rice and stir-fry. I loved that Jenny cooked. You would think the more you enjoyed food the better you’d be at making it, but I’d proved that theory wrong over and over again. I couldn’t even properly make brownies from a mix.

  After a few bites, I continued. “He’s never liked anyone I’ve dated. Okay, he liked one guy, and that turned out to be the biggest disaster of all.”

  “Because your dad got too attached to him?”

  “Because he was my dad’s best employee, and he immediately quit after we broke up. His name was Boyce.” I didn’t like to think about Boyce. I still felt bad about him, and not just because of my dad.

  “Boyz?” Jenny leaned forward. “Did you call him Boyz, like Boyz II Men?”

  I rolled my eyes. “B-O-Y-C-E. Boyce. And don’t try to make everything about Boyz II Men. Your obsession with them is weird. You weren’t even born when they had their ten seconds of fame.”

  “It was way more than ten seconds. They set records with their number one hits.”

  “Anyway…”

  Jenny rolled her hand. “Sorry. Continue. When did you date Boyce with a C?”

  “When I was twenty. And my dad has never gotten over it. He still brings him up from time to time. It’s not like I deliberately tried to ruin his favorite employee.”

  Jenny swirled rice around her plate. “Dating coworkers is always tric
ky. I’m assuming you were working there, too, right?”

  “I was. But let’s change the subject. Anything new at your work?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “My boss is one inappropriate comment away from me reporting him to H.R., and Noah, the carpool guy who asked me out is… just my coworker now. Today, we didn’t talk the whole ride to work, and once we were at work, we talked about nothing but collating.”

  “Collating? Like, making copies?”

  “Yep. We had a ten minute conversation on the best page order for the booklets and possible staple placements for the binding. Titillating stuff right there.”

  I smirked. “Well, if he turned a thirty-second conversation into ten minutes just to stand next to you, that’s sorta hot. Did he lean over and whisper in your ear?”

  “Ew, no. That’s the type of thing my boss does, and then he gets all offended and flabbergasted when you call him out on it. Noah kept a respectable distance, hands behind his back and everything.”

  “He kept his hands behind his back because he was afraid his feelings would show if you two accidentally touched and he dropped all the papers on the floor.”

  Jenny narrowed her eyes at me, trying not to laugh. “Your interpretation of my day is so much more romantic than my reality. Go on. Tell me more.”

  I was embarrassed now, but Jenny’s know-it-all-smirk had me accepting her challenge. “Well, naturally, you’d have to stoop down and help him pick up all those papers, and then your eyes would meet and then your mouths, and then… then…” I rubbed my palms together. “Someone would walk in and you’d both have to scramble to your feet and pretend you were checking each other’s lips for leftover frosting from the birthday cake at lunch.”

  “What birthday cake?”

  “You work with like five hundred people. It’s always somebody’s birthday, right?”

  Jenny grinned. “Pretty much. So, in your fantasy, do we get caught making out or do they buy the whole, ‘I-was-cleaning-the-frosting-off-his-lips-for-him’ excuse?”