Undeniably Enemies: Chapter 17

Shit. Shit. Shit! Wren didn’t say anything. She stared me down for a long, hate-filled moment and then followed the other ladies as they oohed and aahed over my bathroom fixtures. Who does that? Who even cares about the color of them and how the stone goes nicely with the rugs and towels? Men don’t do that. We don’t go into each other’s bedrooms or bathrooms. Those are sacred places. There’s a half bath off the kitchen for guests. My room is my man space, and men respect that.

Not women.

They have no boundaries.

They weren’t supposed to go in my bedroom, and they sure as hell weren’t supposed to see the books on my nightstand. More than that, Wren was never supposed to find out. We’d agreed no more texting. It was over. A truce was declared. We were civil. The tension and sexual energy I couldn’t seem to shake was going to simmer and eventually burn out.

Now that’s all gone, and it’s like the ticking of a bomb with no way to deactivate it.

The women went across the hall to Wren’s place. They’re drinking wine and eating crudités or whatever women do, and we ordered pizza and subs and have beers and bourbon. Vander is setting up my WiFi and TV with all kinds of things I don’t want to know about. I legit surf the internet and occasionally purchase a few things, but the way he’s going about it, you’d think I worked for the NSA and held our government secrets on my laptop.

Alden is watching him and asking questions as he goes, to which Vander hardly replies. Mason, Bennett, and Owen are talking babies and what to expect when you’re expecting or something like that. Stone is texting with Tinsley because the man can’t breathe for five minutes without her. And I’m stuck here in some state of limbo, anxiously sweating this out.

She had accepted my apology, and even though I hated the terms she set before us, I knew she was right to do so. I’d been letting my guard down. She was under my skin. It was turning into hours spent every day thinking about her and fantasizing about her and wanting her. Desperately. Heedlessly. To the point where I see no other woman but her.

It needed to stop, and I didn’t know how to do that. So her line in the sand was the perfect antidote. A rule I would follow until this thing with her passed. Nothing good would come of my attraction to her, and I was determined to do the right thing with her. For once.

Now that’s all fucked, and she’s across the hall probably plotting which part of me she’s going to sever from my body first—my head, heart, or balls.

I’d have to take it. I have no verbal recourse. I lied by omission. I kept this secret from her because I… fuck, because I wanted her to talk to me without all the hatred and animosity she always has with me. I wanted… hell, I don’t even know. Her, I guess. I wanted her, even if it was just that small piece, and that felt like the only safe way to have her.

“You okay?” Owen asks, and I realize I’ve been standing in my kitchen, staring at the wall that abuts her apartment, for I don’t even know how long on my quest to find a bottle opener.

“I’m good.”

Owen sets the bottle of Blanton’s he brought down on the counter. “Want one?”

“Sure.” Fuck yes, I do. I pull a set of tumblers down from the cabinet, and he pours both of us large glasses.

“Pour me one?” Bennett yells out, and Owen throws a hand up to let him know that he’s got him. Bennett comes over and joins us, leaning his back against the counter and surveying everything as he gratefully accepts the decent pour Owen gave him. “It’s a great place. And I really like your neighborhood. I’m kind of jealous of that.”

I chuckle. “Thanks, man. But as memory serves, your place isn’t too shabby.” Understatement of the year. He lives in a big house with a great backyard in the South End.

He shrugs. “Just different.” He nudges me conspiratorially. “Remember our apartments in LA?”

I wince. “Yes, but I’d rather not.”

“Me neither.” The three of us raise our glasses and toast. “To living in Boston, to friendship, and to your new digs. Congrats.”

“Cheers.” We all take a sip of the smooth bourbon, and despite my inner turmoil over Wren, I can’t help but love how my place is coming together. Even with Vander taking over my living room.

“It’s weird, right?”

“What is?” I ask Owen.

“You living across the hall from Wren. It’s like the two of you can’t escape each other.”

