I'm Not Your Enemy (Enemies 2)

I sank down onto the stool next to me and scrubbed a hand over my jaw.

“I know I was a coward,” I said quietly. “I left without a word. I didn’t say anythin’ to you about the program. I get it. But I didn’t leave because it just happened to be easier. I was in full panic mode.” I cleared my throat and thought back on how I’d left. The memories were hazy at best. I barely remembered the flight, only that my mother picked me up in Atlanta. They’d stopped serving me alcohol at some point during the flight too. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hijack the conversation right when you got started.” I might as well squeeze in one last apology before he had the floor again. If he had anything else to say. “I’m also sorry for saying you fucked me up. In a way, you did. But I’m the one who’s been hiding who I am for twenty-five years. I sheltered myself from ever havin’ to deal with these scenarios, and it’s made me a little…” dumb as a box of rocks. I made a gesture at the side of my head. “Case in point, I was mad at you for weeks. Mad at myself for craving the next hit, mad at you for turning me into a junkie and an anxious mess. I called you toxic to Soph and David when I told them. I explained my reactions, and I said our fling or whatever had been toxic. They laughed in my face, of course.” Seriously, what was it with this man? My nerves were shot now too. No wonder I forgot to eat sometimes. “Anyway. I know my feelings better today. I’ll shut up now.”

As much as I wanted to get a sense of his reaction to my word vomit, it was my turn to avoid eye contact. I didn’t have the guts to face him.

It was too quiet.

I hadn’t even noticed the air changing, but I felt it now, charged and heavy—and not in the good, sexy way.

Pins and fucking needles.

Eventually, with one slight movement after another, he continued preparing our food. Two generous servings of lasagna went into the microwave one by one, and in the meantime, he cut up some lettuce and green onions.

I caught him gearing up to say something a few times. He stopped what he was doing and took a breath, but instead of words coming out, he deflated with a sigh. Then he shook his head and returned to his task.

In the end, he set two plates of food on the bar and told me to bring them to the couch.

The lasagna smelled fantastic, but I wasn’t sure how much I could eat when my stomach was a knotted clusterfuck of nerves and doubts. Nevertheless, I brought the food to the couch and sat down, and Sebastian followed with two glasses and a bottle of something homemade. It came in a lemonade bottle, so I was guessing juice from his grandfather’s orchard.

He dimmed the lights on the way, which didn’t help with the nerves.

On the outside, this looked like a romantic dinner date.

I wanted dates with him. After hiding for so long, I wanted everything I’d missed out on. Maybe even hand-holding and subtle ass-grabs at the store. I wanted to be up there on his wall.

“I wanna say the right thing. Do the right thing.” He tucked into his meal and shook his head. “Can’t fucking think near you.”

I narrowed my eyes. What exactly was the right thing? I didn’t care about right and wrong. I wanted him to just be honest. Both with me and himself.

“Do you have any wine?” I asked. It might help. Thinking was overrated. That was how sober decisions were made.

He nodded with a dip of his chin and finished chewing on his way to the kitchen.

I forked up some lasagna and shoveled it into my mouth. He was weird about food. Knowing him, he wasn’t gonna let me do anything if I didn’t eat first, so I wanted to get it out of the way.

It was good. Soph’s recipe. She put zucchini and Italian sausage in her lasagna too.

I managed to chow down three mouthfuls before Sebastian was back with two wineglasses and a bottle of red.

“Are you forcing yourself to eat?” His forehead creased.

I nodded, unafraid to be honest for once. “Too nervous to be hungry, but I know I gotta eat. Plus, this stunning ogre I know keeps fussin’.”

“Stunning ogre.” He snorted and sat down. “I’ll take it, I guess.” He poured me a glass and handed it over. “I don’t suppose you wanna let the wine breathe—never mind.”

Yeah, I was already guzzling it down.

“You’ve been nervous a lot lately, haven’t you?” he murmured.

I nodded again, a bit more hesitant this time. I didn’t know if this was chitchat or the first step toward something serious. Sooner or later, he had to give me his thoughts.