Read To Hate Adam Connor - Ella Maise

Chapter One

Lucy

I believe in love. Wholeheartedly.

Seriously, don’t shake your head like that. I do.

I can picture those of you who already know me snickering. Well, don’t.

There is no need for that, and frankly, it’s kinda rude, don’t you think?

Here, I’ll say it again: I genuinely believe in love. I know all about its magic. Good and bad. I know the world seems bigger when you’re drunk on love. I know it mends broken hearts, makes you deliriously happy, excited, hopeful…terrified, sick…a whole list of things that make this complicated world we are living in a better place.

For example, my best friend Olive. She has loved her husband ever since she was a wee bitty kid. She even asked Jason to marry her when she was six years old. She was six, people—six! Isn’t that just the cutest thing you’ve ever heard? Then when they found each other years later, his movie star self swept her off her feet. Love works for her, big time, and it looks good on her too. She deserves all the love in the world.

Me? Love hangs a bit loose on me. Essentially, it’s not quite the best fit.

So…what I’m saying is, love can do anything and everything…as long as you don’t have a curse hanging over your head like I do. Oh, and you have to be willing to let love into your life, open that heavy door that leads the poor guy into the maze that is your heart, so to speak.

That’s the tricky part, isn’t it? You have to let love in. You have to open yourself up, share your least lovable parts, the deepest, darkest corners of your soul. That’s the only way to experience real love. They feed us that shit as early as possible, or so I’ve heard. Our surroundings are an ongoing commercial for love. Share yourself with someone, be true, be honest, and if they love you for who you are then you are golden.

Enjoy the confetti shower that just blasted in your face.

You found real love. Good for you.

Sucks for the rest of us.

Now…do I let love in? Nope. I try my hardest not to, thank you very much. Been there, done that. If you are asking me what my problem is if I do indeed believe in love…well, if you are so curious about it, my problem is that my dear old friend ‘love’ doesn’t love me back. Never did. Probably never will.

I’d say it’s quite rude of her, but…I’ve made my peace with it—at least I thought I had until I went and fell for Jameson.

Enter the hot bad boy covered in ink. College love.

If you haven’t guessed it yet, I have all kinds of daddy and mommy issues. As if all of those weren’t enough to fuck up my life, I have grandma issues to top it all off.

Blah blah blah…

Now you’re starting to think I’m boring, and we can’t have that.

Let’s talk about one-night stands instead. Those are fun, right? You’re skirting around love, smiling at each other, feeling all dizzy and ditzy with the excitement that you might score a good one, enjoy the feeling of having someone else’s skin on yours, his hot breath, the heat, that blasted bliss you get to experience for a few seconds when he manages to hit that sweet spot—if he hits that sweet spot. Those are all awesome things, I agree. Hell, I encourage you to experience all those feelings, especially if he has some good inches on him.

Don’t be a bitch; be a calm, happy waterfall.

Roar at life. In life.

Don’t be closed off; be as free as a raindrop.

Most important of all: live.

My greatest advice to you all is, whatever you do, don’t go back to the spectacular one-night stand you had just to satisfy your traitorous body’s needs if you’re trying to stay away from love, have your fun, live a little, love someone for a single night and then move on. Because if you keep going back to the same guy, oh, I don’t know…about a hundred times…eventually what will happen is that you’ll start to have feelings for said guy.

Look at that—I have a heart after all. Didn’t expect that, did you? So you start to fall in love just like I did. Slowly. At first, you might feel a trickle of something you can’t name because of how well he wields that huge cock of his (by the way, that’s called an orgasm, not love). He’ll zap you with all kinds