Hate So Good: A High School Bully Romance (The Hate Series Book 2) by Nina Lincoln (first color ebook reader .txt) 📗

Disappearing around the side of the house, I lean against the wall and sigh. I can’t resist the pull of Colt despite his reprehensible behavior, which rankles. I need to get my shit together, like pronto.

Absently, I pull my phone from my back pocket when I feel it buzz against my ass, the letters blurry on the screen because I apparently tossed back too many.

Be careful how much alcohol you drink, sweet Finn. We wouldn’t want you to do something stupid

Glancing around with a creepy feeling, I tap out a response to the unknown number, ice sliding down my spine.

Who is this?

Ah, my sweet Finn, now we can truly get to know one another. I believe you refer to me as your...fan

What the fuck? Dropping my phone to my side, I inch toward the door and peer inside. It’s crowded, but I can see Colt standing at the counter, Sarah pouting beside him as Dirk pours another round of shots, and everyone hoots and hollers around them.

Who are you really?

I watch the dots form on the screen and turn to look inside, but Colt’s not on his phone, and I don’t even see it in view.

As you said, your biggest fan. Stay away from the dick tonight. You’re mine, sweet Finn. I’m always watching

Shuddering, I glance around again, but I’m against the side of the house. I can’t see for shit.

With the fine hairs standing at attention on the back of my neck, I step into the clearing and gaze over the groups scattered throughout, but none are looking my way.

Some guy has his phone out, and when he looks up and finds me watching him, he smirks and striding forward with a grim expression, I slap the phone from his hands.

“What? Bitch!” he exclaims as I pick it up from the ground to read the screen.

Opening his texts, I find some rather gross pictures of a girl he’s communicating with but nothing to indicate he was texting me. Giving him the once over, I stare at him blankly as he shouts obscenities at me.

“What the fuck! Gimme back my phone.”

“Is there a problem here?” Colt asks icily behind me.

Slapping the phone back in the dick’s hand, I mutter, “Girls like to be treated as more than a piece of meat.”

“Fuck you,” the guy hollers at me. “Oh, you, fuck off! Where’s your richie brother? Sucked any dick to be in your dad's good graces?”

Wincing, I walk away, ignoring the sounds of fists meeting flesh. Maybe my big reveal had an impact after all.

So, my fan is stepping up his game, and unless Colt got someone else to do his texting for him, it’s not him. Now what? This is all so much of a cluster, and I don't know what to believe anymore. I’m tired. My heart hurts. And, I admit, I’m scared.

When it was Colt doing the stalking, it was brutally cruel, but it wasn’t dangerous, and if it’s not him, then I still have some deranged dick out there gunning for me.

Opening my texts back up, I save the unknown number under creeper and text back.

Fuck you

All I get is silence in return.

Weaving my way back into the house, I find another bottle of alcohol and proceed to drink myself into oblivion. Somewhere along the way, I notice in my bleary-eyed state Colt’s ignoring Sarah, and she’s pouting like a little bitch, and although it pleases me to see the discord, it doesn’t change the facts.

They’re both sick in the head, and I’m better off staying far away - thoughts of which hurt my chest, so I continue to drown my woes until I pass out, waking sometime later to Colt lifting me out of a group of people.

I’m snuggled between a pudgy freshman and some dude I don’t recognize, all of whom are wasted and sleeping it off.

“What?” I mumble, brushing my hair out of my face.

My stomach is roiling, and I can feel a headache brewing at the back of my skull. Lovely, when will I ever learn?

“C’mon,” he mutters, “I’ll take you home.”

“Why,” I mutter petulantly. “Isn’t it enough to leave me to my misery?”

“Misery?” he asks with an amused glint in his eyes.

Scoffing, I stand and move away from his helpful grip, brushing off imaginary dust as he chuckles and pushes me toward the door.

“Melissa-“ I start, stumbling before him, but he cuts me off.

“She’s sleeping it off. I thought you might like to get home before Maggie,” he says, looking at me pointedly. Um, yeah, good idea.

With a curious detachment, I watch as he gets me situated in his truck and rounds the hood to get in on his side. I feel utterly wretched from the alcohol, and the text messages from earlier left me numb.

I’ve no clue what to do, and I don’t trust anyone but Maggie with the information. If I could just figure out who it is, maybe that would help. But even then, if I have no proof, what can I possibly do? Ask the creeper nicely to stop with the fucking threats? Highly doubtful.

Colt drives home quietly, not so much as sparing me a glance. I’ve got a severe case of nausea and leaning my head against the headrest, I hum under my breath, hoping I make it home before it makes an appearance. Then again, maybe puking in Colt’s truck is what he deserves.

“What?” Colt asks, glancing my way.

His usually cruel look is absent, in its place a quiet fatigue that jumpstarts my heart out of numbness and into painful.

“Nothing,” I say, turning away.

I don't need this. I never needed this. Colt, whether he’s vulnerable or sad, is not my problem.

“Why are you bringing me home, anyway?” I say snarkily. “Where’s Sarah Bitch Fremont?”

He chuckles, his eyes lighting up, and again, my heart palpitates in my chest. When he doesn't answer me quickly enough, I keep going, desperate to see the hostility I’ve come to expect from this mercurial guy.

“Tired of her already? What's