The Hating Game by Sally Thorne: A Rollercoaster of Expectations
Ah, The Hating Game by Sally Thorne—this book has been sitting on my shelf for what feels like ages. In fact, I almost bought another copy because I was convinced I had lost it. Picture me, standing in a bookstore, teary-eyed at the thought of dropping money on another novel when I realized my original was waiting for me at home! I’m so glad I found it, but I wish I could say the reading experience matched that initial dramatic search.
When I finally delved into Thorne’s world, I was instantly intrigued by the heated rivalry between Lucy Hutton and Joshua Templeman. The premise held so much promise: two office coworkers who absolutely cannot stand each other—what could go wrong? But as early as 19% in, when the characters were already exchanging lustful glances instead of genuine animosity, I began to feel misled. I expected harsh words and icy glances, not pining and stolen kisses!
Thorne’s writing exhibits a lively flair, yet I found that the humor she aimed for fell flat. If this was supposed to be an office rom-com, where were the laugh-out-loud moments? The witty banter that was meant to set the stage felt more awkward than amusing, making me wonder if I was missing some cosmic joke everyone else was in on. Sure, there were parts of Lucy’s internal monologue that hinted at a humorous touch, but it was sparse at best.
The scenes, like the infamous elevator kiss meant to spark tension, lacked the intensity I craved. I wanted to root for Lucy; I wanted the stakes to be high! Instead, I often found myself cringing at how quickly disdain turned into longing. Take Josh’s obsessive marking of Lucy’s outfit choices and interactions with other men—an element that seemed meant to be romantic but left me bewildered. Was I supposed to find his jealousy charming? Spoiler: I didn’t.
One particular moment stood out amidst what I perceived as a lackluster journey: Lucy’s revelation that Josh had been keeping track of when she wore dresses or skirts struck me as oddly sweet. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it bordered on possessive rather than romantic. I longed for deeper character development, where conversations could have unfolded to reveal layers beyond the physical attraction that dominated their interactions.
As I reached the last few pages, I felt a weird mix of relief and disappointment. Maybe someone who adores light, steamy reads with a touch of office politics would relish this story, but for me, it was a miss. The emotional highs and lows seemed gantt-charted rather than lived—more like a checklist than an authentic romance.
In conclusion, if you’re seeking a romance that prioritizes humor or clever dialogue, The Hating Game might leave you wanting. However, if you enjoy a story where tension simmers into romance and physical attraction takes center stage, you might find a connection where I couldn’t. Perhaps my expectations were simply too high! In any case, I’m glad I finally read it—if only for the adventure of a somewhat disappointing journey.