Enemies With Benefits (Loveless Brothers 1)

“Michelle.”

I just blink.

“My middle name’s Michelle. It seemed like you should know if we’re moving in together,” she says.

“Violet Michelle,” I muse, mostly to myself.

It feels strange, like turning the lights on in a room I’d never looked into before. It feels strange that all this time I thought I knew her, but I didn’t even know this one basic thing.

“I love you, too,” she says softly.

I hold her closer, nuzzling my nose into her neck, and kiss her softly below her ear.

“I already like being yours,” I say.Chapter Forty-SixVioletOne Month Later“And finally, if you’ll initial there and there, and sign there, we’re finished,” Karen says.

Eli initials, signs, slides the paperwork over to me. I do the same.

“Fantastic!” she says, flashing her too-bright smile one more time. “Congratulations on becoming homeowners, y’all two! And don’t forget, if you know anyone in the market, just point ‘em my way. Lovely to work with you!”

She grabs her enormous purse, then holds one one perfectly manicured hand. We both shake it, saying our own thanks and goodbyes, and then Karen is out the front door, in her Mercedes, and driving away.

We’re alone in the house.

Correction: we’re alone in our house. We’re both on the mortgage paperwork and we’ll both be on the title, because once his grand gesture making was over, Eli did manage to see reason. There was no way I was letting him be entirely on the hook for this place if something went wrong.

Also, it’s insane to give someone a house. I stand firmly by that. It might also be insane to buy a house with the guy who’s only been your boyfriend for a few months, but I’m choosing to ignore that.

Eli slides his hand into mine, and we look around the house.

Our house.

It’s small. The bed is in a loft, which is sort-of-but-not-technically a second story. There’s one bathroom. The washer and dryer are in the kitchen. The kitchen and dining room / living room are all open plan.

But the main floor has big windows that look out over the lake. The loft is tall enough to stand in and cozy at the same time. The kitchen is way nicer than the one in my trailer, and the bathroom has a real tub and not just a shower. The previous owner replaced the HVAC system just last year.

And it’s ours. His and mine.

“Where should we put the couch?” he asks, looking around the space, taking my hand in his.

“Do we have a couch?” I ask, leaning my head on his shoulder.

“You’ve got one.”

“I hate that couch,” I say. “I’ve been meaning to replace it for years, but then I figured, what’s the point of getting a new couch when the whole house is so crappy, you know?”

“All right, so we’ll put the couch nowhere,” he says. “What furniture do we have?”

“A bed,” I say. “That horrible kitchen table at my place. Some dressers.”

“At least moving won’t be too hard,” he says. “All I’ve got at my mom’s place is that bookshelf. Everything else is hers.”

“I think that bookshelf is probably hers now, too,” I say. “When’s the last time you slept there?”

“Ownership isn’t determined by how often you sleep in the same room as a thing,” Eli says. “You’ve never once slept in the same room as your car but it’s still yours.”

“Possession is nine-tenths of the law,” I say. “Your mom clearly possesses that bookshelf. What time are we supposed to be over there, anyway?”

Eli pulls out his phone and checks the time.

“Forty-five minutes,” he says.

“We should go soon,” I say.

“Few more minutes,” Eli says.

I walk backward and heave myself onto the kitchen island. Eli comes and stands between my legs, his elbows resting on my knees, facing away from me. I drape my arms over his shoulders, put my chin on top of his head.

It’s still nice. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over the simple pleasure of touching Eli casually like this, of small affectionate touches that are the constant reminder that we like each other.

“There’s a storm across the lake,” he says, leaning back. He puts his hands over mine, and we both watch the angry, steel-blue clouds bubble and churn, miles away.

“You know something?” I say.

“I know lots of things,” Eli says, and I ignore him.

“I think I’m glad I lost the MVP prize. Not about the picture, but I’m glad I lost it in general.”

There’s a long pause.

Then Eli just whistles.

“I know, I know,” I say.

“Someone get the New York Times on the phone,” he says.

“Yeah, funny.”

“Call CNN.”

“Hilarious.”

“Or maybe the Washington Post will want this exclusive,” he goes on.

I just sigh.

“I’m about to be nice to you, you know,” I say.

He just laughs.

“Then, by all means,” he says.

“Such a dick,” I murmur, mostly to myself.

“That wasn’t the nice thing, was it?” he teases. I can feel his voice rumble beneath my palms, low and soothing.