The Enemy (It Happened in Charleston 2)

“My kidney.”

“Don’t need it.”

“My car.”

“It’s older than mine.”

Stacy sighs and stands up. “Fine. I didn’t want to have to do this, but…”

June’s eyes go round, apparently understanding what Stacy is threatening. “You wouldn’t.”

Stacy stands and faces me with a determined look. “Ryan, have I ever told you about the time that June peed—”

“STOP! Fin

e, I’ll do it, sheesh.”

A smug smile spreads over Stacy’s mouth as she whips around to throw her arms around June’s neck. “Love you!” She then kisses June’s cheek so hard that it makes June’s lips smoosh to one side.

“Well, I like you a little less now.” June smooths down her shirt, and I try not to let my eyes linger on her curves.

Stacy laughs. “I’m your favorite person in the world. Don’t deny it.”

June just groans.

“What about me?” I say. “No kisses for the man who will actually be doing the catering?”

Stacy winks at me. “We’ll just call it even for when you tried to break me and Logan up in seventh grade.”

Savage. I can respect it.

Stacy pulls her phone out of her pocket and starts dialing as she walks toward the door. “Meet me at the car, June. I’m calling Logan to tell him the good news. Oh, and Miss Mable said to lock up before you leave.” The door shuts behind her, and I can’t help but laugh that part of my lie ended up being true.

I turn my gaze to June and find her already studying me. Her full, bubble-gum lips are slightly pinched together, and I can’t tell what’s going through her mind. She looks oddly thoughtful—contemplative.

“What are you thinking about right now?” I ask her.

“Which kitchen utensil I’ll use to kill you.”

My stomach clenches when I see a hint of a smile in the corner of her mouth. She turns away, trying to keep me from seeing it, but it doesn’t matter. I know it’s there, and that’s worth something.

Chapter Eight

Ryan

“Still no girlfriend back in Chicago?” Logan asks after the bartender slides our beers in front of us.

I shake my head and take a drink. “No time.”

He laughs. “I don’t think that’s actually the problem.”

We’ve been friends since birth because our moms were longtime best friends. And even after choosing different careers, going to schools in different countries, and then settling down in different states, we’re still just as close today as we were as kids.

Logan has walked with me through every major event in my life. My buzz cut in eighth grade, the first time I made out with a girl freshman year (he wasn’t there, but you better believe I recounted it to him in such detail that he felt like he was the one who kissed Tory Hayes), and also when my mom died junior year. I don’t like thinking back to that time—even after all these years, it hurts. My dad passed when I was five, so I never really had any memories of him, but my mom and I were more like friends than mother and son. And no one can prepare for a car accident.

Logan's mom, Holly, was my mom’s best friend and also my godmother. So, when Mom passed, I went to live with Logan and his family for the rest of high school. He’s seen me through my best and my worst days (the buzz cut being among the worst). And that’s why, now, I think of Logan as my brother. He calls me on my crap, and I let him because he seems to know my motives better than I do, anyway.

I set my glass down and turn my full attention to Logan. “I work six, sometimes seven, days a week, and usually until midnight. So, it kinda feels like the problem to me.”