I Hate You

Part 16

​​​​​"You wanna do dinner?“ you say in surprise, biting your lip as you press your phone more firmly against your ear. ”Really?“

"Yeah. How about tonight? Say six? We can do that Italian restaurant you like so well —.”
“O'Charleys!?”
“Sure,” your father sounds amused at your childlike giddiness. “Whatever you want. You don’t have plans do you?”
Welllll.
Sort of.
Ryan had been wanting you to come over, which is where you would be heading as soon as you and your father hang up. You were dressed all cute with your hair curled and your makeup perfect, at least according to Devins standards since he’d been by earlier to help you get ready.
Of course he’d taken the time to Ooo and Ahh at your house like it was something miraculous, and you’d like to never gotten him out of your closet — you weren’t wearing a cocktail dress to Ryans.
He wouldn’t appreciate it anyway.
He wasn’t like Devin.
“I’m just hanging out with Ryan, but I’ll be there at six,” you say, walking aimlessly through your room, keeping your hands pointlessly busy as you talk. 
“So you’re still with him, huh?”
“Um, yeah.” You didn’t like his tone there.
“I figured you would have broken up with him by now,” your father continues casually, and you roll your eyes, glad he can’t see you; he’d always hated it when you did that.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Other then the fact he gets you in trouble at school? Looks like a hooligan —?” a hooligan!? “And is probably going to be working at Burger King for the duration of his existence? I can’t findanything wrong.”
“Dad!” You scowl. “Ryans not a loser, and it wasn’t his fault! He was —.”
“Defending his friend, I’m well aware of the situation. I don’t want to argue, honey, I just want what’s best for you.” of course he did. “But I have to go, I’ll see you tonight, okay?”
“Okay.”
And he hangs up.
You sigh, looking down at your phone.
You were excited to see your dad and maybe have a good time, but you’re also dreading it. What if this was just a set up so he could talk to you about something? You have no idea what, but whatever it was it couldn’t be good. 
​Your dad always has ulterior motives.​​
Shit, you’re gonna be late!
You need to get to Ryans!
~~~~~
“So you can’t stay the entire day?” Ryan sounds immensely disappointed as he sits beside you, his arms sprawled along the back of his sofa, neither of you watching the program blaring on the TV in front of you.
“No, I’m sorry, I know you wanted the day —.” You feel really bad now. You know he’d been kind of hyped over spending the day with you, although  you’re not sure why today was any different then the other times you’d hung out.
But you can’t call your dad and cancel, it was too important. Ryan was just going to have to understand, right?
He wasn’t mad, was he?
“No, it’s okay, I get it. You want to spend some time with your dad.” Ryan says quickly, forcing a smile when you fidget.
That cockblocking Motherfucker. 
He really doesn’t like your dad.
He brushes some of your hair our of your face, liking the curls trailing down your shoulders. Curls looked pretty on you, although he’d only told Devin about how much he liked them. He wasn’t sure why, but it just seemed to suit you more then any other style he’d seen on you. 
“We’ll just make the most of the time we have,” Ryan tells you, his voice a little brighter then necessary. “Like, you’ll probably have to leave around five to meet your dad, right? So we have a couple hours. We can still do some stuff.”
“Do some stuff?” you quirk a brow at him. “Like what did you have in mind?”
Ryan grins.
A couple things.
None of them appropriate. 
Also not what he had planned.
“Have you been in my back yard yet?”
“Uh, no. Could you ask a more ominous question?”
He chuckles, rising to his feet and pulling you with him. You frown as his fingers tangle in yours, and he leads you to the back door. You glance around the kitchen nervously, dragging your feet.
Were those serial killer words?
Like was he going to hit you with a shovel and bury you back there now? 
You’re incredibly concerned.
“You’re not gonna kill me back here are you?” you ask warily, and he sends you a wry look over his shoulder, tightening his grip on you.
“it wasn’t on my to do list, no.”
Thank god.
