Don't Like You by Juliet Arya
Series: Say Something #1
Publication date: August 14th, 2020
Synopsis:
I push. She pulls.
I run. She chases.
I leap. She follows.
I fight. She always wins.
Even when we didn't know the meaning of love, we've always belonged together.
The first time we met, she saw me naked. Then, she grabbed my balls while I howled in pain.
That should have been my clue -- this girl has owned my balls since day one. But, nah, I am not that bright with matters of the heart.
I had to go and make things complicated.
She is my little sister's best friend. Growing up, she hung around my house and turned into the bane of my existence. Infiltrating my privacy, claiming me as hers.
To get rid of her, I came up with a combat strategy. Every time she tried to talk to me, I would say, "I don't like you." And that would shut her up.
Now, after years of her persistence and teasing, I want to make her mine.
But this time, she is the one playing hard to get.
Two sexually frustrated adults with one finish line. What can go wrong? Apparently, a lot.
Don't Like You is a coming-of-age story that follows a childhood crush into adulthood, filled with sexual banter and hot moments in between.
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Praise for Don't Like You
"This was such a beautiful book. This is a slow burn, full of angst sister's best friend romance... This couple is just perfection. I love Zoe and Aariv so much. This is an emotional read that I can't recommend enough." -- 5 Star Goodreads Review
Excerpt
The door bangs open. She charges into the room with purpose, her eyes locked on me.
"Who the hell gave you the right to say no to me? You are a pathetic jerk. I. Regret. You." Her index finger points into my chest. "A chauvinist, egotistical pig." She jabs again at my chest. When I don't reply, she turns, walking away, leaving me frustrated. Yes, I said frustrated. She is golden red and simmering. She is beautiful, angry, and screaming at me. My heart dives and swims in a puddle of satisfaction at the sight of her. A sigh leaves my lips. A few muffled laughs around me break me out of my reverie.
I run after her. I need to check something. Right when she is crossing my office, I grab her arm and pull her inside to lock the door behind us.
"Fucking hell," she yells, trying to free her hand.
After days and months of nothing, her eyes are alive again. She is heaving, her breasts rising and falling. What we once had is back with a vengeance. She is turned on. She hates that she is feeling things for me again. I can tell by the way she looks at me, the way she fights to not look at my lips, the way her body reacts. I have an office with a street-view window and a large desk. The large mahogany desk has found a new purpose in life.
"Let go, asshole," She pushes on my arm, and I realize I am holding her waist too closes.
"Watch your mouth," I say. I am sure there are people outside my door, trying to eavesdrop.
She glares back at me. "Who do you think you are to reject me? I don't want to marry you either. At least I dare to say it to your face. Coward."
"You really want to be a housewife? Is that your only life goal?" I ask softly.
"Both our mothers were housewives, and raising us was their only goal. They did a proud job, you sexist jackass."
"You want to make babies and change diapers?" I ask.
"I am all for making babies. I am not changing diapers though," she sasses me back.
She wants to make babies. The best news I have heard in a very long time. My cock was dying a slow, painful death this morning from a curious case of blue balls. Now, the raging fucker is hopeful for a miraculous cure.
Dream on, buddy. No harm in wishful thinking.
My cock is already in a standing ovation, the images of Zoe naked imprinted in my memory.
My gaze drops to her chest. She has perfect tits. This older Zoe standing in front of me is not shy; she knows how to handle a perv.
"Hello? Eyes up here." She snaps her fingers in front of my face.
I laugh at her tone. I am instigating her anger so that she confesses she wants me. Angry sex? I can ace that.
I will change our baby's diapers any day. I will run home and back every time my daughter or son poops or pisses. I am going to move my work to where my baby is and work from home. I want babies, cute girls with long dark-chestnut hair and rosy cheeks like Zoe and boys with big dicks like mine; it's called handing down the good genes.
But first, let me argue and frustrate her to a point where she decides to rip off my clothes and demands I fuck her brains out.
So, I say, "So, I have to change diapers? I have to work all day in the office and then come home and change diapers while you sit at home and look pretty."
"No, silly. Why would you change my baby's diapers? The child's father will. I could let you be the nanny, but you don't like me, remember? Isn't that what you said this morning to your entire family?"
"Who the fuck is the child's father?" I charge in an agitated voice.
What does she mean by the child's father? Does that mean I am not the father? If I am not the father, is she cheating on me? Anxiety fills my body. She is having a secret affair and with some bastard while I've been waiting on the sidelines. I am going to kill this guy.
Zoe looks at my confused face and lets out a barely audible giggle.
A giggle.
But she quickly steadies herself. "I haven't decided who the father will be yet." She flicks her hair off her shoulder with a shrug.
So coldhearted. That was not funny.
