All Chapters of I Hate How Much I Want You: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Elias’s PovAdrian’s eyes went dark. “Leave him out of this.” “Why? He’s already in it. He’s in the faculty system, and he’s the reason you never have to be afraid of being ordinary.” We were close again, not kissing, just shaking with what was left of the fight. Behind him I heard voices, then the click of a camera app, then a laugh that belonged to neither of us. Someone from the program had a phone up, and the punch, the blood and the second argument were already turning into a file. Adrian saw the phone. He didn’t cover his face. He looked at me instead, like I was the one holding it. “Elias,” he said, and my name sounded like a warning. “If that goes up, you’re not the only one who burns.” The person with the phone lowered it just enough to talk. “Too late,” they said. “Coach already has the first clip. He wants both of you in his office before it hits the team chat.“​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​Coach did not sit us down like adults. He stood us in the middle of the office like we wer

Adrian’s POV“It’s not what it looks like,” I said, out loud, to nobody, because Elias hadn’t said a word.That was the stupid part. In my head I was already halfway through a full defense speech with exhibits, and he was just standing there. I had no reason to be explaining anything. He was the one who’d told me we were done, twice, and the second time with his fist. So why did my chest feel like I’d been caught with my hand in a drawer?I took my hand off Claire’s waist and turned my back on him, and I stared at the brick like it might offer me a lawyer.“Adrian?” Claire whispered. “Who’s that?”“Nobody. Keep talking.”“About what?”“Anything. Your coat.”“You don’t like my coat?”“I love your coat. Go on.”While she told me where she’d bought it, I felt it. It began between my shoulder blades, a slow, heavy stare, the kind a cat gives a bird it has already picked out. A minute ago his face had been sad. Whatever it was now had definitely moved on from sad, and I found that I was gr

Adrian’s POVElias had paid for all three cones, including Claire’s, which I thought was the most romantic thing he had ever done, and I knew better than to say so out loud.We walked back toward the paddock in silence. I had mint on my wrist, vanilla on my jeans, and a pink streak down my chest that people kept pretending not to look at. Elias walked half a step behind me. Every few seconds I felt him almost say something, and every time he swallowed it.“You’re allowed to talk,” I said.“I’m working up to it.”“Work faster. I’m sticky.”That got a short, rough laugh out of him, the first real one in weeks. It went through me harder than it should have. I kept my eyes on the road.The circuit was a ten-minute walk from campus, and at that hour it was almost empty. Qualifying was tomorrow at nine. The team had gone home to sleep and think about tyre pressures, and the only light came from the floods over the pit lane and the orange glow of the city behind the grandstands. The gate was

Elias’s POVI didn’t let him pull away. My hand was still under his shirt, flat against the heat of his stomach, and when he made that soft, stunned sound against my mouth I pressed harder, sliding higher until my fingers found the hard plane of his chest. His nipple was already peaked under my palm. I rolled it once, deliberately, and Adrian’s breath punched out of him like he’d been hit.“Elias…”I did it again, slower, pinching just enough to make him arch. His laugh had died somewhere between our mouths; now he just stared at me, pupils blown, lips shiny, looking wrecked already.“That how you used to play with all the girls you dated?” he managed, voice rough. The tease was there, but it came out thin. “Soft little touches and….”I pinched harder. He hissed.“Not soft,” I said against his mouth. “And not little.”I shoved the ruined shirt higher, baring him to the floodlights and the empty air. His chest was flushed, the dark circles of his nipples tight. I lowered my head and cl

Elias’s POVI made it through the debrief by staring at the table and not at the back of Adrian’s neck.It didn’t work. He sat two chairs down with his sleeves pushed up, tapping a pen against his knee, and every time he leaned over to look at a data trace I got a breath of mint and engine oil and had to rethink the whole concept of paying attention. Coach was talking about tyre degradation. I could not have told you my own name.“Kane.”“Yes.”“Are you listening?”“Tyres,” I said. “Degrading.”Adrian made a noise into his hand that could have been a cough. I kicked his ankle under the table. He kicked back, softer, and left his foot against mine.My phone buzzed in my pocket and I almost thanked it. Then I saw the screen.‘Aunt Rita.’My stomach dropped before I even opened it. Aunt Rita didn’t text. She called, twice a week, always on Sundays, always to say Mom was doing fine. She had never once texted in the middle of the day.‘Your mom had a bad night. Fever again. Dr. Patel wants