He nudges open his back door, and the two of you step out into a wooden porch, nicely painted and with lots of… Flowers?
Why did Ryans Back porch have so many flower pots? And none if the flowers were dead!
“Do you garden in your spare time?” you ask in amusement, and Ryan snorts.
“Mom likes it. She spends all her time on it when she’s home. Now C'mere.”
Erm.
Okay.
Well his mother certainly had a green thumb. Your eyes flick to his passive expression as you follow him to the other side of the porch.
Did he not get along with his parents? You’d never met them, they were never home, and surely a job in “finance” wouldn’t keep them away all the time? Why would they leave their only son home alone so much? I just didn’t understand. 
But it wasn’t any of their business. 
So you’re quiet as Ryan leads you to the edge of his porch, and the two of you sit on the porch swing. You glance over at his backyard, seeing it lush and green; god, was everything about his house just green? Seemed that way.
But whatever.
“So what’s this about?” you ask, sitting down gingerly on the swing. Ryan plops down beside you, looking a little nervous, his hands rubbing against his dark jeans. He was being all quiet and mysterious. 
“I just…. Well, I…” he feels lame. Like super fucking lame. He hopes you don’t think he’s being stupid or weird or anything like that. He just wants to do something special for you, kind of show he cares without going over the top and making it a big deal. Like, he likes you, he doesn’t want you to think he’s psychotic and in love with you or anything after barely dating a month.
He just wants it to mean something. 
Which is why he kind of wrote you a song.
Which was lame.
But he wants you to hear it anyway, he worked hard on it.
He hopes you like it.
And you don’t think it’s stupid.
“Well?” you bump his shoulder with yours as he trails off into silence, thinking very hard about something. At some point the swing had started moving, so you were both gently swaying, your hands clasped together. He was getting all serious and that wasn’t something you were used to with him.
What was going on?
“Ryan? You’re starting to freak me out a little,” you say nervously. “What’s going on?”
“Shit, sorry — okay, so, I kinda did something for you. I mean, I wrote something. It’s kind of stupid,” he mutters, averting his eyes from yours. “Uh, nevermind.”
He shouldn’t have even said something. The two of you had only been dating a month and he’s writing a song about you! Jesus! How fucking stupid was he? He was the lamest person on the planet, no wonder he gets made fun of sometimes. Besides, you wouldn’t be interested in anything like that — he should’ve just bought you something; but what? It kind of looks like you can have anything you want as it is, and he’s kind of got nothing to offer.
He’s kind of shitty with money, actually. 
“No, what is it?” you ask, squeezing his hand. You smile at him encouragingly, your doe eyes kind and curious. You want to know, and you don’t want him to be embarrassed about whatever it was. 
You bite your lip as he looks at you uncertainly, a look that was rarely on his face. Usually Ryan was the confident one, he didn’t take any shit but he didn’t give any either. You admire him because he stands up for his friends against whoever is hurting them, he speaks his mind and he doesn’t play those ridiculous games like everyone else did. He’s honest. And kind.
And to you that makes him kind of perfect.
Plus he could play an instrument and that was awesome.
“Well, uh…” Ryan rubs the back of his neck. “I wrote you something.”
“You… Wrote me something?” you murmur, feeling your heart increase. He wrote you something!?
OMG!
He wrote you something! 
That was so — cute!
“What did you write?” God could you sound anymore Eagar? Way to embarrass yourself!
You flush, warmth rising to your cheeks, but Ryan merely grins at you, relaxing.
“Yeah, it’s a song. It’s kind of stupid, though,” now he’s the one blushing, oddly embarrassed. He couldn’t sing very well, obviously Chris was lead vocals for a reason, but he wasn’t too horrible. He wasn’t bad at lyrics either, and he’d wanted to do something that would maybe mean something to you?
He hadn’t just wanted to buy a meaningless trinket or something. 
Or maybe he should have.
He’s not sure.