“You’re telling me. Weird doesn’t begin to cover it.”

He smiles, and something hits his eyes I can’t quite read. “I’m glad you do, though.”

That catches me by surprise. “Really? Why?”

He shrugs. “It’s a nice building in a nice neighborhood, but I still wish she were living in a place like Stone’s and Mason’s.”

“You mean a high-rise with security cameras and a doorman?”

“She refused because she’s Wren, but I’m glad you live across the hall from her. You may not like her, but I know you’d never let anything bad happen to her, and you’d never let anyone hurt her if you could stop it.”

Jesus, Owen. Way to hit me with a bullet straight to the gut.

“Never,” I promise him because it’s true. I’d protect her from anyone. Just not myself, I guess, since I constantly seem to be someone who hurts her. I’m looking at Owen and talking about his little sister, a woman who’s ten years younger than us, and who I kissed last weekend and explained how I want to fuck her with her sex toys, while he’s worried about her safety, and it makes me feel awful.

He’s my best friend, and he’s asking me to protect his sister when I’m the one she needs protection from.

What is wrong with me?

Am I that bad of a human?

I never thought I was until now.

“Honestly, it’s why I wanted Estlin to live with you,” I tell him. “At least that way I knew she was safe.”

“It’s also why I wanted Katy to live with me when we were trying for Willow.” Bennett smirks. “Well, that and other reasons.”

Owen frowns. “I do not want to hear about that. As far as I’m concerned, Katy is like Wren, and they’re asexual. But speaking of that, now we have to find Jack a woman.”

Half of my sip of expensive bourbon shoots from my mouth while the other half drowns me as it tries to go down my trachea instead of my esophagus. I choke and sputter and cough like I’m dying, which this sort of feels like because alcohol burns like fuck when it hits the back of your nose and lungs.

“You okay?” Bennett laughs, smacking my back. “Is there something you want to tell us?” He’s teasing me now, baiting me, and I don’t like it.

“No,” I wheeze once I’m semi back under control.

“Did you tell him our plan?” Alden asks, joining us.

“Plan?” I grab a paper towel and use it to wipe my face and the counter.

Owen, Bennett, and Alden are exchanging looks I don’t like either.

“What?” I’m already getting defensive.

Alden shrugs and grabs the bottle opener off the counter so he can crack the top on his expensive import. “I have a friend at the community health center⁠—”

“No,” I cut him off before he can get going with this, but he plows right past that.

“She’s gorgeous and looks like an old Hollywood pinup. She’s a total sweetheart, too.”

“Not my type,” I tell him.

“She’s everyone’s type. Trust me.” He slaps me on the shoulder. “How about dinner some night this week? We’ll quad so it’s not so awkward. She’s a doctor as well, so she’ll get along well with Katy and Keegan, and Estlin likes everyone.”

“No.”

“Tilly the Hun was a long time ago,” Owen jumps in. “It’s time, old man.”

“I don’t need to be set up.” It’s not even about Tilly. I simply hate the idea of being set up.

“I’m sure Bennett agrees,” Alden continues.

I give Bennett a look because he better not, considering I was there for him after his ex, and he throws his hands up. “I’m staying neutral. But I do agree it would be good for you to start dating and not just screwing around. Which you hardly do anyway. The monk look isn’t a good one on you.”

“Just meet her,” Owen jumps back in. “It’s one dinner. One date. Hell, I never thought I’d find anyone after what my ex did to me. Now I have Estlin, and I’m so happy, and Bennett has Katy. Same thing. One awful woman shouldn’t ruin all your future happiness.”

He’s right. I know he’s right. Except it was more than just Tilly. Everything good I’ve ever had or wanted has been taken from me in one form or another. The other shoe always drops. It’s Murphy’s law, and it’s been the story of my life. Case in fucking point, the place I worked my ass off to buy has Wren Fritz living across the hall.

