The Hate Project--An Enemies to Lovers Romance by Kris Ripper

Author:Kris Ripper
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Carina Press
Published: 2021-02-03T19:34:57+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Friday was the big day. The day I opened the bedroom upstairs and started cleaning. I expected it to be...a clusterfuck. And it was? But in a way, it was easier. Evelyn had said this was where the hoarding had started, and that made sense. It had the air of a room that hadn’t been opened in years. I couldn’t access the window because of all the stuff in front of it.

I looked at it like an archaeological dig, like I was seeing all the layers of what had happened in Robin’s mind. He’d started at the far end of the room, I thought. In the corner. Then out from there. I did a little climbing and scouted a dresser, and maybe a bed, but it might have been a huge pile of blankets and clothing. I couldn’t tell.

This room was an entirely different prospect than the rest of the house. Instead of picking through the last few years of debris, this was much older stuff. Sets of dishes, kitchen appliances in various stages of disassembly, more piles of books, the kind you could get four for a buck in front of used bookstores: Grishams and Clancys and Kings, dog-eared, spine-creased paperbacks. More VHS tapes, three half-repaired VCRs. A staggering number of coatracks, some of which were sort of wedged in, not even on the floor.

I started pulling it all out and sorting it. Coatracks to the garage with the furniture, books into boxes for donation, clothes into bags for donation, magazines into recycling. No personal papers of any kind (at least not yet, thought I’d only seen the top layer so far). By lunch I could open the door maybe halfway, which was a lot better than the stick your head inside if you dare amount I could open it before.

Then again, that just made it more obvious how much more work there was to do.

I was nervous about Jack getting home. I’d intentionally arrived a bit too late to see him in the morning, but unless I wanted to run and hide (and miss out on sex), I’d have to see him in the afternoon. Which was good. Fine. Something?

But what if he kissed me again? And what if it went bad for me? Kissing usually went bad for me. I couldn’t take the intensity of it. Maybe it had worked out all right in the parking lot, in the dark, after a dinner during which I hadn’t wigged out, but this was...daylight. No magic to it. I was dusty from cleaning. He’d be straight from his job. It would for sure go wrong for me today.

The second I heard the garage door open (my ears were now tuned directly into that sound) I extracted myself from the bedroom and closed the door. Sure, the landing was a staging area for stuff I hadn’t gotten done, but whatever, needs must. I got downstairs just as he was walking in from the hallway, so I followed him to the kitchen.

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