And you haven’t heard the song yet, which you could deem pathetic and lame and stupid and —.
“Ryan, that’s so sweet!” You burst, your eyes lighting up. You lean forward to kiss him, your lips warm against his own and taking him by surprise. He hesitates before lightly kissing you back, still unsure.
It was? 
He should write you more stuff if it brought on spontaneous kisses.
He blinks as you pull away.
“Uh, you haven’t even heard it. It could be awful.”
“It doesn’t matter if it is,” he’d wrote you a song! “No one’s ever made anything for me before.”
Everything had always been bought, but you thought it meant so much more if someone put effort into making something for you, into putting their time and their thoughts into it and really making it special. He could have drawn you a picture of a tree with hearts for leaves and you would have treasured it like gold.
It really was the thought that counts, not how much money it cost. 
​​​No one’s ever made anything for you? 
You’d phrased that differently then he’d expected. Did you not care that he’d not bought you anything? His ex had always likes the physical presents more then anything, when he even had the money to buy her anything. It course, you were a lot more privileged then him or his ex.
Not that it mattered or he thought about it often or anything, or that it bothered him sometimes late at night when he couldn’t sleep and he got to thinking about you.
The difference in your financial situation was steep; he was like at the bottom of the totem pole after all. And you were at the top.
Or higher then him anyway.
Fuck, it didn’t matter anyway. 
You like each other and that’s what counts.
Ryan leans away from you, reaching for the guitar he’d left leaning against the porch earlier in the day as he’d been practicing. Luckily his neighbors were never around to complain about the noise he and his friends were making at all hours of the night.
He clears his throat as he situates his guitar in his lap, his fingers nervously hovering over the strings as you settle beside him, your eyes bright and excited as you wait.
Well.
This was going to be interesting. 
~~~~
Ryan would have written you a song ages ago if it would have brought on this reaction.
It hadn’t been too long of a song, just a few lines and strums of his fingers, but you’d adored it.
And had then proceeded to jump his bones, a habit you seemed to have when he least expected it; but he wasn’t complaining. 
He also kind of liked you on top.
Your hands press into his shoulders as you straddle him, your lips dominating his own with heavy, harsh kisses. His hands are on your hips, and you can feel how hard his heart is beating against your own.
Ryan wants you so fucking bad, and he was pretty sure that was obvious. He’d never quite realized how hot you were until you’d pushed him back into the couch and brazenly crawled on top of him.
He’d quite liked that
“Oh, fuck,” he breathes against your lips, his hands giving your ass a harsh squeeze as your hips rock against his; if it wasn’t for those tight fucking jeans!
He wants to roll, to put you under him so he can have some control. He wants to be able to jerk your clothes off and see you naked, to have those long legs of yours locking around his waist and those kissable lips begging him to fuck you. He wants to hear your moans and feel your body writhe, hear his name as you start to —.
Ryan groans beneath you, the mental image getting the best of him as his hand locks in the back of your curls, his tongue forcing it’s way into your mouth and abruptly ripping the control away from you. His arm locks around the back of your hips, and you suck in a surprised gasp as he abruptly turns, putting you on the bottom.
He doesn’t stop kissing you, and it’s more urgent then before, his body now pressing down into yours, his erections digging into your thigh. You have to admit the thrill it gives you, knowing how badly he wants you. You want him too, there was a fire in your stomach that was getting hotter and hotter, especially when he grinds his hips against yours like that — the friction was wonderful!
He certainly knew what he was doing!
You pull at him, trying to get him closer, your legs slipping and tangling with his. You can feel his hand at the hem of your shirt, slowly drawing up your bare stomach, leaving goosebumps in his wake. You don’t stop him as he nudges your bra from the way, his hand closing over your breast and squeezing. 
You bite his lip lightly, tugging, and you almost whimper as his grip tightens, his thumb circling your nipple, his skin rough against your own. You squirm beneath him, your hands pulling on his shirt, wanting to see his bare chest — why did he even have to wear shirts!?
