CHATER 2: KISS ME LIKE YOU HATE ME

KISS ME LIKE YOU HATE ME

Coach Daniels' sharp whistle rang out, echoing across the empty court. The sound of squeaking shoes and quickened breath filled the space as everyone huddled at a corner. 

“Alright, y’all pair up,” Coach Daniels shouted in a thick southern accent, as he grabbed a basketball from the ball rack and wrapped it with his arms. “We’re runnin’ passin’ drills.” 

Everyone scuttled around, scrambling to find a partner but Ethan remained by the bleachers, hoping Coach Daniels would ignore him. He knew exactly how this was going to end - he was either going to be paired up with Marcus who never passed the ball right, or with Gerald who would just wet the ball with snot. So, he refused to bother himself. 

But luck, as always, had other plans for him. 

“Sanders, Thompson," Coach Daniels shouted, causing Ethan to look up, a puzzled look on his face. “You two are a pair. Passing drills now." 

Ethan stood up, his hands raised up and brows arched as he tried pleading with him to change his partner, but the look he was given shut him up immediately. His gaze shifted to meet Blake, who stood by a ball cart, a basketball spinning on his fingers. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Blake groaned as he turned to Coach Daniels, a small frown on his face. "Why'd you pair me with him? Do I look like a babysitter?”

“You look like someone who's going to take five laps round the court if you don't do as you're told,” Coach Daniels retorted, his forehead creasing as he frowned. 

Blake rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

The two took their position, Blake on the other side of the court with his eyes fixed on Ethan like a prey. Ethan swallowed hard. His jaws clenched as he stared at Blake's chiseled arms. He could still recall clearly the feel of his lips against his own, his rock hard body pushing hard against him – unfortunately, that Blake did not exist. 

The real Blake stood there in front of him now, muscles tensed and mouth twisted into an evil smirk. 

“No need to flinch, Sanders," Blake taunted as he lazily threw the ball at Ethan. 

Ethan barely caught it. His hands were already sweaty, and the ball slipped in his grip.

Blake snorted out a laugh. "Jesus, no wonder you sit alone."

Ethan gritted his teeth and threw it back at him, his toss tight and sharp. The ball hit Blake squarely in the chest, knocking the wind out of his lungs. 

"Oh?" Blake raised an eyebrow. "You think you're strong now, huh?" 

With a loud growl, Blake tossed the ball back, hitting Ethan squarely on his shoulder. "What the fuck?" Ethan groaned as he rubbed his reddened arm.

"Out! Both of you!"

All eyes turned to Coach Daniels who stood by the side of the court, his hands on his hips and eyes red with fury. 

Blake blinked. "What?"

"You heard me!" Coach Daniels said, his voice low. “Immature crap like that don't fly on my court. Detention now."

There was a long pause before Blake muttered something under his breath and stormed out of the building. Ethan, on the other hand, couldn't move. He just stood there, his hands on his aching arm as he watched the door swing shut. 

Something messy brewed in his chest as the sound of Blake’s footsteps faded away. Somehow, their exchange had made him… hard? 

One thing was true though – he hated Blake Thompson.

And he hated that he didn't.

Ethan's gaze traveled to the clock, watching as the hour hand slowly struck three. It had been just three hours since he had walked in for detention but it felt like he had been there forever. The classroom was empty, left for Mr. Halvorson, the supervising teacher, and of course, none other than Blake. 

Blake leaned back in his seat beside the window. He kicked out his legs, tilting his chair back as he placed his hand under the back of his head. His varsity jacket laid on the desk in front of him and the arm of his hoodie was rolled half-way up his arm, revealing his tattooed skin and scar-filled flesh. He surprisingly seemed to be at peace here. Why wouldn't he when he was a regular. 

“Take your feet off the desk, Thompson," Mr. Halvorson said lazily as he scrolled through his phone. Blake paid no heed to his words and Mr. Halvorson didn't seem to care either as he just laid back, tapping lazily at the screen of his phone. 

Ethan tried not to look at Blake. But he could feel the heat of the bastard's gaze burning through the side of his head. 

“I really would like it if you stop staring, Thompson," Ethan muttered under his breath as he tried keeping his attention on the textbook in front of him. 

Blake scoffed, shaking his head before turning to the open window. “It had to be the fucking nerd," he grunted. 

Ethan's grip on his pen tightened, his knuckles turning white. Rage burned within him but he knew any outburst of his would just cause more trouble than he already was in. He hated this place and he never wanted to return. 

A dry cough dragged Ethan out of his thoughts and he looked up to see Mr. Halvorson standing up. The young man muttered something about needing to take a leak before stepping out. 

As the door clicked shut behind him, silence settled over the two. 

“Bet you’re real proud of yourself now,” Blake said, breaking the silence. 

Of course he had to talk

"You've finally gotten the detention gold star you've always wanted.”

“And nothing rivals the collection you have to your name," Ethan answered without looking at Blake. “You’ve given me a bad reputation before Coach Daniels and the least thing I'd want us do anything that's keep me here with your fucking self.”

Blake growled as he stood up, throwing his seat to the side. "Oh, you've got a lot of shit to say, huh, perfect boy?" he rushed towards Ethan, grabbing him by his shirt. "You think you fucking know me?”

"Oh, I know your type," Ethan said, smacking Blake's hands from his shirt. "You're all hard outside with daddy's-boy issues, no ambition, no—"

Blake growled angrily, shoving him hard. Ethan stumbled backwards, falling over his seat. Grunting, he stood back up and rushed towards Blake. 

But something broke inside of him.

Blake stood still, his fists clenched and teeth bared, expecting to receive a strike from Ethan. But instead of punching him, Ethan did something reckless.

He grabbed Blake by his hoodie and pulled him close, planting a soft kiss on his lips. His hands reached for Blake's head, running through his hair as the kiss deepened, the memory of his dreams rushing back at him. 

Ethan pulled back, heart pounding as he met Blake’s eyes. They were wide, filled with shock as he stood there, motionless. 

“Shit," Ethan muttered under his breath as he licked his lips. The taste of Blake still lingered. “Blake, I—”

Blake’s fist cut him off, slamming hard into his face. The blow knocked him hard and he hit the floor gasping, blood dripping down his lip. Shame burned in his chest. 

“Worth a try,” he muttered as he coughed softly, wiping his bloody lip with the back of gus hands. 

Blake was red with rage, shaking as though he was about to blow. But just as he opened his mouth to say something, the door creaked open.

Mr. Halvorson walked into the room, freezing halfway through. His eyebrows shot up at what lay before him—Ethan on the ground, Blake looming over him with his fist still balled. 

“What the hell is going on here?” he asked, a small frown forming on his face. 

Without a word, Blake turned towards the door, his shoulders bumping into Mr. Halvorson’s as he stormed out.

Halvorson’s gaze remained on Blake, watching as he marched down the hallway. “Teenagers," he mumbled as he sighed before turning to Ethan. “You good?”

Ethan nodded, grabbing his bag with shaky hands. 

Mr. Halvorson waved a tired hand. “Just… go home, Sanders.”

Ethan didn’t argue. He shoved his notebook inside, and left without looking back.

But as he walked down the empty hall, he couldn't help but feel his shame cling to him like a soaked cloth. 

And so did the kiss.