Enemies With Benefits (Loveless Brothers 1)

He holds out one hand like claws and pretends to snarl, the moonlight shadowing his handsome face, his hair falling perfectly over his forehead despite the frosting in it.

I laugh.

It’s the weirdest feeling.

I’m enjoying Eli’s company, maybe for the first time ever. Even though I like it, I’m suspicious. I know that next week, this spell will be broken, and we’ll be back at each other’s throats.

“Where are you getting your information?” I ask, digging my keys from my purse.

“Levi works for the Forest Service.”

“Levi’s a tree expert, not a raccoon expert.”

“You think he don’t know his varmints?” he says, exaggerating his accent.

I laugh as we reach my car, and I unlock the door, looking over at Eli as I open it.

“I think if Levi told you that raccoons go for the eyes, he probably had his own reasons for wanting you to think that,” I say. “You want a ride to your car so they don’t get yours, either?”

A smile flickers across his face, and he glances up at his Bronco, fifty feet away.

“I’ll take my chances,” he says, then taps the roof of my car. “See you Tuesday, Violet.”

He walks in front of my car, headlights briefly illuminating his form, and then he fades into the night. I wait until I see the lights of his Bronco flick on, feeling some responsibility to make that sure he doesn’t get attacked by raccoons, either.

Twenty minutes later, I pull up next to my trailer, the lamp in the living room blazing through my curtained windows. I keep it on a timer so strangers think someone is home, something I started after Mom died and I lived alone. I guess it works, because no one’s broken in yet.

A burst of laughter erupts from the trailer next door. I wonder how many cases of Bud Light the rednecks have gone through tonight. Apparently this weekend kicks off the summer party season for them as well.

Before I go in, I take one last look at the stars. They’re bright out here, and even though they’re so far away, somehow they feel warm, friendly.

Then, it hits me. Eli’s tattoo. It’s a constellation.

I stare upward, wondering which one. I didn’t recognize it then and I don’t now, trying to recreate its shape in the heavens. I wonder if it means something, whether recognizing it would give me some insight into Eli.

I wondered if the maid of honor saw it. I wonder whether she recognized it.

I wonder what pieces of Eli she has that I don’t.

I quit staring into space, open my door, and head inside to my lighted lamp and empty trailer. I strip as I head toward the bathroom and get into the shower before the water’s even fully hot, desperate to feel less sticky, to wash the day off of myself.

I could have kissed him again, I think. When he took his shirt off. No one else was there. I could have just walked over and kissed him and he’d have pushed me against the counter…

I sigh, roll over, and get my vibrator out of my night stand for at least the tenth time that week.Chapter FourteenEliAt seven the next morning, there’s a knock on my door.

I ignore it and shove a pillow over my head. I don’t do seven a.m., especially when my job means I usually don’t get to bed until one or two in the morning.

The knock sounds again, louder this time. I sigh, taking the pillow off my face and flopping one forearm across my eyes.

“No,” I shout.

There’s a pause, and then the door creaks open.

“Come on,” I say, fervently grateful that I’m wearing pajamas. It was the only rule my mother absolutely insisted on when I moved back in, and I’ve come to understand why.

I don’t open my eyes as small footsteps pad to the side of my bed.

Much too small to be Daniel or my mom. Rusty’s not the best with personal space. Like I said, thank God for pajamas.

“Did you get it?” Rusty asks, whispering so loudly they can probably hear her in the next county.

“This couldn’t wait an hour?” I say, my arm still over my face.

She’s quiet for a moment. I peek at her from under my arm, her serious blue eyes crawl over my face, studying me in that honest, open way that only kids can.

“Are you hungover?” Rusty finally asks.

That jolts me awake.

“No, no,” I say, sitting up right, swinging my legs off the bed. “I worked late, that’s all.”

She doesn’t say anything, just looks at me with those wide, clear blue eyes.

“I promise,” I say, one hand on my chest. “Cross my heart.”

Rusty just nods, and something like anger closes a small fist, deep inside my chest.

I hate that that’s her first question. I hate that, at six years old, she even knows what a hangover is or what one looks like.