He leans away from you only long enough to toss it behind the couch, your eyes raking over every inch of bare skin, liking the light sprinkle of dark hair on his pale chest. You reach up, your hand curling around the nape of his neck as you drag his lips back to yours, eagerly letting your fingers trail down his skin, his heart beat quickening under your touch.
You were going to be the end of him.
He was going to spontaneously combust if you kept that up! He catches your fingers when they pull on his jeans, curling them into his.
He’s not going to go too far, and it seems like with you, it always escalates to a point where he worries he’ll get so into the mood he’ll make a wrong move and scare you off. You weren’t ready for sex, you’d said as much, but the way you move against him, tease him — it wasn’t fair. You make him want to fuck so badly it hurts.
But he didn’t want to hurt you.
Which is why he stops.
“God, I want to fuck you,” he whispers against your lips as he pulls away, his eyes finding yours. You stare into them, seeing them filled with lust, with want for you. His fingertips run down your cheek, light and soft, his body pressing down against you so heavily.
You want to tell him to go for it like you had before, to not stop, but… The words get stuck in your throat. You want to sleep with Ryan, you want to feel his hands all over you, exploring, learning everything you have to offer, you just… You’re not ready, and you know it.
And fortunately so does he.
Which is why he’s calling the stops before he gets ahead of himself, before he pushes too far and scares you. He wants you to he calm and comfortable when the two of you fuck for the first time, and he doesn’t want to make you feel like you have too either.
So he gives your lips one more chaste kiss before sitting up completely, not missing your unhappy frown before you sit up as well. He chuckles as he sees your hair, the curls messy and flipping out now, no longer smooth and orderly after his hands had been in them.
He wonders if his hair looks the same.
And then wonders who the fuck is knocking on his door.
You send a disgruntled look, your hand rising to your hair to try to smooth it back into place.
“Who the fuck is that?” Ryan grumbles as he crawls off of you and to his feet, huffing as he nearly nails his toe on the damned coffee table, still littered in papers and ashtrays. 
“Who is it?” he demands, nearly wrenching the door off its hinges when he jerks it open. His glare quickly turns into a glower. “What do you want?”
“I’ve been trying to call you for an hour,” Ricky glares at him on the doorstep, looking annoyed and out of place. He hated having to drive all the way over to Ryans just to bring him back to his own place where the rest of the band was meeting. “The band’s called an emergency meeting.”
A what?
“Since when do we have emergency meetings?” Ryan demands, shuffling a little, keeping the door only open enough where he could be seen through it, but nothing behind him. He could hear you fixing yourself, and Ricky didn’t need to see that.
“Since Chris got us a gig at one of the bars!” Ricky squeals, unable to contain himself any longer.
“What?” Ryan gasps, his eyes widening. “Chris got us a gig!?”
“Yes!” Ricky grins, beaming now. “He got us a fucking gig, dude! To play! In front of actual people!”
You’re waiting for them to break out into excited, girly screams. 
You smile to yourself as you fix your shirt, getting quickly to your feet and reaching for your shoes. You overreach a little, and curse as you knock into that damned coffee table, probably bruising your shin.
Why the fuck was it so close to the damned couch!?
Ricky blinks, his curiosity immediately peeked as he hears your voice. He glances at Ryans bare chest, and his grin turns into a smirk as he realizes what he interrupted.
Oops.
“Haaaay, ( Y / N )!” he calls, leaning back on his heels. He hears you sigh before you appear behind Ryan, peeping over his shoulder and looking annoyed.
“Hi, Ricky.”
“Wow, your hair looks fucked.” he comments, tickled when your face flushes red and you reach for the damaged curls. You scowl at him before turning away, leaving for the bathroom to make yourself presentable. Ryan glares at Ricky.
“You couldnt have just called or something?”
“I did. You never answered, so I had to come over. Now put some clothes on, tuck your dick, and let’s get going. This is important.”
