Undeniably Enemies: Chapter 13

I hadn’t planned on going out. Not really. The notion of going to get laid was there and it was tempting, but it required effort and energy, both of which I was lacking by the time I left work. That was until Alden called. I haven’t seen him in a while, both of us busy and working on opposite sides of town. It was an easy excuse not to be home alone tonight, one I was grateful for, and I didn’t think twice about telling him I’d meet him for dinner.

I needed to clear my head. I needed to get her out of my head.

But then she was there. Because she’s always there. I couldn’t escape her, and the moment I saw her in that tiny, nothing of a dress with a drink in front of her and every man’s eyes glued to her body, it was as if fate were throwing me a big, fat middle finger. Alden was overjoyed. The guy has always had a thing for Keegan and saw this as an opportunity to rekindle what they once had.

For me, it was hell.

Her body tucked in that small booth next to mine. The feel of her pressed against me. The stubborn, prideful, defiant look in her eyes that never fails to make my blood thrum with heat. And when she told me she wasn’t going to let me drive her home, I lost it a bit. I told her what I’d do to her if she were mine—something she’ll never be—and I listened to her sharp intake of breath. Felt her body shudder ever so slightly.

Hell, I could practically smell her arousal, and it short-circuited my brain.

I wanted to do everything I’d whispered in her ear.

No. That’s not correct.

More. I wanted to do more than that. I wanted to do everything.

But I wouldn’t stop there.

Not until she was writhing and moaning for me. Begging me to make her come. And she would, too. I have no doubt that if pushed, Wren Fritz could be such a good girl. I saw her reaction when I accidentally let that slip the first time, and I soaked it in when I intentionally said it again.

But that’s the problem with Wren. I want her. I just don’t want to want her. More than that, I’m drawn to her. Inexplicably. Inappropriately. Shamefully. Wanting a woman who hates you is more than just masochistic. It’s a recipe for disaster.

What was it that Sorel said we had? Tension. I can feel it. It’s a life force. Something real and palpable. It’s also problematic.

I want it gone. Just like her.

I wasn’t going to do anything with her. I wasn’t even going to touch her. I knew that. I made that promise to her and to myself years ago. But I was going to make sure she got home safely and that it wasn’t with another man. That was for damn sure.

Wren’s been through a lot, Jack. I know you say you don’t like her, but just don’t be too rough on her.

What did that mean? What had she been through? My curiosity, my intrigue, has grown into its own life force. I hate the hold she has on me. How she is the one person who makes my composure slip time and time again at the smallest provocation. I wanted a night off, a night away from her, but that wasn’t going to happen.

And when she ran off, I finally chased.

At first, I thought I missed her and was half-tempted to text her and ask where the hell she went and what her address was. But then she’d know it was me she’d been texting, and I was certain that would open a fresh wave of fighting I wasn’t in the mood for, and regardless, she’d tell me to fuck off and not answer.

Then I saw her slip into a large, black SUV, and I raced down the street to my car, which was only parked a few spots away, and I followed them. I told myself I was making sure she was safe, but I knew I was also checking where she lived. Now I’m watching her slip out of the SUV and jog in her heels and tiny dress that practically shows her ass up the steps of her building.

A brownstone on Commonwealth. My brownstone on Commonwealth.

I park across the street and watch the building like a stalker through the bare trees that line the center divide. The second-floor light flickers on, and I grip my steering wheel so tight that the leather creaks. I’m a half-beat from ripping the fucking thing from my car and chucking it straight at her window. Furious hands drag up my face and through my hair, tugging the longer ends with my fists.

Next fucking door. She lives next door to me. In my new building. In the place that I’ve worked my ass off to save for and purchase. No. Not her. Goddammit, not her of all fucking people. The title of that stupid drink I wish I’d never picked up, let alone shared with her, flickers through my head, mocking me.

I’m stuck with her. Trapped.

‘Til death do us part? Yep, that’s how this feels. Like death.

What am I going to do? I can’t live across the hall from her.

Mentally, I go through the layout of my place and know a few of our walls are connecting. The way our brownstone is, there are two apartments on each floor, the doors facing each other with a small hall between them, but inside many of the walls connect since the building is tall and narrow. I could sell it. I could sell it and find something else, but considering I’m a few short days away from moving in and the lease on my current place is up in one week, that’s not feasible.

Overwhelming exhaustion and defeat settle on my shoulders, and my forehead meets my steering wheel as I breathe in and out slowly through my nose. I hate this. I hate it so much. Because seeing her at work wasn’t enough, I now have to live next door to her?

