The Enemy (It Happened in Charleston 2)

He’s soothing me, hypnotizing me with his hand, making waves of heat across my back. “Right. I put them away exactly where you like them, so there’s nothing to worry about. Everything is the same; there are just a few extra onions in your produce drawer.”

“We’re moving too fast. One minute I hate you, and the next, you’re filling my produce drawer. What’s happening?”

He pulls me away so he can look me in the eyes. I can see that he wants to make a joke about my unfortunate filling-my-produce-drawer phrasing, but he refrains because he’s a better person than me. “I’m not trying to rush you, June. In fact, this is the opposite of rushing. I want to be friends. Spend time together and get to know each other again like normal people do. And then, I’ll take you on our date.”

I open my mouth, but Ryan talks over me. “Yes, our one and only date. I know. You don’t have to remind me.”

But that wasn’t at all what I was going to say. In fact, my stupid rule keeps floating further and further from my mind the more time I spend with Ryan. It’s probably for the best that he doesn’t know that. So instead, I just ask, “This isn’t our date, then?”

He gives me that crooked grin of his and says, “This? No. Absolutely not. Believe me, June Bug. You’ll know when it’s the real date.”

When he sees that I’m stable again and not going to pass out on the floor, he lets go of me. I wish he didn’t.

“Hey, Ryan?”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you start calling me June Bug?” I’ve always wondered. He did it in high school, and I hated it immediately because I felt like I was supposed to, but I never knew exactly why it was insulting.

“Because you’re cute, and it sounds cute.”

A short laugh falls out of my mouth. “What! That’s it? I always assumed it was some sort of insult meant to irritate me.”

“You know what they say about assuming…”

I put my face in my hands and let another layer of truth sink over me. Ryan has been calling me a term of endearment from the beginning. He really did like me.

“Are you going to have another breakdown?” he asks casually.

I ignore his question and keep my face in my hands, trying to assemble the facts. “You said you were going to cook us dinner. It’s only ten in the morning. What are we supposed to do until dinnertime?” I lower my hands to find his brow raised and his charming smile dialed up to an illegal one billion.

I match his suggestive look. “I thought you said we were going to be friends.”

One of his eyes narrows. “Friends with benefits?”

He’s inching closer, but I start backing away while shaking my head. “No. That will just mess with my head.”

“What if I want to mess with your head?” he says head, but his eyes scan down my body, saying something totally different.

I put my hand on his chest to hold him away once he backs me into the corner. “Ryannnn.” My tone is a warning.

“Just one more.”

“One more what?”

“Little kiss. Just a peck.”

I should say no. I really should. But I can’t think anymore, because my body is humming too loudly. “Fine, but just a tiny one. A friendly one.”

He rests his hand on the wall behind me. “Last night’s kiss felt pretty friendly to me.” Oh, good gracious.

I swallow, and my sight zeros in on Ryan’s lips. It’s not my fault. They are RIGHT there in front of my eyes. I don’t mean to, but my hand raises, and I use my index finger to trace his lower lip, remembering what it felt like to have it pressing on mine.

“Okay, let’s kiss now,” I say, sounding like a twelve-year-old playing spin the bottle for the first time. I feel a little desperate for him to kiss me again. I’m on fire, and he’s the extinguisher. But then again, maybe he’s the gasoline.

“Actually,” he says, pulling away. “Never mind. I think I’ll wait.”

“Excuse me?” My hands fall to my sides, pathetically limp.