The Enemy (It Happened in Charleston 2)

I puff out a sigh and get out of my car, crouching down and shutting the door softly before creeping around the house. I stay as low to the ground as possible to avoid the windows because I HAVE NO OTHER CHOICE. I can’t just walk through that front door and laugh it off. Ha ha, you win again, Ryan! I took myself to the movies, and some teenagers made fun of me!

No. Half in love with this man or not, I have to crush him. Which is why I’m going around to the back door and unlocking it without making a sound. I’m Tom Cruise right now, picking a lock and ninja-rolling as quiet as air through my kitchen (actually, I’m slithering like a snake because I have no idea how to ninja roll).

I make it through the kitchen, and the sound of the TV grows louder as I approach the living room. This part is going to be tricky. The hallway from my kitchen to my bedroom has a straight shot into the living room. The couch is in the middle of the living room facing the opposite way of the hallway. If I can just stay quiet and move slowly, I’ll be able to get into my bedroom without Ryan knowing I’m here.

You might be wondering what I plan to do after I make it to my room. Answer: what any other desperate human being would do. Change into my sexiest black dress, apply way too much makeup, slither back out the door, and then go around the house to make a grand entrance. I’ll probably smear my makeup a bit just to really sell the whole kissing thing.

It takes me five minutes to inchworm my way through the kitchen, and I don’t even want to think about all the nastiness I’m collecting on my sticky shirt along the way. Worth it, though.

I’m now approaching the challenge zone. If I make it through this obstacle, I win a new car.

The glow of the TV illuminates the room, and I’m close enough now that I can see Ryan’s profile on the couch. He’s hunkered down, nice and comfy on my couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table. I choose not to think about how good he looks there. How I wouldn’t mind seeing him there every day for the rest of my life. No time to contemplate the future, though. I must keep my eye on the prize.

Now I’m in the red zone. Carpet burn is assailing my elbows and forearms, and I think I’ve ripped a new hole in my ancient leggings, but none of this matters, because my stealthy moves are working. Ryan is oblivious. He hasn’t so much as twitched a muscle as I continue my progress.

I make it down the hallway, and I’m two feet from my bedroom door. Ryan coughs, and I freeze. I wait until I’m one hundred percent certain he is enthralled in his show again to keep slithering. And now, I’ve done it. My elbows are inside my doorframe, and my smile is stretching from earlobe to earlobe because I WIN, RYAN HENDERSON!!

“Date go well?”

Dang it.

I pause mid-army-crawl and glance over my shoulder. Ryan hasn’t moved. He’s still staring at the TV like the villain in a movie—cloaked in darkness and leisurely pointing a gun at my chest as if it wouldn’t affect him in the least to pull the trigger.

I scrunch my face up in painful defeat as I rise from the floor. “How did you know I was here?”

Ryan slowly turns his head to look at me, showing his tilted smile. “I saw your Jeep pull in. And the alarm beeped when you opened the back door. And you were breathing like an asthma patient all the way down that hallway.” I feel like he could have left that last part off.

My shoulders slump, and I lean on the doorframe for support. “Super.”

“Why are you sneaking in?”

There is no way to answer that question that will not immediately incriminate me, so instead, I deflect.

Rounding the couch, I flip on the lights and then gawk at the man on my couch. “Better question, what are YOU doing in my living room in your pajamas?” I go over and knock Ryan’s bare feet off my coffee table because I’m angry that no one in the history of sleepy men has ever worn flannel sleep pants and a plain gray tee as good as him.

He smiles because he’s amused by my outburst. “My hotel reservation ended at ten o’clock this morning, so I’m bunking with you tonight, roomie.”

My mouth falls open. “Umm, no, you most certainly are not! Go renew your reservation, pajama-man.”

I can’t have him here under the same roof as me for a whole night. My skin boils hot just looking at him from across the room.

“Nah, I’d rather stay here with you.”

I stare at him, blinking. “No. Just no. Your opinion doesn’t matter here.”

He scrunches his nose up and says, “Respectfully, I disagree. Mainly because I weigh twice as much as you, and you’ll never be able to lift me off of this couch. So…fake your date?”

I scoff. “Of course not. I went on a date.”

His eyes drop to my outfit, and I see the faint curl of his lips. “Little black number?”

I raise my eyebrows and widen my eyes as if to say I dare you to admit this outfit is ugly! “It’s black.”

“And the stain?”

“Coke.”

He nods. “Didn’t know they serve Coke at art crawls.”