Free The Hating Game by Sally Thorne

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    Joshua dangles from the end of my fishing line, a glossy fish, flipping and irrevocably hooked. I can feel the expanse of air between us vibrating with tension.
    â€œCome over here, I need to whisper it,” I murmur, glancing left and right although we both know there’s nobody for miles.
    Joshua shakes his head reflexively and I look at his lap. He’s not the only one who can stare underneath the desk.
    â€œOh,” I say to be a smartass, but to my astonishment color begins to burn on Joshua’s cheekbones. Joshua Templeman is turned on in my presence. Why does it make me want to tease him even more?
    â€œI’ll come over and tell you.” I lock my computer screen.
    â€œI’m fine.”
    â€œI have to share it.” I walk over slowly and put my hands on the edge of his desk. He looks at my fishnet legs with such a tormented expression I almost feel sorry for him.
    â€œThis is unprofessional.” He glances at the ceiling for inspiration before finding it. “HR.”
    â€œIs that our safe word? Okay.” In this fluorescent lighting he looks irritatingly healthy and gold, his skin even and unblemished. But there’s a faint sheen on his face.
    â€œYou’re a little sweaty.” I take the Post-its from his desk and plant a big, slow kiss on top. I peel it off and stick it in the middle of his computer screen.
    â€œI hope you’re not coming down with something.” I walk away toward the kitchen. I hear the wheels on his chair make a faint wheeze.
    L IVE A LITTLE.
    Danny’s cubicle is stripped down and a little chaotic. Packing boxes and stacks of paper and files are everywhere.
    â€œHi!”
    He jolts and makes a jagged gray smudge on the author photograph he was Photoshopping. Real smooth, Lucy.
    â€œSorry. I should wear a bell.”
    â€œNo, it’s okay. Hi.” He hits Undo, Save, and then swivels, hiseyes sliding up and down me as fast as lightning, before getting snagged on the hemline of my dress for an extra few seconds.
    â€œHi. I was wondering if you’d come up with any inventions for us to get started on?”
    I can’t believe how forward I’m being, but I’m in a desperate situation. My pride is at stake here. I need someone sitting next to me tonight on a barstool or Joshua will laugh his ass off.
    A smile spreads across his face. “I’ve got a half-finished time machine I could get you to take a look at.”
    â€œThey’re pretty straightforward. I can help you out.”
    â€œName the time and place.”
    â€œThe sports bar on Federal? Tonight, seven o’clock?”
    â€œSounds great. Here, I’ll give you my number.” Our fingers graze when he gives it to me. My, my. What a nice boy. Where on earth has he been all this time?
    â€œSee you tonight. Bring, um, blueprints.” I weave back through the cubicles and climb the stairs back to the top floor, mentally dusting my hands.
    Time to work. I drop back into my seat and begin work on the proposal outlining our desire to run a team-building activity. I put two signature spaces at the bottom, sign my name, and dump it into his in-tray. He takes a full two hours to even pick it up. When he does, he reads it in about four seconds. He slashes his signature onto it and flicks it into his out-tray without a glance. He has been in a weird mood this afternoon.
    I steeple my fingers and commence the Staring Game. It takes about three minutes but he eventually heaves a sigh and locks his screen. We stare so deep into each other’s eyes we join each other in a dark 3-D computer realm; nothing but green gridlines and silence.
    â€œSo. Nervous?”
    â€œWhy would I be?”
    â€œYour big date, Shortcake. You haven’t had one in a while. As long as I’ve known you, I think.” He indicates quotation marks with his fingers at big date. He’s positive it’s all a lie.
    â€œI’m way too