Dear Enemy

“Macon Saint, you’re itching to say something. Spill it.”

He full out grins. “Well, Ms. Delilah Baker, it appears you’ve gone viral.”

“What?” My voice rises as panic sets in. “What!”

Macon pulls out his phone and flicks on the screen. And the horrifying sound of me singing at the top of my lungs comes out.

“I’ll give you this,” he says, laughing. “You really sell it.”

With a screech, I launch myself out of the chair and at the phone. Macon holds it up out of my reach while his other arm wraps around my waist and pins me against him. Only then do I realize that I’ve basically thrown my body over his in my attempt to get to the phone.

“Give me the phone,” I cry, still struggling.

“Not a chance.” I don’t know how he manages it, but I find myself sprawled on his lap, arms tucked against his chest. I’d find his strength impressive if I wasn’t in full panic mode. He holds me prisoner with one arm. “We’ll watch it together.”

Since I can’t move, and he still has the phone, I can only groan and slump against the wall of his chest. “Fine. Torture me; I give up.”

Chuckling, Macon hits replay. And there I am, singing loudly and obnoxiously and dancing like a fool.

I let out a sound that is somewhere between a moan and a wail. Whatever it is, it is pitiful.

Macon, however, is extremely entertained. “Is that the Funky Chicken?”

“Yes.” Unable to take it, I burrow my face into the crook of his neck. His breath hitches, but he doesn’t move, and I’m unwilling to move either. Macon makes for a surprisingly nice shelter; his skin is smooth and warm and smells of musky citrus. I almost can’t hear the stupid video. Almost.

Laughter rumbles in his chest and vibrates along his skin. “Oh, man, look at you go, my ‘Tiny Dancer.’”

“Shut.” I punch his chest. “Up.”

“Two hundred thousand likes and counting.”

“Noooo.” I press closer to his neck. “Make it stop.”

“Oh, come on,” he says, suddenly softer. “This video is a thing of beauty. People love it. You’re a badass, Tot.”

With a sigh, I lift my head. Despite my utter humiliation, a smile threatens. “I didn’t know what else to do. She left me waiting for two hours.”

Macon’s happy expression dims a little before he gives me a conspiratorial look. “Let’s put her profile on Tinder and say she’s into diaper play.”

I snicker. “And disco.”

“Diaper disco.”

We both chuckle softly. He doesn’t stop me when I take the phone from his hand. The video is over, and I force myself to look at it again. Nope, just as embarrassing the second time around. But it hits me that the angle of the shot is coming from the doorway to Karen’s office. “Oh my God. She’s the one who filmed it and put it on YouTube. That bitch.”

Macon peers down at the screen. “I’m pretty sure it was Elaine, her assistant.” His eyes gleam with glee. “You want me to have her fired? Disposed of?” He’s clearly joking and clearly enjoying the hell out of himself.

“No,” I mutter before hiding my face once more. “Just weigh my feet down with rocks, and fling me into the ocean.”

The warm weight of his hand slides to my hip and rests there. “That would be a massive waste of talent.” His voice is lower now, competing with the sound of the waves. The chair creaks as he adjusts a little, and I sink farther into the cradle of his lap, my head on his shoulder.

“I’ll say one thing,” he says after a moment. “Life with you isn’t dull.”

My smile comes out as a hum. The sun is no more than a tiny pinpoint of orange light atop an indigo sea now, leaving the sky violent shades of hot pink, lavender, and teal. Evening breezes play over us, carrying the scent of the ocean. It’s getting cold, but Macon’s body is warm and solid against mine.

“This place is utterly beautiful,” I whisper. “I haven’t said so before, but I love your house. Actively love it.”

He stills for a second before his fingers drift along the curve of my hip. “I do too—every board, window, and shingle. It’s too big for one person—hell, it’s too big for two—but it’s private, comfortable, and of course there’s the view.” Resting his head against the chair, he expels a long breath as if letting go of the day. The lines of his body seem to sink into relaxation. “I know I’ve had it easy when it comes to money. But every morning I wake up here and am grateful.”

My eyes drift closed. A warm lassitude fills me. I could sit here all night, listening to the steady beat of his heart and the even cadence of his breathing. Reality crashes over me. I’m sitting in Macon’s lap, cuddling him.