The Enemy (It Happened in Charleston 2)

a place I once felt proud of now seems repugnant.

I want yellow. Ruffled pillows. Nick Lachey’s face on everything. Family-filled picture frames. Nosey siblings and parents popping in when you don’t want them to.

These tall walls grow like giants around me, and I have the strongest urge to run from them.

So why don’t I just turn Noah down and start assembling moving boxes? Because June is still a wild card. I’m all in, but she’s still holding her chips. I feel like I have a wild fox in my apartment. It’s sleeping now. She’ll probably eat if I carefully set out a nice breakfast and back away with my hands held up in surrender, but if she senses any sudden movement, she’ll bolt.

I hope I’m not killing any chance of our relationship before it even gets going by keeping Bask as a plan B. There’s a real chance, though, that after our date, June will walk away. I don’t really care to be left loveless and careerless. Because if I go back to working in my old kitchen, it will kill my career. In this industry, you’re either moving up or down. There’s no such thing as stagnant success.

Suddenly, a scream pierces the silence, and I smile. I smile because it’s June screaming, and I know exactly what has brought it on. Thundering footsteps rumble down the hall, and I carefully set down my coffee in preparation. Turning, I find June in her PJs, arms folded and anger jumping from her eyes like sparks.

My gaze dips down just below her eyes to the curly little mustache I drew across her lip while she was sleeping. She can’t play the torture game and not expect retaliation.

“Mornin’, Sunshine. Coffee?”

“You. Drew. On. My. Face.” She’s practically shaking with rage.

I have to bite my cheeks to keep from laughing. “I wanted to see how sound a sleeper you are.” And I’ll be honest, I needed something to help me find this woman less attractive. It didn’t work. Now she just looks angry and adorable.

In the next moment, June runs full-tilt across the apartment, and I’m given barely a moment to brace for impact. She launches herself at me, and I’m not sure if she was intending to knock me over or knock the breath out of me, but neither happen. I catch her easily, and she wraps her legs around me. All my funny thoughts rush back.

June puts her hands around my throat and makes a face like she’s preparing to squeeze the life out of me. “Any last words?”

“It’s washable.”

Her eyes narrow into green venomous slits, but I can see the corners of her mustache twitching. Her mind whirls with ideas of coating my toothbrush in vinegar, mixing soy sauce with milk until it looks exactly like coffee, and putting plastic wrap across the toilet bowl. I read her thoughts like a book—even the lines she wants to keep hidden.

She squeezes my neck a little and crinkles her nose like she’s really going to make this strangle count. But then her shoulders drop, and her grip slackens. She brushes her thumbs slowly across my pulse points below my jaw. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

“I knew you were only after me for my looks.”

Her smile softens, and she tilts her head to the side. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember you’re not my enemy anymore.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

I carry her into the bathroom and set her down beside the sink.

She watches silently as I dab a little face wash on a rag and cover it with water. Her emerald stare is fixed on my face as I start gently wiping away the marks I left. I want to wipe away the ones I can’t see below her skin too.

June watches me closely, barely breathing. The air is reacting between us. Currents are rippling. Humming. Pulling. I’m caught in the undertow of water that is not blue, but effervescent green.

I need Ryan, and that scares me.

But right now, I don’t want to be scared. I want to fly. I spread my wings around him and pull Ryan closer. His hands catch my waist, and I feel the tension flowing out of his fingers as they press into my sides. His eyes skate over my face, and I almost can’t believe we even made it to this place.

Ryan’s mouth hovers in front of me for what feels like eons. I’m dying, literally dying for him to close the gap and claim my lips. They’re yours now.

In his eyes, I see flakes of black and gold. Hues I’ve never noticed before. I put my hands around his ribs and try to tug him a little closer while simultaneously inching my lips toward his. He tucks his chin back an inch, though, and smiles at his own restraint. He’s drawing this out, and even my bones are aching for him.

“Ryan,” I say in a quiet plea that I’m sure I’ll be embarrassed about later.

One of his hands laces into the back of my hair. His brows dip together as he studies me, considering something heavy behind his dark eyes. I feel dramatic—like maybe the women at the bar actually knew the truth all along, and Ryan really does hold all the world’s oxygen supply. I will suffocate if his mouth doesn’t touch mine.

“I don’t want to be another one of your dates, June. I want more.”

There’s nothing but truth in his eyes, and I can’t hold mine in any longer. As if I’m afraid he’s going to disappear before my eyes, I wrap my arms tightly around his waist and hold him right here. Me. Stay with me.

“I want more, too.”