I’ll go insane. I’ll be listening for her constantly. Wondering what she’s doing just across the hall. It’ll be torture.

Just one thing. That’s all I wanted. One thing that wasn’t a disappointment. One thing that was mine that no one could take from me. But that’s exactly what Wren has done. And if I didn’t hate her before, I sure as hell do now.

With a growl, I decide to get myself something to eat and go home. I didn’t exactly get a chance to eat dinner tonight with Alden, and I’m starving. I find a Thai place nearby, but once I have my order in my hand and get back in my car, I don’t want to go home. At least not to my old home. I’m still fuming. I’m not sure when it’ll go away, and I need to reassure myself that even though Wren is my new goddamn neighbor, my place is still mine, and she hasn’t tainted it.

With the takeout bag in one hand and my keys in my other, I unlock the front door. Wren’s light is still on, and I tread carefully up the steps, not wanting her to hear me. My apartment door is next, and I close it behind me and flip on the lights, taking in the expanse of gleaming hardwood and freshly painted light gray walls.

I set my takeout on the counter and walk around, touching the walls and smooth built-ins. My bathroom is finished, and it looks exactly as I envisioned it would. My mom helped with the design—something I’m not good at and don’t even pretend to be—and the entire place is stunning.

I love it. I do.

The previous owner left a few barstools when they moved out, and I sit on one and slide my food along the new stone toward me. I take out the containers one by one and pop the top on my beer. Once my furniture and new sofa get here, it’ll be real. It’ll be mine. Home.

That’s what I have to focus on. Not the woman in the other apartment.

With that, I dig into my very spicy Thai. But it’s as if the universe gets off on fucking with me, and my phone vibrates on the counter beside me.

I pause. I hesitate. I want to storm across the hall and… do what? I don’t even know anymore. Fuck her? Yell at her? For what? She’s not doing anything wrong. It’s me who’s having the problem, and I don’t want to think more about why that is.

Regardless, do I want her to know? Why couldn’t she just let this rest?

Because it’s Wren. That’s why.

I set my phone down and take a bite of my spring roll.

If only I could forget her.

It’s not a question, and I don’t answer her.

Instead I stare at my screen. I wonder if she’ll figure it out now. And because of all my bitterness, jealousy, and self-ridicule, I come back with.

I sigh. I don’t want her to think that, even if it would be easier.

Christ, this girl. I drag a hand over the top of my head and eat a few more bites of noodles before I answer her. I shouldn’t have responded. But I’m starting to learn everything with Wren is something I shouldn’t do.

My jaw clenches, and I already know I won’t survive this. Was that dickwad the reason she offered up her virginity at a Hollywood party? Or is he the reason that Sorel said she’s had it rough?

That’s been part of my problem since.

No. That’s my immediate answer, but I don’t want to say that. It hits me on a different level to think that night was bad for her. Not just the sex but what came after. It should have been perfect. She deserved perfect, and I wasn’t that for her.

I laugh and finish off my beer. But a powerful wave of lust hits me as I picture her lying on her back with her thighs spread and her skin flushed as she fucks herself with a vibrator or a dildo to orgasm, and just like that, I’m fucking hard. Again. I should go home and go to sleep and put tonight behind me, and yet, I don’t know how to stop.

I’m sorry I let you down.

Why did I write that? Why did I send it? I stare down at my hard dick and blame him. Furious, I shoot off the chair and hastily start to clean up the remains of my late-night dinner. My phone vibrates, and I try to resist. I try not to pick it up and read it. Even as my pulse jumps and my cock throbs at her potential responses.

I swallow. Hard. Does that mean she’d want me to do that another night?

Fuck! Stop! End this now before it gets even further out of control than it already is.

My brow pinches until my screen lights up with pictures of paperbacks.

I shouldn’t do this. I really, really, seriously, totally, completely shouldn’t do this. What the fuck am I doing?!

I bite into my lip. If she ever discovers it’s me texting her, this will have consequences. And not the cute, fluffy kind either. The blow up your life kind. The lose your shot at chief and your best friend and likely have your new neighbor blowtorch your apartment kind.

My body heats, and I clear my throat. Clear all that away.

That stops me short.

Ten minutes later, I’m creeping out of my apartment and down the stairs. When I reach the sidewalk, I turn and find her window. It’s dark now, and I wonder if she’s in bed with one of her dirty books, masturbating with a BOB. What a messed-up night tonight has been. And I have a bad feeling it’s only the start of things with her.