Dear Enemy

Macon clears his throat, his brows lifting. I haven’t answered him, and he’s obviously not going to go away until he knows why I’m in bed.

“I have my period,” I say. “I feel like bloated death, and I don’t want to get up.” True. But also not true.

The left corner of his lips twitches. “You’re just gonna come right out and say that, huh?”

“Should I be ashamed of a normal bodily function?”

The tops of his cheeks turn ruddy, and he grunts.

Not really an answer, so I curl up on my side and try to get comfortable again. Earlier, I’d been a twitchy ball of throbbing distress, but a couple of pain meds have me nice and relaxed. “I’m going back to sleep now. Make your own breakfast.”

“I already did.” He leans closer, bringing the scent of the sage soap he uses and something purely Macon. The scent of him is so familiar, burned into the many layers of my memory, that in my weakened condition, it makes me feel like I’m home. I don’t like that idea one bit. I stare up at him with a brow raised to question his invasion of my personal space.

He huffs out a breath as if I’m cute in the way angry kittens are, then returns my look. “You going to get up at all?”

So much for repressive glares. “Nope. Make your own lunch too.”

“Delilah.”

The warning in his tone has me snorting. “You really don’t want to mess with me right now, Con Man. I have superhuman powers bestowed upon me by the period goddesses.”

Sadly, there is no such period goddess, only an evil she-devil who makes my life a living hell once a month. I’m weak as twenty-second tea and abnormally tired. My boobs hurt, too, and there is no way I’m wandering around Macon’s house without a bra. Hence, my self-imposed day in bed.

Also, not entirely the whole truth. I need a break from Macon. He’s too much for me right now. I shouldn’t be craving the sight of him. I should be able to think of things other than Macon’s laugh, Macon’s teasing ways, his dark honey rumble of a voice. Argh! I’m doing it again.

“Shoo,” I mutter. “Go away before someone drops a house down on you too.”

Macon rolls his eyes at my Wizard of Oz quote and then hauls himself up, using his cane for leverage. “Fine. But I’m giving North the employee-of-the-month award.”

“Unless the award is a chocolate cupcake that is delivered to my mouth in the next five minutes, I don’t care.”

He snorts, but a ghost of a smile is in his eyes. “Sorry, I award red velvet.”

“Pfft. Be gone with you, then.” I wave him off, knowing he isn’t so easily dismissed but finding small gratification in teasing him.

As predicted, Macon doesn’t move but rests a hand on his hip and peers at me from under the dark fan of his lashes. All the humor bleeds out of his expression, and I find myself frowning. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s hesitating. The moment pulls tighter between us, and he lets out a breath, squeezing the back of his neck with one hand. It is unfair how good that makes his bunching biceps look.

“Take the whole day, then,” he finally says. “I’m going out tonight.”

The way he says it has my hackles rising. I shouldn’t care; he can go wherever he wants. But there’s something almost guilt laden about the way he looks at me. Why would he be guilty?

“Okay,” I say, drawing the word out. “Have fun.”

His lips press together as if he’s fighting some internal battle, but then his chin rises. “If I’m not back for breakfast, I’ll text.”

Ah. That’s why. My stomach does a weird, sick lurch. He’s going on a date. It should be expected; while I might call him an asshat, there’s no denying he’s gorgeous. Hell, he’s famous. That right there would get him laid even if he needed to wear a bag over his head and had chronic halitosis.

Shit, I’m too quiet. I shrug my shoulder as if it doesn’t weigh a ton. “Kind of you to let me know.”

His expression turns stony, and I find myself replaying my words. Was I too flippant? Not enough? Whatever the case, I clearly didn’t convince him that I am unmoved. And that is not okay. It’s a struggle to play off tired grumpiness when a lump of inconvenient and unwanted jealousy sits heavy on my chest. But I try. “Is that all? Because the ibuprofen is kicking in, and I’m getting sleepy again.”

Macon’s nostrils flare with an indrawn breath, but he gives me a bland look. “Nope. That’s it. See you tomorrow, sleeping beauty.”

Tomorrow? As if it is now a sure thing that he isn’t going to come home. As soon as he leaves, shutting the door quietly behind him, I pull the covers over my head and curse my damn raging hormones. I miss him as soon as he’s out of sight. Damn that too.