When Hate Feels Like Love

Chapter Eleven: Double Negative

Oliver Clarke's POV

But what can I say?

Old habits die hard.

After the acquaintance party, I stuck around to help clean up, but Willow was already gone. Hazel mentioned something about an emergency at home. I was debating about heading over—just to check, just to ask—but I didn’t.

Because knowing Willow, she hates asking for help. She hides behind half-truths and stubborn pride, and walking into that would be a one-way ticket to falling in love.

And I wasn’t about to take that trip.

So I went to the after-party instead. The real party. The one with booze, smoke, and girls who laugh too loudly at things you didn’t say.

The house was empty anyway, since my parents were out of town, visiting the golden child, my older brother Cameron, at his university. A whole week of silence was left behind. A whole week to do whatever I wanted.

Jaime came along, obviously, pouring me drinks after the other. I scoffed dryly, "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Liquid courage." Jaime seductively winked as she traced her hands on my thighs. "I missed this place. Has it been two years?"

"You changed a lot," Mark said as he chugged down his beer. He was one of our mutual friends.

That she did.

The old Jaime wasn’t like that. She wasn’t sly, or bold, or the kind of girl who whispered trouble between her teeth. She used to be quiet, sweet even. An angel, like everyone always said. Always composed. Always sweet. But now, her laugh was louder, her gaze sharper, and her words laced with something heavier. Like she’d learned to weaponize charm.

She leaned in, her voice like velvet dipped in venom as she looked at me. “Is that a bad thing?”

"Well, to be fair, Oliver changed a lot too," Mark scoffed from across the room, nursing his drink like it owed him something. He was half-drunk and fully eavesdropping, as usual. “Used to be all clean-cut and golden boy always competing with that girl. Now look at him, mister brooding and emotionally unavailable. Quite dangerous for women.”

"Oh, they are still competing," Matt added as he sat beside us.

“Dangerous is sexy,” Jaime murmured, not missing a beat, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. She raised her glass and said, "To second chances, perhaps?"

I met her gaze, steady this time. “Are you sure about that? You've heard my reputation.”

"You've seen mine." She tilted her head. “Are you?”

I knew it wasn’t about second chances. It was about ego. Hers. Mine. Maybe both.

So, I took the drink. Because I needed a distraction, Jaime needed one as well, and old habits die hard.

The burn of alcohol slid down my throat too easily.

The music thumped louder in the background, the room growing hotter, heavier. Mark was busy trying to flirt with a girl way out of his league, and Matt had already disappeared into the crowd.

I leaned back against the couch. Jaime curled in closer, her perfume something floral and sharp like springtime wrapped in a dare.

“Are you still thinking about her?” She asked too casually to be casual. Then, with a sly tilt of her head, “Should I help you forget Willow Harrison, your real first love?”

The words hit harder than I expected. Because when I looked back, I couldn’t even tell you when it started, when a glance lasted a beat too long or when her name felt like gravity in my chest.

Or when I started searching for her in every crowded room.

Was it when she came with me to that tiny café downtown, the one that always smelled like burnt espresso and rain on concrete? She wrinkled her nose at the bitterness in the air but still sat across from me, fingers wrapped around a too-hot mug of coffee she never touched.

Later, I realized she hated both coffee and rain. The single best combination for me, and probably the worst for her.

But she stayed anyway. Just to keep me company.

Or was it when she remembered the name of my first dog from elementary school, even after I’d forgotten I ever mentioned him?

Maybe when she waited outside the court after training, wearing her dad's oversized jacket and holding a Tupperware of leftover dinner like it was some priceless offering. She shoved it into my hands and said, “Don’t argue. You get cranky when you’re hungry, and I could barely deal with you as is.” Then walked off before I could say anything.

I scoffed, my gaze fixed on the ceiling like it held better answers. “I don’t love her.”

“I’ve seen the way you look at her, and it's always in the eyes, Oliver.” She paused, leaning in, so her lips were just inches from mine. “You’ve always looked at her that way, you know? With that mix of awe and fear like she might ruin you, or worse, make you stay.”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn't have.

“At least I tried with Cameron,” Jaime continued, voice sharp now. “He never loved me, but I tried. You? You ran. You ran so fast, you threw yourself at anything that didn’t remind you of her. You keep running, and you keep finding someone to love.”

She leaned back, her eyes burning into mine. “Anyone but her.”

Jaime's words lingered like smoke, uninvited, impossible to ignore. And the worst part was she didn’t say it with jealousy. She said it like a fact. Like she'd known all along and simply waited for me to admit it, even if I never would.

Jaime kissed me, but I never kissed her back, not on the lips. Her mouth pressed against my neck, hot and certain, like she knew exactly where to leave a bruise and exactly what it meant.

I didn’t stop her.

My hand found her waist, out of habit more than hunger, fingers tracing down her thighs. Because I could flirt, I could play the part. I could let Jaime press into me like she owned the moment. And maybe, for a second, I even let her think she did. That I was hers for the night, the way everyone always assumed about me.

I knew how to touch someone without giving anything away. I knew how to make a girl feel like the center of the universe even when my head was somewhere else entirely spinning, aching, whispering her name like a curse I couldn’t shake.

Willow.

It didn’t matter how many bodies I knew, how many girls traced constellations across my chest or whispered promises in the dark.

Willow Harrison still haunted all my what-ifs.

In grammar, a double negative is when two negative forms are used in the same sentence—which often ends up meaning the opposite of what was intended.

Because denying something you already refuse to admit doesn't make it any less true.