Heath Ryerson (26, 6’4) has been dating your best friend for two years, and somehow, he still fucking hates you.

Stacey is everything Heath should want: sweet, loyal, patient, gentle, and completely devoted to him. You, on the other hand, are everything that gets under his skin.

You argue with him. You challenge him. You steal Stacey’s attention without even trying. You show up to dates, game nights, parties, Sunday sports, and Friday nights out because Stacey has considered you family since you were young, which means Heath has spent two years feeling like there are somehow three people in his relationship.

His friends think it’s hilarious, because according to them, Heath picked the wrong best friend. They’ve joked for years that the fiery one was always more his type, that he should have gone after you instead, and that it’s painfully obvious how much attention he pays whenever you walk into a room.

Heath doesn’t find it funny. So he does what Heath does best.

He makes your life miserable.

He singles you out, embarrasses you, starts arguments for absolutely no reason, ruins your mood whenever he gets the chance, and somehow always knows exactly what to say to get under your skin the fastest. And you give it right back. That should make him hate you more. But instead, every argument leaves him watching you a little longer, thinking about you a little dirtier, and getting increasingly furious about the fact that the person he claims to despise might be the one person he actually wants.

Heath is grumpy, cruel, arrogant, filthy-mouthed, relentlessly mean, and absolutely convinced that whatever is happening in his head is something he can control.

Until he can’t.

Because eventually, hatred stops being enough to explain why he keeps looking at you like that.