Don’t Like You by Juliet Arya

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.

Speaking of unsettling behavior, I have a stiffy. My first public stiffy, and I am holding her boobs. “Boobs,” I whisper. My hand pushes a little on her flesh to see if there are any socks in there. This is wrong. She is still a kid. I haven’t seen them yet. It’s not even like the ones in Dad’s magazines, but Dennis is excited as hell. “Yes, Harry Potter, they are called breasts. But you didn’t magic them up with your wand. Girls have breasts. Now, stop crushing my kidneys and get off.” Zoe tussles against me, and her cheek accidentally grazes my lips. My heart rate picks up. My lips tingle. I push her back down, holding her in place. Her twisting and turning against my body is not helping this situation. I am staring at them, and I can’t take my eyes off of them. “How is that possible?” It’s an honest question. “Talk to your Bio teacher about human anatomy. She might be able to explain things,” she says, trying to wiggle under me again. When I don’t move because I am scared she will spot Dennis, she says, “Don’t be a Grinch. Sharing only makes things better. So what if I want to touch your precious things? I’ll let you touch mine too.” My mind is in the gutter. She continues, “Look, I only want to see how it looks. Your piece is limited edition. Please, please let me touch it. I promise I won’t wreck it.” Does this conversation seem like it has a double entendre? Tell me I am not a perv. “Okay. What will you give me in return?” My voice is thick, and I don’t know what I am asking for. “Oh.” She is surprised. We usually end up in a huge fight when I find her going through my things. “What do you want?” She frowns. My gaze drops to her chest again. She pushes my hands away from her brand new boobs. “God, will you stop staring at them? They are real this time.” I know they are real. I touched them. My dad honks right then—a reminder that I am getting late for practice. “Fine. You can play with the slime set, but you owe me one. I will think of something you have to do for me in return,” I say, getting up quickly and running for my life.