“Uh, what I was doing was important,” Ryan fusses, glancing back. “You know I have stuff planned for —.”
“Do it another time! This is important for the band, Ryan, and you can bone her any time. She’s probably not even in the mood now. So let’s go! We’re all meeting at my house.”
Ugh.
Ryan hesitates, glancing back again as you leave the bathroom, your hair now up on a bun. You send him a curious look, and he just shrugs.
Fuck.
It wasn’t like he was getting any anyway.
“Fine,” he mumbles, his grip tightening on the door. “I’ll meet you at your house.”
“I’m supposed to take —.”
Ryan slams the door.
Fuckers.
All of them.
“(Y/N) —.”
“Important band business, I heard,” you chuckle, grabbing your jacket off the kitchen table. “It’s okay, go on. I gotta meet my dad for dinner anyway.”
Right.
He’d forgotten about that.
So yeah it was working out.
“I’ll call you later,” he says, kind of just standing there as he watches you gather your things. You give him a smile as you step by him, and he grabs your hand, not liking how easy it was for you to just get your stuff and leave him. Didn’t you want to hang around even as little bit more?
“Text me when you get to the restaurant,” he hears himself saying, sounding like an overprotective mother. He frowns at himself, but you grin, quickly pressing a kiss against his nose.
“Okay, Mom, don’t worry. I’ll see you later.”
He grimaces, and follows you to the door, grabbing your hand as you reach for the knob. He knows Rickys still waiting out there, and he wants to give you a proper goodbye without his nosy buddy seeing it.
His fingers curl around your chin, pulling your face to his so he can kiss you slowly, his tongue languidly parting your lips. You don’t hesitate to tangle your fingers in his hair, responding to him immediately, your body pressing up into his.
Sweet god.
Ryan figures if the two of you don’t sleep together soon he’s just going to implode. That was the only end to the relationship he could see, him dying in some massive explosion because he was getting so turned on and then so let down.
And it wasn’t like you were even meaning to do it.
Dammit.
“I’ll see you later,” you mumble against his lips, reluctantly pulling away. You wish you could stay longer, that the two of you could actually do something together without you chicken ing out or Ryan stopping for his own reasons. 
Which you need to figure out; you’re not saying he needs to stop, so why does he? 
You take a step back, your eyes rising to meet his, seeing the warmth in them, his thumb caressing your skin still. Neither of you speak immediately, and you bite your lip, hesitant. You want to ask him why he stops, because you know if he would just keep going, and you were in the right mood, you’d probably not chicken out and the two of you could —.
“Ryan, dude, let’s go!” You suddenly hear Ricky whine, banging his hand against the door, making you jump.
Shit.
Asshole!
“I better go,” you mutter, pulling away completely. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Ryan hesitates, but nods, opening the door and letting you leave. He sighs, still holding the door open as you walk hastily through the yard, awkwardly waving at Ricky as you race to where your car is parked at the curb. 
Ricky turns to grin at Ryan.
“Dude.”
“Shut the fuck up, Ricky.”
~~~~
You can barely sit in the car you’re so excited.
You’re a little early, but you’re praying your dad won’t cancel on you again since you’re already sitting in the parking lot, looking weird as you watch people go in and out of your favorite restaurant. Your dad should show up any time now, his black car pulling up beside your blue one, getting out and greeting you.
The two of you would stroll in just like old times, sit down at your favorite table and have dinner like nothing had ever changed!
At least, you hope so.
You cast another glance around the parking lot, just to see if he was parked somewhere you couldnt see him. You sigh when you can’t find his car, slumping down a little in your seat, glad your windows were rolled down to help some with the late evening heat. It should be getting cold any time now, so you wouldn’t be able to enjoy it much longer.
Ugh.
Okay, ten minutes to go! He could show up any time now!
You want to text Ryan and see what’s going on with the whole band thing, but you don’t want to interrupt him. You figure it’s probably a big deal for them, getting their first gig. You just, um, hope they sound a lot better then what they did.
