Page 22 of Love to Hate You
Chapter Eight
Daisy
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Olivia asks from where she’s parked on the other side of the breakfast bar while I add eggs and oil to the brownie mix.
Is this a good idea?
Without question, it’s the best damn idea I’ve ever had!
“Yup,” I proclaim, popping the P.
Olivia hasn’t voiced her concerns, but I can tell by her nervous demeanor that she’s not a hundred percent on board with this plan. But I don’t care. My mind is made up, and I’m moving forward. If Carter thinks he’s had the last laugh, he can think again.
Olivia gnaws her lower lip. I’m afraid if she keeps this up, it’ll end up a bloody mess. I huff out a breath, well acquainted with what she’s silently trying to convey. She thinks I’m being rash.
Under normal circumstances, I love that Olivia and I balance each other out. I tend to be more of the leap-before-looking type, and she’s more the look-both-ways-before-crossing-the-street-and-then-look-one-last-time-just-to-be-safe type. And I’ll admit that she’s yanked my butt out of trouble on more than one occasion.
Perhaps that alone is reason enough to reconsider the ramifications of what I’m doing, but I refuse to do that. As far as I’m concerned, it’s full steam ahead.
Just thinking about Carter strolling in to sociology and forcing Ben out of his seat and then telling everyone within earshot that we were not only together, but that I was his baby mama is enough to make steam pour out of my ears.
Then, as if that weren’t damaging enough, the jerk eludes to giving me an orgasm.
In front of all those people.
I clench my jaw and stir the mixture with violent strokes.
After a few moments, Olivia gestures to the bowl. “You, ah, don’t want to stir out all the lumps.”
I still my power-stirring and arch an eyebrow at her. “I’m not concerned about the amount of lumps.”
“Yeah,” she mutters on a sigh, shoulders slumping, “I didn’t think so.”
Once the batter is mixed to my satisfaction, I open the box of laxatives. They resemble little squares of chocolate. I pop all twenty-four pieces from the foil packet, break them into smaller chunks and add them in.
“Oh my God,” Olivia murmurs, shaking her head with a frown. “Please tell me that you’re not going to add the entire box.”
“I’m adding the entire box.” I confirm flatly, tossing in the final bits.
Her eyes widen and fill with concern. “Do you have any idea what that kind of stimulant can do to someone’s system?”
A sinister smile curves my lips. “Actually, I know exactly what it’s supposed to do. Once the laxatives kick in, Carter will shit his pants for days.”
“This has disaster written all over it.” Olivia scrubs a hand over her face. “You realize that, don’t you?”
I shrug and blend my concoction. “You’re being dramatic.” It’s laxatives. It won’t kill him. As far as I’m concerned, he’s lucky I’m letting him off so easily.
“I don’t think so,” she mumbles.
I grease a square Teflon pan and pour the thick, chocolaty batter into it, spreading it out evenly until all four corners have been filled. Then I scrape the inside of the glass bowl until it’s wiped clean.
I chuckle gleefully. “Wouldn’t want to miss any, now would we?”
Olivia doesn’t say a word. Yeah, I get her silent condemnation. Lucky for me, I’m able to easily brush it aside.
I place the tray on the middle rack in the oven and set a timer before going back to the counter and picking up the glass bowl and spatula. With a smirk, I glance at Olivia. “I’d offer to let you lick the spatula, but I wouldn’t recommend it.” After pausing a moment, I add, “Unless you’re feeling constipated.”
The way she shakes her head and throws up a hand as if to ward me off is almost comical. “I’ll pass.”