She smiles, smugly satisfied when I let out a breath of relief. Her eyes burn with need as they fall on my lips, trail down my neck, she watches as my Adam's apple bobs. Her eyes travel down to the skin peeking from the collar of my shirt. Zoe's heated eyes drop to my cock for a quick glance, just once. She leaves, watching me lick my lips as she sashays her ass out of my office.
That ass is going to be the death of me.
Orgasms. I need to find a way to give her some orgasms and get her to forgive me. Then, we can make babies and get married.
No, wait. First, marriage and then babies. I am orthodox and traditional that way.
"Who the hell gave you the right to say no to me? You are a pathetic jerk. I. Regret. You." Her index finger points into my chest. "A chauvinist, egotistical pig." She jabs again at my chest. When I don't reply, she turns, walking away, leaving me frustrated. Yes, I said frustrated. She is golden red and simmering. She is beautiful, angry, and screaming at me. My heart dives and swims in a puddle of satisfaction at the sight of her. A sigh leaves my lips. A few muffled laughs around me break me out of my reverie.
I run after her. I need to check something. Right when she is crossing my office, I grab her arm and pull her inside to lock the door behind us.
"Fucking hell," she yells, trying to free her hand.
After days and months of nothing, her eyes are alive again. She is heaving, her breasts rising and falling. What we once had is back with a vengeance. She is turned on. She hates that she is feeling things for me again. I can tell by the way she looks at me, the way she fights to not look at my lips, the way her body reacts. I have an office with a street-view window and a large desk. The large mahogany desk has found a new purpose in life.
"Let go, asshole," She pushes on my arm, and I realize I am holding her waist too closes.
"Watch your mouth," I say. I am sure there are people outside my door, trying to eavesdrop.
She glares back at me. "Who do you think you are to reject me? I don't want to marry you either. At least I dare to say it to your face. Coward."
"You really want to be a housewife? Is that your only life goal?" I ask softly.
"Both our mothers were housewives, and raising us was their only goal. They did a proud job, you sexist jackass."
"You want to make babies and change diapers?" I ask.
"I am all for making babies. I am not changing diapers though," she sasses me back.
She wants to make babies. The best news I have heard in a very long time. My cock was dying a slow, painful death this morning from a curious case of blue balls. Now, the raging fucker is hopeful for a miraculous cure.
Dream on, buddy. No harm in wishful thinking.
My cock is already in a standing ovation, the images of Zoe naked imprinted in my memory.
My gaze drops to her chest. She has perfect tits. This older Zoe standing in front of me is not shy; she knows how to handle a perv.
"Hello? Eyes up here." She snaps her fingers in front of my face.
I laugh at her tone. I am instigating her anger so that she confesses she wants me. Angry sex? I can ace that.
I will change our baby's diapers any day. I will run home and back every time my daughter or son poops or pisses. I am going to move my work to where my baby is and work from home. I want babies, cute girls with long dark-chestnut hair and rosy cheeks like Zoe and boys with big dicks like mine; it's called handing down the good genes.
But first, let me argue and frustrate her to a point where she decides to rip off my clothes and demands I fuck her brains out.
So, I say, "So, I have to change diapers? I have to work all day in the office and then come home and change diapers while you sit at home and look pretty."
"No, silly. Why would you change my baby's diapers? The child's father will. I could let you be the nanny, but you don't like me, remember? Isn't that what you said this morning to your entire family?"
"Who the fuck is the child's father?" I charge in an agitated voice.
What does she mean by the child's father? Does that mean I am not the father? If I am not the father, is she cheating on me? Anxiety fills my body. She is having a secret affair and with some bastard while I've been waiting on the sidelines. I am going to kill this guy.
Zoe looks at my confused face and lets out a barely audible giggle.
A giggle.
But she quickly steadies herself. "I haven't decided who the father will be yet." She flicks her hair off her shoulder with a shrug.
So coldhearted. That was not funny.
She smiles, smugly satisfied when I let out a breath of relief. Her eyes burn with need as they fall on my lips, trail down my neck, she watches as my Adam's apple bobs. Her eyes travel down to the skin peeking from the collar of my shirt. Zoe's heated eyes drop to my cock for a quick glance, just once. She leaves, watching me lick my lips as she sashays her ass out of my office.
That ass is going to be the death of me.
Orgasms. I need to find a way to give her some orgasms and get her to forgive me. Then, we can make babies and get married.
No, wait. First, marriage and then babies. I am orthodox and traditional that way.
About the Author:
Juliet lives in a house of chaos surrounded by the humans she loves. Her skill set includes drinking but never getting drunk, cooking hearty dinners and day dreaming while lusting after hot book boyfriends. She loves romantic rainy day picnics and good innuendoes with equal measure. 'Don't Like You' is her first book.
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