I’m jinxed. Karmatically fucked. In my last life, I must have killed nuns or puppies for sport. I get it. It could be worse, and many have it way harder than I do. But the idea of tempting fate again, of facing another disappointment or heartbreak, isn’t appealing. Not even a little. And being set up always feels forced. It’s never casual or comfortable. Not to mention, I’m not a billionaire like these guys are, and women generally get the wrong impression of that when we all go out. They think I’m like them, and I’m not.

But I don’t feel like explaining that to them. Owen and Bennett are in love, and Alden has his second chance with Keegan, and I’m just this guy floating in between. So instead of another no, I say, “I’ll think about it.”

“My man.” Alden fist bumps me.

“Kincaid, I think we’re all set up.” Vander waves to me from the living room, and I take the diversion for what it is and run with it. Our food arrives, and we put on the Bruins game and settle in with alcohol and hockey. And for a while, I relax. I laugh with the guys and drink and eat and just chill out. It’s exactly what I needed.

But when the door shuts behind the last guy, I run into my room and go straight for my phone. Holding the device in my hand, I pull up my text stream with Wren and start to pace. What am I going to say? Maybe I don’t have to say anything. Maybe she’ll just go back to hating me and that will be that.

I’m sorry. Delete. I was going to tell you. Delete because that’s a goddamn lie. I don’t know how to leave you alone. I don’t know how to stop thinking about you. And part of me is becoming afraid I never will. You threatened me with that curse, but it’s become my reality. I bought the romance books you suggested and texted with you just to talk to you. Even when I knew I shouldn’t.

I don’t send that. I just read the words, startled by the truth in them. It was one night. Not even a complete night. It was less than an hour of flirting and sharing that drink, but the imprint she left on me has been impossible to wipe away. I never felt this with Tilly, a woman I was with for two years, and whom I was set to marry.

I’ve been like this since that night, and it makes no sense. I don’t even like Wren. She’s a spoiled, fiery, loudmouthed, gorgeous pain in my ass. I still don’t believe in magic or potions, but with her, to quote Shakespeare, I am fortune’s fool.

I moved back to Boston, and because her people are my people, she’s always there. We’d go out, and I’d do everything I could not to watch her. Not to listen to her or want to crush every man’s skull if they dared to talk to or flirt with my girl.

That stops me. No. Not my girl. She’s never been that. And yet that’s how she felt. Like my secret. Mine to hate. Mine to fight with. Mine to tease and taunt. Mine.

I’m afraid that drink ruined my life.

I don’t send that either. I just continue to type out my growing confession.

Bang! The sound startles me so badly I drop my phone on the bed and race from my bedroom to where the sound came from, only to stop dead in my tracks. Wren is standing in front of my open door, peering around as she searches for me. She has no weapons in her hands, so I walk toward her.

Static crackles between us, the promise of an impending storm.

Her eyes narrow in on me with a look that should have me dead on the spot. “You. It was you?!”

“If I had told you⁠—”

“You should have told me!” she fires back, her hands all over the place as she over-gesticulates.

“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Maybe? You don’t know?” She’s incredulous and flustered as she shoves her wild hair back from her face. “How was it you? I was eighteen when you first texted. That was two years before that night, and we never exchanged numbers.”

“Owen wanted you to have my number in case you ever needed anything. I was closer to you in LA than he was in Boston.”

She stares up at me as she searches her memory. “Why don’t I remember that?”

I hitch up a shoulder. I have no answer for her, but that’s what happened.

“You bought the books. Why?”

“Because I was walking past a bookstore and…”I thought of you so I went in and bought them. Because you make me desperate, and I don’t understand it. The number of times I’ve jerked off imagining her fucking herself with her toys to these books is embarrassing. I read them thinking about her reading them. I don’t know how or when it happened, but she’s taken over everything.

“And what?”

I shrug. “And bought them.”

She blows past that, her anger its own life force as it pulses through her veins. “Dammit, Jack. I told you things.”

