Chapter 3 I hate you

Viola

Standing right in front of him, I finally locked eyes with Bryce.

For a second, time completely stopped.

My brain, normally sharp and quick-thinking during live television broadcasts, was now running as sluggishly as a broken and outdated computer.

Ugh, come on brain, work! Don't just zone out like this!

And Bryce stood right before me, wrapped only in a towel, blazing bright as a thousand suns, painfully perfect.

This natural masterpiece stood mere inches away from me.

He'd grown even more handsome. I hadn't seen him in person all these years, only photos and clips from media coverage. In the flesh, he was infinitely more captivating than anything captured on camera.

His broad shoulders and chest were fully exposed to me. Those V-lines trailed down his body, disappearing beneath the towel tied around his hips. His hair was damp, water droplets dripping from it. Under the hotel's bright lights, the beads of water glistened on his skin, as if he himself was glowing.

There was a scar on his collarbone. I remembered this scar-from a karting crash during his childhood training. Far from marring his body, the mark was like the broken arms of the Venus de Milo, making him even more one-of-a-kind.

God, fresh out of the shower, he looked like a fallen angel who had just stepped out of a tempest. He was stunning enough to steal my breath.

I thought, the only reason this arrogant, sharp-tongued man hasn't gotten himself beaten to a pulp is this flawless appearance.

The world is shallow like that, so easily fooled by beauties.

I had to admit I was just as shallow. When I wasn't face-to-face with him, hating him came effortlessly. But standing here before him, all I felt was raw physical attraction.

Bryce's gaze slowly dragged over me. He took his time, his eyes dropping from my flushed face, trailing over my outfit, lingering for a second on the high heels I wore, before rising back up to meet my eyes.

A smirk tugged at his lips.

"Well, I have to admit, Cream Puff... I'm incredibly glad to see you are slender enough to actually fit under the bed. Or extracting you out would be a nightmare for me."

The spell shattered instantly.

He hadn't changed. He hadn't changed one single bit. Why did I ever hold the hope he'd be even a little bit nicer?

He was still the same arrogant and condescending jerk who thought the world revolved around his axis. Sure, he had become more charming. Sure, he had gone on to conquer the globe, securing five Formula One World Championships, retiring at the peak of his career to become a living legend. The entire world worshipped the ground he walked on. Men wanted to be him. Women threw themselves at his feet.

But stripped of his appearance, the fame and the wealth, he was still just Bryce. The boy who had laughed at me.

"And I see your ego has only inflated with your bank account. Do you need to buy two airplane seats whenever you fly? One for your body, and one for your overblown ego?" I fired back.

Bryce let out a laugh, a sound that was entirely too appealing. He leaned back and crossed his muscular arms over his bare chest. The movement caused his biceps to flex, and I aggressively forced my gaze to remain locked on his face.

No peeking at his naked body. Nope. Not allowed. Bad eyes.

"You've developed a bite, Viola. I like it. By the way, you look perfect in this suit than in a pink taffeta." He said.

I flinched. Pink taffeta. He remembered the dress. Of course he did. He probably kept the memory stored in a file labeled hilarious moments. Why does he have to remember every embarrassing thing about teenage me? That's so unfair.

"What I wear is none of your business!" I snapped, taking a defensive step back.

"By the way, I wasn't hiding under your bed because I wanted to be there. I was at the broadcasting gala downstairs. I had too many glasses of champagne. I got off on the wrong floor, and your door was ajar."

"My door was ajar." he repeated slowly, tasting the words. He took a predatory step toward me.

"Yes. I walked in, realized it wasn't my room, and then I heard you coming. I panicked. And then I hid under the bed. End of story."I lifted my chin.

"You panicked." he mused, taking another step.

The scent of Bryce wrapped around me. Ugh, even his smell is unfairly good.

Focus, Viola!

"So, the fearless television host, the woman I watched tear apart the Ferrari team principal on live TV last month, gets a little startled and decides her best tactical move is to dive under the bed of a naked man?" He looked at me in a deliberately confused look.

He was so mean!

"I didn't know you were naked when I went under there! And you weren't naked when you walked in! You... you undressed in front of me!" I shouted at him.

"Ah." The smirk disappeared, transforming into a wicked grin. "So you were watching."

"I was trapped! What was I supposed to do? Cough and ask you to hand me a towel to cover my eyes?" I cried out, my hands balling into fists.

"You could have said hello." He took another step.

I took a step back.

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Nothing?" Another step forward.

He was toxic. He was rude. He was arrogant. He broke hearts for a living. Do not fall for this. He was not worth a single second of your affection. Brain, thank you for the reminder, but my body was refusing to listen to my btain.

My body completely ignored my brain. My legs hit the edge of the bed and I fell on the bed. Bryce reached out and placed both of his large hands on the mattress, one on either side of my hips, pinning me against the bed.

I was trapped. Again. No no no, not again!

He leaned down, his face hovering mere inches from mine. His gaze dropped to my mouth, his eyes darkening, the teasing glint replaced by something much heavier, much more dangerous.

"You've changed, Cream Puff. You're... very different."he murmured.

"Don't call me that." I breathed, my voice betraying me by coming out breathless and weak.

"Why not?" He leaned in closer. The tip of his nose almost brushed mine. I could feel the warmth of his breath against my lips.

"It used to make you blush."

"I don't blush anymore." I lied, knowing full well my face was currently the color of a ripe tomato. I was so bad at lying. He could definitely see how red I was.

"No? You look exactly like you did ten years ago just before you told me you loved me." Bryce smirked.

I wanted to push him away. I wanted to slap that beautiful but arrogant face.

But I couldn't move. My hands, completely of their own thoughts, came up to rest against his bare chest. His skin was hot, his muscles hard as stone beneath my palms. I felt the heavy rhythm of his heartbeat against my fingertips. It was racing. Just like mine. Wait. Is his heart racing too?

Don't get your hopes up, don't get your hopes up.

"I hate you." I whispered.

"I know." His gaze dropping to my lips again. He leaned in, closing the final inch of space between us. His eyelashes fluttered shut.

He was going to kiss me. I bet.

Knock knock.

Bryce froze. He let out a low frustrated sigh.

"Bryce?" A voice called from the hallway. "It's Anne. Open up."

The supermodel. The hookup. I didn't know who Anne was, but reality came crashing down on me.

How could he flirt with me like this while waiting for his hookup?

What an asshole. A playboy, a man you could never trust, a total scumbag.

All I needed to do is to escape now.

I shoved against his chest with all my might.

Taken by surprise, Bryce stumbled backward.

I scrambled sideways, gasping for air as if I had been underwater for the last ten minutes.

"I hated you!" I shouted, my voice trembling, and I rushed out of the room.