Twisted Hate: An Enemies with Benefits Romance

Wears Prada, and both Stanley and the movie are amazing.”
“Yeah, and how old is the amazing Stanley?”
Jules cast a sidelong glance in my direction. “I don’t appreciate the snark,
especially considering the free, in-depth tour I just gave you.”
I fought a smile. “It was a fifteen-minute walk, Red.”
“During which I pointed out the town’s best restaurant, the bowling alley,

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the shop that had a ten-second cameo in a Bruce Willis movie, and the hair
salon where I got bangs for a brief, horrifying time in high school,” she said.
“That’s priceless information, Chen. You can’t find that anywhere in
guidebooks.”
“I’m pretty sure I can find the first three in guidebooks.” I tugged on a
lock of her hair. “Not a fan of bangs?”
“Absolutely not. Bangs and pink eyeshadow. My hard nos.”
“Hmm, I think you’d look good with bangs.” Jules would look good with
anything.
Even now, with purple shadows smudged beneath her eyes and lines of
tension bracketing her mouth, she was so fucking beautiful I couldn’t stop
looking at her.
Her looks hadn’t changed drastically over the years, but something had
changed.
I couldn’t put my finger on it.
Before, Jules was beautiful in the way grass was green and oceans were
deep. It was a fact of life, but not something that particularly touched me.
Now, she was beautiful in a way that made me want to drown in her, to
let her fill every inch of my soul until she fucking consumed me. It didn’t
matter if it killed me, because in a world where I was surrounded by death,
she was the only thing that made me feel alive.
“Trust me, I don’t. Anyway, enough about my hair.” Jules swept her arm
at the building before us. “Behold, the world-famous Betty Jones Crochet
Museum.”
My gaze lingered on her as we walked toward the entrance. “Looks
impressive.”
I couldn’t have told you the color of the building if you put a gun to my
head.
Half an hour and several mind-numbingly boring displays later, I finally
yanked myself out of my Jules-induced trance, only to wish I hadn’t.
“What the fuck is that?” I pointed at a blue crochet…dog? Wolf?
Whatever it was, its face was lopsided, and its beady crystal eyes glinted
menacingly at us from its perch on the shelf, like it was pissed we’d invaded
its personal space.
This was what I got for being distracted. If I died at the hands of a
haunted toy, I was going to be pissed.
Jules squinted at the little gold plaque beneath the wolf/dog. “It was one

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of Betty’s daughter’s favorite toys,” she said. “Hand crocheted by a famous
local artisan and gifted to her for her fifth birthday.”
“It looks demonic.”
“It does not.” She stared at the toy, which glared back at us. I could’ve
sworn its lip curled into a snarl. “But, uh, let’s move on.”
“You know what, I think I’ve had enough crochet for the day.” I’d paid
my dues. It was time to get the fuck out of here before the toys came to life a
la Night at the Museum. “Unless you want to stare at more quilts and
possessed toys.”
Jules’s mouth twitched. “You sure? You did abandon New Zealand for
this world-famous museum. You should get your money’s worth.”
“Oh, I did.” My money’s and my nightmare’s worth. I rested my hand on
Jules’s lower back and guided her toward the exit. “I’m good, trust me. I’d
rather see the rest of town.”
“We already saw most of it on our walk here. Everything else is
residential.”
Jesus. “There has to be something we missed. What’s your favorite place
in town?”
We stepped out into the dying afternoon light. Golden hour was melting
into twilight, and long shadows stretched across the sidewalks as we walked
toward downtown.
“It closed an hour ago,” Jules said.
“I want to see it anyway.”
She cast me a strange look but shrugged. “If you insist.”
Ten minutes later, we arrived at an ancient-looking bookstore. It was
stuffed in between a thrift shop and a Chinese takeout joint, and the words