I Hate That I Want You, Lena Sawyer

Chapter One

Lena’s POV

I’m excited to finally have sex with Wes. I can’t wait.

That’s the first thought ringing in my head as I smooth the wig over my hair, checking my reflection one last time in the gilded mirror of Wes’s penthouse. The outfit clings to me in all the ways I know he likes—short skirt, thigh-high socks, and the exact replica of his favorite anime waifu’s uniform. I can already imagine the gleam in his eyes when he walks through that door and sees me waiting, not at the stands, not cheering with the crowd, but right here in his penthouse, ready for him.

Excitement wells up in my chest at the thought, and I do a little victory dance in my head. This is the perfect compensation ever for missing his game.

I missed his game. I had a very important interview earlier today, which fell at the exact time as his game. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity I couldn’t throw away. Although he was mad at me, I know seeing me this way is all it will take for him to melt like plushies.

I hear the low growl of his engine outside, familiar and sleek, and more excitement rushes through me like champagne bubbles. Heart hammering, I grab my phone, ready to record his reaction for Avery later. She’ll die when she sees.

The front door clicks open, and I dart into the walk-in wardrobe, biting back a laugh. The plan is simple—he comes in, drops his keys, I pop out in costume, and boom, best surprise of his life.

Except…

The door doesn’t swing open casually. It slams back against the wall, like he can’t wait another second. I grip the wardrobe handle, ready to push it open, but freeze at a sound.

A moan.

It’s high-pitched, breathless, and definitely not mine.

“What the hell?” I whisper under my breath, pressing my eye to the sliver of light between the doors.

My world tilts.

There he is, Wesley, my boyfriend, slamming into some woman over the back of the expensive leather couch we picked out together. Her manicured nails dig into the cushions as she throws her head back, moaning louder, urging him on.

Shock permeates through me, fixing me to the spot. My brain can’t process what I’m seeing. This is the man I was about to surprise, the man I defended when Avery said he was “too polished to be faithful.”

“Oh God, Wes,” the woman cries, her voice smooth like velvet, sultry. “Your girlfriend must be the dumbest girl alive, leaving a man like you. You deserve someone who knows how to keep you. Harder, baby—fuck me harder.”

My stomach lurches. It feels like a lump of ash just settled in it. Heat burns behind my eyelids. For a second, I think I might throw up.

The wardrobe handle is cold against my palm, my knuckles white from holding on. But then something snaps inside me.

I push the doors open and step out, my heels clicking against the hardwood floor.

“What the fuck?” My voice slices through the room, sharp yet trembling.

Wes is still mid-thrust. The woman gasps, twisting to look at me. His eyes go wide, like he’s seen a ghost.

I’ve never felt like such a fucking idiot in my life.

Wes is frozen, his mouth opening and closing like he’s searching for words, but all I can see is myself—standing there in some cheap polyester skirt and thigh-high socks, dressed like his goddamn anime waifu while he’s balls-deep in another woman.

A laugh rips out of me, harsh and broken. “I actually thought you’d be excited to see me.” My voice shakes, my throat thick with tears I refuse to let him see. “What a fool I am.”

“Lena, wait—” He says, fixing himself.

But I’m already yanking the wig off my head, tearing at the stupid stockings, and throwing the headband on the floor like it burned me. Every piece of the costume feels like a thorn on my skin. My hands shake as I strip them away until I’m just… me. Small. Exposed. Wounded.

He calls my name again, panic in his tone, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of looking back. I grab my bag, shove past the couch, and bolt out the door before the tears spill over. His voice blurs to the background, and by the time I make it to my car, the sobs have clawed their way up my throat. My fingers tremble as I dial the only person who can keep me from driving off a cliff tonight with tear-streaked eyes.

“Avery,” I choke out when she answers, my voice breaking. “I need you. Now. Before I do something really fucking stupid.”

“Babe, where are you? What happened?”

“In my car. At Wes’ penthouse,” I manage to croak out.

“Can you drive?” Her voice is calm but sharp, like she’s holding herself together for me.

“I can manage,” I whisper, though my chest feels like it’s caving in.

“Then come straight here. No detours, Lena. Straight. Here.”

Her apartment smells like vanilla and wine, like safety by the time I arrive. The moment I see her, I break, telling her what happened. She wraps me up in her arms, and I cry into her shoulder until my body is nothing but shudders and exhaustion.

“Don’t waste any more tears on that asshole,” Avery murmurs, stroking my hair. “He doesn’t deserve you. He never did.”

I give a sardonic laugh, though it feels hollow. “I dressed up for him, Ave. Like a character from his fucking anime. And the whole time… he was screwing someone else.”

She pulls back, eyes blazing. “Then he’s a bigger idiot than you think. Because, honey, if I came home to this—” she gestures at me, “—I wouldn’t let you out of bed for a week. Wes is such a jerk.”

Her words stitch me back together, piece by piece. I breathe and wipe my face.

“Look, Lena, I want you to forget that jerk ever existed, and I think I might know a perfect way,” Avery says.

I raise a brow.

“There’s a party tonight at the club I’m working at, and I think attending it will be just what you need to forget him. At least for tonight. Who knows? You could even get freaky with someone who actually knows how to treat you like you deserve.”

At first thought, Avery’s suggestion sounds like a bad idea, but on second thought, I think she’s right. Besides, I intended to get laid tonight. The only difference is that I’ll have sex with someone else. I can decide to choose the hottest person I meet in the club tonight.

A reckless spark flickers in my chest at the thought. “Maybe freaky is precisely what I need.”