As you may or may not know already, The Hating Game by Sally Thorne is one of my all-time favorite books. So much so that it is one of my comfort reads, a book I’ve read dozens of times.
I love the audiobook, but I’ve also gone through and read the hard copy and underlined all of my favorite quotes and lines from the book.
I figured I’d share them with you, now.
Fair warning: there are so many spoilers in this post, it’s ridiculous. It’s definitely meant for die-hard fans of the book like me!
Favorite Lines & Quotes from The Hating Game by Sally Thorne
Our stares clash and maybe comparing them to an ink stain was a tad too hard. Those eyes are wasted on him.
He advances like a floating Dracula. The menace is ruined by a crinkling sporting-goods-store bag loudly crinkling against his leg.
“Smurfs, huh? So that’s what those little boxes are. I thought maybe you were buying your tiny clothes online. Do you think it’s appropriate to get personal items delivered to your workplace, Lucinda?”
“If I can knock him out and get him into a crate, can you have him delivered somewhere remote?”
I make a Jeopardy! Buzzer sound. “‘Who is Joshua Templeman?”
He reclines back in his chair in a way I can never manage to do. The back of my chair doesn’t budge when I’ve tried to recline. I only succeed in rolling backward and bumping into the wall.
I ignore him.
“I don’t know anyone by that name.”
He’s holding his paintball gun in a cool way, pointed straight at the sky. I try to copy him and begin to drop it.
“Dork,” he comments unnecessarily. He must have strong wrists.
My moment is here and he needs to get the flag. I grab handfuls of his paintball suit and swing him around behind me against a tree.
“What are you –” He starts to say behind my back, but I’m scanning the terrain for the ambush. I’m Lara Croft, raising her guns, eyes burning with retribution. I can see the shape of the enemy’s elbow behind the barrels.
Joshua is standing with one hand on his hip and I instinctively raise my gun. It’s time. Lucy versus Joshua, total annihilation. He walks over to me, completely unperturbed by my actionman pose and takes the gun.
“You? Come back to get me? I’d be here all night.”
“Hey. Don’t talk like that anymore, all right?” He’s annoyed.
“Tell me where to go, then.”
“Go to hell.” I start laughing again.
“So, that’s where you came from.”
“Shuddup. Go left.”
I stumble into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar. I pee, flush, and then realize how unladylike I was. Oh, well. He’s seen and heard almost everything now. There’s nothing left to do but fake my own death and start a new life.
I spread my hands lightly around his neck, just to check the fit, and he narrows one eye.
“Go ahead,” he tells me. “Do it.”
“You’re his BROTHER,” I say in childlike wonder when the rusted cogs in my brain clunk into place. “I thought he was an experiment gone wrong.”
They look at each other and Josh’s brother laughs. “She’s so cute.”
His eyes flicker with surprise. “Lucy.”
“Lucinda,” I whisper archly. He turns away to smile, but I catch his sleeve.
“Don’t. I’ve already seen it.” I’m never getting over his smile.
“Stop calling me Shortcake.” I try to roll onto my side but he presses the heels of his palms lightly against my shoulders. I stop breathing.
“Watching you pretend to hate that nickname is the best part of my day.”
“Do you like strawberries?” I don’t know what else to say.
“I love strawberries. So much, you have no idea.” He sounds so kind that I feel a wave of emotion. I can’t open my eyes. He’ll see I have tears in them.
“So. Josh Templeman. What’s his deal?”
“The devil sent his only son to earth.”
If I’d thrown a torn-up wish list into a fireplace, he’s the guy Mary Poppins would have delivered.
“Danny Fletcher has a cliched evening in store for you. Italian restaurant, checkered tablecloth. Probably a candle. He’ll push the last meatball to you with his nose. Second date, right?”
“Josh, I want to be friends with you. Or something. I have no idea why, because you’re awful.”
He looks down to watch my hand spread out over his stomach. I push at the hard flesh. It doesn’t remotely give. “Are you wearing a bullet-proof vest?”
“I’ve got to in this office.”
“The date itself went fine,” I begin, but he steps close and cradles my jaw in his hands. The tension is crackling like static.
“Fine. Fine and great and nice. You need something more than fine. Tell me the truth.”
“Fine is exactly what I need. I need something normal and easy.” I see disappointment in his eyes.
“That’s not what you need. Trust me.”
