The Cruelest Kind of Hate (Riverside Reapers Book 3)
The Cruelest Kind of Hate: Chapter 17

October 15th, Tuesday, 3:47 p.m.

GAGE: I called you.

CALISTA: Yep. It rang.

GAGE: Why didn’t you answer?

CALISTA: I’m busy.

GAGE: Doing what?

CALISTA: Ignoring you.

GAGE: Ha. You’re talking to me now.

CALISTA: You’re right, Gage. Let me put EVERYTHING I’m doing aside and focus my full attention on you.

GAGE: Thank you. I deserve it.

CALISTA: That’s it? That’s all you have to say? That’s the reason you called me three times in a row?

GAGE: No. But you’re being mean to me, and now I don’t want to tell you.

CALISTA: If you’re not going to tell me, I’ll just put my phone on Do Not Disturb.

GAGE: I’ll notify you anyway.

CALISTA: Ugh, you’re so annoying!

GAGE: I think you secretly like it.

CALISTA: What did you have to tell me? And it better be life or fucking death.

GAGE: I miss you. *smiley face emoji*

October 17, Thursday, 5:13 p.m.

GAGE: What size are your boobs?

CALISTA: Fucking excuse me?

GAGE: Like, how big are they?

CALISTA: Hi, Gage. I’m doing well, thanks. My day’s been good. Woke up and put my shirt on inside out, so that was fun.

GAGE: Would you say like a size large?

CALISTA: Are you serious right now?

GAGE: This is important, Cali. I need your answer right now.

CALISTA: Why?

GAGE: It’s for your Halloween costume.

CALISTA: First off, bra size isn’t measured on a scale from small to large. It’s based off band size and cup size, which use a number and letter system.

GAGE: Okay. So like a 57Z?

CALISTA: Jesus Christ, no. It doesn’t go that fucking high. And shouldn’t you be a better guesser? You’ve had them in your mouth.

GAGE: You’re right. I’m gonna change my answer to a…45R.

CALISTA: *eye roll emoji*

GAGE: Maybe you can just send me a reference photo. Or you can compare them to household objects like a small potted vase or a large candle.

CALISTA: Ugh. They’re a 34DD.

GAGE: That was going to be my next guess.

GAGE: Also, can you tell your tits I love them?

October 18th, Friday, 9:41 a.m.

CALISTA: Gage, since when did your contact have a heart by it?

GAGE: Aw, Cali. I’m flattered.

CALISTA: No, dickwad. I obviously didn’t put it there.

GAGE: Ohhh. Did you put an eggplant instead? For my giant penis?

CALISTA: I actually put a shrimp.

GAGE: That’s hurtful. And very untrue.

CALISTA: Did you somehow unlock my phone with your gremlin fingers?

GAGE: I have no idea what you’re talking about, and frankly, I don’t appreciate being accused.

CALISTA: You’re a second away from being blocked.

GAGE: And? I know where you live. I know exactly what apartment number is yours.

CALISTA: Is that a threat?

GAGE: Do you want it to be?

CALISTA: I’m changing your contact name to STUPID WHORE.

GAGE: I love how you have little nicknames for me. *kissy face emoji*

CALISTA: Every day I pray that murder will be legal.

GAGE: It would be an honor to die by your hands.

CALISTA: Don’t think you’ll like it that much when I’m choking the life out of you.

GAGE: On the contrary, I’ll fucking love it.

October 20th, Friday, 8:11 p.m.

GAGE: Come outside. I have something for you.

CALISTA: I’m not home right now.

GAGE: I know. You’re at the studio.

CALISTA: Ugh, you’re such a creeper.

CALISTA: How do you even know that?

GAGE: It’s actually this really cool thing called the internet. Invented in 1983 by some crazy computer scientist dude.

CALISTA: Hardy fucking har.

GAGE: God, woman. Will you just come outside? You’re ruining the surprise.

CALISTA: If this is a quickie in the back of your car, I’m not interested.

GAGE: Who do you take me for?

CALISTA: Do you really want me to answer that question?

GAGE: *expressionless face emoji* Fine then. I guess you don’t want the California roll I brought you.

CALISTA: You brought me dinner?

GAGE: Yes, Calista, because unlike you, I actually care about your well-being.

CALISTA: Gage, you didn’t have to bring me dinner.

GAGE: I did because you probably would’ve forgotten to eat otherwise. Am I wrong?

CALISTA: …

GAGE: Exactly.

CALISTA: I can take care of myself.

GAGE: I know you can, but that doesn’t mean you have to all the time.

CALISTA: Thank you. Ugh, I don’t like it when you’re all…nice.

GAGE: Oh, so you mean all the time?

CALISTA: HA. I think that’s the first funny joke you’ve made since I met you.

GAGE: Wooow. You know what? I think the rabid squirrels down at the park will enjoy some fifty-dollar sushi.

CALISTA: FIFTY DOLLARS? You spent fifty dollars on a single roll?

GAGE: I would’ve bought the hundred-dollar one with the gold flakes if they weren’t out of it.

CALISTA: Now you’re just showing off.

GAGE: No, Spitfire. You’re worth the most expensive sushi in the world.

CALISTA: Ugh! Stop being so…so…

GAGE: Charming? Sexy? Hilariously endearing? *winky face*

CALISTA: …

GAGE: I’m just going to pretend that you’re so overcome with gratitude that you can’t think of a sufficient enough adjective to describe me.

CALISTA: Sure. Let’s go with that.

GAGE: Now come out here. I’m lacking some Vitamin You right now and need my next dose before I die.

CALISTA: That’s the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard. And you have some serious issues.

GAGE: Nope. Just separation anxiety.

CALISTA: Print my face out on a piece of paper and stick it to your body pillow.

GAGE: You act like I haven’t already done that.