“That you shared with a stranger and not me.”

“Because I didn’t think I’d ever see this person! There’s safety with that, even if there isn’t. I didn’t know who you were! Why would I voluntarily tell you anything?”

“Because you feel this too,” I tell her bluntly, growing tired of the lying and the game playing.

She bites into her lip and looks away. “We have fucked-up, unhealthy chemistry. That’s all it is.”

That’s not all it is, and she knows that. She’s just unwilling to admit it. Hell, I was unwilling to admit it until about two minutes ago, but seeing her here, looking at her…

I take a step, then another, and she watches me approach. Reaching over her head, I shut the door, trying not to wince at the outline of the doorknob on my freshly painted walls.

“I’m so furious with you I can hardly stand here and not strangle you. First, I have to deal with you in the ER, now you live next freaking door to me, and now this! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“To avoid this fight.”

That sets her off a bit, and she shoves my chest. “You son of a bitch. You had no right! You should have told me. The things I told you⁠—”

“I told you things, too. Even though I did know who you were.”

She shakes her head, venom in her eyes. “You were messing with me. I was a game to you.”

I cup her jaw. “You have been a lot of things to me over the years, Wren Fritz, but a game has never been one of them.” My lips sear down on hers in a fierce kiss I’m positive I’ll never come back from.

One kiss. A match to a fuse. And we detonate in a mess of tongues and teeth and lips and hands and hate. I walk her back until I have her pressed against the door, and a low growl tickles my throat as she flicks my tongue with hers.

Fuck yes.

I yank on the neck of her sweater, and she tears at my shirt. Seams rip, hands fumble, lips battle. “Stop kissing me.”

Neither of us stops.

She bites my lip. “This can’t happen.”

I tilt her head the other way and press her deeper against the door so I can palm her tits over her sweater. But this fucking sweater is in the way, and I wrench it over her head. She’s only wearing a paper-thin cropped white tank top underneath, her pretty tits and hard nipples barely hidden from me.

“No bra?”

She squints at me. “I don’t exactly need one, do I, asshole?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” I rip down the top of her tank top and stare at the goddamn stunning sight before me. The one I wasn’t afforded five years ago. I’ve pictured what she looks like naked a million times, and none of those did this reality any justice. She is perfect. That is until she swats me away.

“You haven’t earned me.”

Ain’t that the truth?

“I don’t care.” I blow cool air on her sweet tits, shove her hand out of the way, and suck one full breast straight into my mouth. She moans and rocks against me like she’s searching for my dick, and holy Christ is she perfect. Her skin… I’m done for.

With a firm grip, she yanks the back of my head away and back up to her face, where she starts kissing me again.

“No. We’re not doing this. I hate you.”

I play with her tongue and nibble on her bottom lip. So fucking plump and delicious I can hardly stand it. She snatches my hand from her ass and places it straight over her breast, using me to rub her. Her skin is so soft, so silky, and her small tits are the ultimate tease, capped with the prettiest pink nipples I’ve ever seen. I need them. I have to come all over them. Maybe torture them a bit until she whines and moans and begs for me to stop. Definitely lick them some more.

“You can have two orgasms, and I’ll have none,” I offer as I pant against her between deep, diving kisses. “They can be with your toys if you want while I watch and go crazy that I can’t touch you. That counts as punishment for me.”

“Hardly. You’ll still get to see how I like it.”

Also true. And fuuuuck, how hot is that? I’m like a kid in a toy store. I want, I want, I want. Give me, give me, give me.

Rearing up onto her toes, her nails sink into my shoulders as she rubs her pussy against my aching cock, and I help her along, grinding up into her until I hit her sweet spot, and she moans. I start to dry fuck her against the door while I continue to kiss her and play with her tits and nipples.

“How am I not supposed to hate you more than I already do for this? You lied to me. You hid who you were.”

“You want to hate me? Fine. Hate me. Just fucking fuck me already.”