I try to turn my face away, but he won’t allow it. I feel his thumb trace across my cheek. I try to push him away, but end up tugging him closer, his T-shirt in my fists.
He walks into the building lobby with me under his arm like a rolled-up newspaper. He even checks his mailbox…
“I always thought you’d live underground somewhere, near the earth’s core.”…
“Uncle Satan didn’t have any apartments available in my price range.”
“Where’s the dart board with my picture on it?” I lean in a little farther.
“It’s in the spare room.”
“I snooped through your apartment. It’s your turn.”
I’m flustered. I try to hide it with a joke. “Did you find all the pictures I have of you with your eyes scratched out?”
“No, I never did find your scrapbook. I do know you’ve got twenty-six Papa Smurfs, and you don’t fold your bed sheets properly.”
I’m getting dangerously high off of his smiles. This is my third one now? I’m stuffing them into my pockets. Cramming them into my mouth.
“I won!” I scream as I run at him. He has enough time to put out his arms as I jump. He hits the back wall with a grunt as I manage to get my arms and legs around him…
I try to muster up the strength to let him go, but the addictive press of our bodies together is stronger than my willpower.
“Okay then.” He begins to walk down the hallway. I’m clinging like a koala to his front, coat flapping, my bag bumping against his gym bag…
“Every man should get a welcome home like that.”
“Don’t mind me. Go about your business.”
When his bedroom door opens and he appears again, I am a mature young woman, legs elegantly crossed, flipping through a medical textbook, sipping my tea…I turn the page and unfortunately a lurid diagram of an erect penis glares up at me.
“I am trying to be more normal.”
He looks at the page. “How’s it working out so far?”
“I’m glad this isn’t a pop-up book.”
“I feel like a duchess when I’m here. You don’t have to wait on me.”
“Some horrible monsters secretly enjoy spoiling little duchesses.”
“You should treat yourself to something small each night. No point in being cruel to yourself.”
“Something small, huh?” He looks at me pointedly. “Okay.”
Act natural, Lucy. Walk in there like sex on legs. No awkwardness. Go.
He looks at me, my ankle wobbles, and I drop my handbag. The lid of my lunchbox pops off and a tomato rolls across the floor. I drop to my hands and knees and my stiletto heel gets caught on the dangling buckle belt of my coat.
“Crap.” I try to crawl.
“Smooth.” Josh gets up and walks to me.
He unhooks my coat and gathers up my lunch, before holding a hand down to me. I hesitate minutely before I take it, letting him haul me up.
“Can I rewind my entrance?”
“Oh, I’m your guest now?”…
“My hostage. My blackmailed, unwilling captive. Stockholm Shortcake.”
I have to jiggle the driver’s seat forward about a mile, necessitating quite a lot of jerky pelvic thrusts. He slides the passenger seat back without comment and watches me as I struggle. I snap on my seat belt and angle the rearview mirror down about a mile.
“What a phone book to sit on? How’d you get so small?”
“I shrank in the wash.”
Usually he kisses soft. Tonight, I like kissing hard.
“Are you going to kill me tonight?” he asks against my mouth, and I kiss him again fiercely.
“I’m going to try.”
“You look like a hot virginal dork who’s been defiled in the backseat of my car.”
His eyes spark with amusement. “That’s how I feel.”
I go to my handbag and dig in it, finding my lipstick.
“Can I see something?” He’s got his tie flapping loose as he takes the tube from me and reads the bottom.
“Flamethrower. How appropriate.”
“Do you want me to tone it down?” I rattle my handbag, searching.
“I fucking love your red.” He kisses my mouth before I apply.
He watches me applying the lipstick, blotting, reapplying and by the time I’m done he looks like he’s endured something.
You’ve got to hand it to Josh. For a prickly pear, he commits completely to a hug.
“It killed me to watch you try your heart out for people who were using your kindness. It made me want to stand up for you, and protect you from it. I couldn’t though, because you hated me, so I had to get you to stand up for yourself.”
When I kiss him, his exhalation is long, until he’s surely completely empty. I want to fill him back up.
“I haven’t wanted you this long, and gone through so much, and given up so much, to have you for one night. It’s not enough.”
“Since the moment I saw you. Since the moment you smiled at me. I felt like I was falling backward off a cliff. The feeling has never stopped. I’ve been trying to drag you down with me. In the worst, most ill-conceived and socially retarded way possible.”