Like, a lot.
Okay so they were literally awful.
But you have hope for them.
Vinny was learning, and Ryan had mentioned a couple times he was doing a lot better then he had been. Hopefully that meant their music was actually coming along; everything they did was original.
You smile a little as you think about the song Ryan had written for you. It hadn’t been long, probably just two verses, but it had been the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for you. Ryan was incredibly talented and creative and actually good looking and —.
How could your dad not like him?
Of course, Ryan was your first official boyfriend, and your father was the main reason youd never dated. He’d laid down the law, no boys until eighteen, which included bringing them over or half the time even talking to them. It probably galled your father even more that Ryan didn’t live up to his standards, that he probably wouldn’t be a doctor or a lawyer or pro football player one day, making the big bucks.
But you’d never intended to be a trophy wife either.
You fiddle nervously with your phone.
Okay, it was six, where was he? If he was going to Bail on you, he would’ve called, so maybe he’s just stuck in traffic? You’ll give it a few minutes before you start calling.
So how long is Ryan meeting with his friends anyway?
Like it’s been two hours since you left his house.
Surely they’d be done rejoicing by now right? 
Probably not. His friends were like a little cult, you swear, and you have to interrupt them. You kind of felt like an outsider when all of them were gathered together, like you just don’t quite fit, especially when Balz was around. You’d never felt that way before. Even hanging around your old friends you never felt like that.
You exhale heavily, and flip your makeup mirror down, examining yourself. You still look decent, even if your hair now had to be in a bun. You’d wanted to look nice for Ryan but you also want your dad to not think you were a slob.
Hrm.
Where was he, anyway? It was like six twenty.
Surely traffic couldn’t take him that long. Did he have a late meeting? Was there a wreck that was holding him up? His skanky secretary/girlfriend?
God, could your dad be anymore cliché? 
You squirm, quickly dialing him. When his cell phone goes to voice mail, you try his office. And when his office phone goes to voice mail, you go so far as to call his pager number. Between the three, surely he would remember he had dinner plans with you or at least call you?
Unfortunately… no.
You give it until six thirty, growing more and more upset that your literal father had just stood you up. He hasn’t called, he hasn’t texted, there was no carrier pigeon — he’d forgotten about you.
Or he was in the hospital from a car wreck.
Your brain hadn’t decided which was worse yet.
Had he really just blown you off? He was your father! He was supposed to come and see you and spend time with you and remember that he had helped make you! He was supposed to remember that he loves you, that he could still be the good dad he’d been before and that he wants to be around more often because his one and only offspring was someone to be proud of!
He, he —.
No!
You wouldn’t cry! You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of winning!
You squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing hard against the horrid lump forming in your throat, against the urge to just ball your eyes out. Your chest starts to ache, and you hold your breath, your hands tightly squeezing the steering wheel of your car.
This. was. Embarrassing. 
You’d been sitting in the parking lot for an hour waiting on him, so happy and excited that he wanted to see you that you’d blown off your boyfriends plans for the day.
What a waste.
You’re going home.
You inhale tightly, your eyes burning. 
You’re going to go home and pretend everything is fine. If your mother asks you’ll just say everything went great. You wouldn’t cry on her or make her feel bad. You would be strong. You would be a badass.
You would — Break into weak sobs the moment you see your mother. When you finally make it home a complete weeping mess, disappointment so heavy in your chest it hurts, your mother holds you, saying how sorry she is and how she’s sure there’s a reasonable explanation. 
Yeah. 
Like he doesn’t care.
That’s the only explanation that made any sense to you.
How could you expect the best out of anyone when you know it’s just going to end badly?
​​Fuck him!
​If he doesn’t want to be there for you, if he wants to waste your time, you can waste his too!
​And his money.​​​​
​That would certainly be a way to get his attention. 
​And you know someone who you’d love to get an expensive gift for.​​​​
​