Kittenfish: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy

by Brenda Lowder

“Fourth wheel,” she interrupts me. “Tarek’s coming alone.”

  I swallow hard and try to keep from choking on my gall. “I’m definitely not coming as Tarek’s date.”

  “It’s not a date!” Kya rapid-fire reassures me. “Just a gathering since we were kids. I’ll be the only one dating tonight. Well, me, and hopefully Trina as well. Please, Marissa? You said you would.”

  “That’s before I knew your slutty brother was coming,” I huff. Slutty and wedding-wrecking and weird with his random apology presents.

  “Please.” Her tone is so plaintive, my heart gives in before my head does.

  “Okay. I’ll come.” I take a deep breath. “But I’m not promising to speak to him.”

  Relief washes over her voice. “Oh, you know Tarek. Speaking when he’s around is never required.”

  I grunt.

  “Thank you, Marissa. Thank you!” The smile is big in her voice.

  We end the call, and I kick myself. Miserable evening for four, your table’s ready.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tarek Oliver

  Hey, Giselle. How’s the trip going? Berlin must be lovely. Are you getting out and about? Enjoying being back in your home city? Hope you’re finding lots of outdoor fun to inspire your work.

  Ha! Tarek’s worried Giselle’s having non-stop indoor fun with the foreign boyfriend. I should reassure him. Right. I should double down to increase jealousy. It’ll drive him nuts.

  Giselle Bisset

  Great, thanks. I’m having soooo much fun, though I can’t say I’m leaving the apartment much. Later!

  ∞∞∞

  Kya and I ride to the restaurant together. I’m glad I’m driving because Kya’s so nervous that her hands are shaking. She’d have driven us into two walls and a little old lady by now.

  “What’s up with you? Why are you so crazy?”

  She takes a deep breath before answering. “I don’t know. Okay, I know. It’s like I told you, it’s really high stakes.” She twists her hands. “I care. And dating’s not easy for me like it is for you.”

  I snort. “Dating’s not easy for me. It’s not easy for anyone.” I put on the turn signal and maneuver into the parking lot.

  “Except Tarek.” Kya sighs.

  I nod and pull the car into a space in front of the Korean BBQ restaurant Mi Shik. “Yeah. Except Tarek.”

  The delicious aroma of charcoal-cooked meat hits us before we even open the door. My belly rumbles, as anxious as I am to get started. I may not be happy about spending time with Tarek, but I’m downright giddy for Korean BBQ. Kya should have led with that.

  Neither Trina nor Tarek have arrived yet, so Kya and I sit down to wait.

  “You don’t think she’s going to stand me up, do you?” Kya crosses her legs and taps an annoying rhythm with her bottom foot on the chic textured concrete floor.

  “It’ll be all right, Ky.” I squeeze her hand and hope Kya’s date shows up soon. I don’t know how much more of her insecurity I can take. Or tapping.

  She sighs. “I know I’m being crazy. I know. I am. And yes, crazier than usual. It’s just, you know, I really think she might be the one…and that’s dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?”

  Kya turns and looks at me, her eyes searching my face. “You know, because of my mom.”

  Realization dawns, and I feel a little jab to the gut. I should have been alert to it sooner. Although Kya hides it well, she’s terrified of commitment. Her mother left them all when Kya was six and Tarek was seven. Their father hurtled through countless meaningless relationships but never remarried. He’s still hurtling, in fact. No wonder Kya—and Tarek—are so messed up in the commitment arena.

  I squeeze Kya’s hand again and this time my heart’s in it. “It’ll work out, Ky. You’re the kindest, most genuine person I know. She’d be crazy not to fall for you.”

  The bell on the restaurant door dings and Trina and Tarek walk in together. Trina is tall—almost as tall as Tarek—and they make a striking pair. It’s obvious Tarek and Trina have met before because Tarek is using his personal brand of charm on a relaxed setting, the level reserved for his sister’s friends and girlfriends.

  “Hey, guys!” Kya jumps up and practically skips on her way to greet them. She hugs each of them in turn and then loops a possessive arm around Trina’s waist, reaching slightly up to do so. An irritated look crosses Trina’s face and my shoulders drop along with my hopes for Kya. My heart pinches for my friend, but it’s just a feeling, I tell myself. I don’t actually know anything about Trina’s feeling for Kya.

  Now that we’ve all arrived, a young Korean man conducts us to our table. He shows us to the back corner of the restaurant where a row of tables are separated by thick bamboo curtains on three sides and the wall of the restaurant on the fourth. It’s an oasis of privacy in the busy, hip industrial setting.

  The legs of the metal chair scrape noisily on the hard floor when Tarek pulls my chair out for me. My eyes snap to his face.

  “This isn’t a date,” I throw out to him at low volume, trying to keep our hostility for each other out of Kya and Trina’s path to true love.

  “I know that.” He pushes my chair in too roughly—and too far forward—when I sit in it. My hair swings over the table, and I immediately have to lean back as another man—older and shorter this time—settles a crock of red-hot coals into the metal hole in the middle of our table.

  Our server, who introduces himself as Kent, arrives with a plastic carafe of water, four cold metal cups, and metal chopsticks for everyone. He covers the coals with a metal grate and fits a steel ring with three segmented compartments around the whole outfit. One section he fills with seasoned sprouts, another with a corn and cheese mixture, and the third with whipped eggs and green onions.

  “Those will cook while your meat grills in the center,” he tells us.

  “Have you ever had Korean BBQ before?” Trina asks me.

  I smile. “No, but I’ve always wanted to. I’m really excited. I love an adventure.”

  “That’s not what I heard,” Tarek mutters next to me.

  I jab him in the shin under the table and wish I’d worn pointier shoes. I glance at him out of the side of my eye, hoping for an “ow!” or at least a grimace of pain, but his face remains impassive.

  Trina, however, is smiling brightly at me, and I turn around to see if there’s someone or something behind me that has caught her attention. Only the beige bamboo curtain is there, swaying slightly with the smoke and the updraft of air from the hood fan over the table grill. I turn back around. Is she chuckling at me? I smile distractedly and tune in to what Kya’s saying.

  “That’s why we’re taking skydiving lessons together.” Skydiving lessons? When did Kya lock that down? She clasps Trina’s hand, and Trina pulls away to pick up her glass of water. Does she hate public displays of affection?

  “Now skydiving is adventurous,” Tarek says with a superior look in my direction. I roll my eyes at him.

  Trina frowns and turns her attention on me. “Kya tells me you’re a writer, Marissa.”

  I pour some cold water into my little silver cup. “Yes. If you can call it that. I’m a journalist. I write the stories no one else wants that involve crazy people or bad weather. And I write obituaries.”

  “Really? That’s so interesting.”

  I regard her with widened eyes. Is she teasing me? No one has ever called my job interesting. Usually the conversation stops when I mention the “o” word.

  “Um…okay, thanks.”

  She leans forward, slanted to the side to avoid the hot grill. “How did you get into it?”

  Kya’s worry lines deepen. Trina is paying me too much attention. Better make my life story short.

  “Oh, I took a job at the paper when I decided I liked affording to eat,” I breeze through.

  “That’s fascinating.” Trina cups her chin in her hand and stares at me. Kya looks like she’s going to cry.

  A pretty femal
e server brings a cart with what looks like thirty small side dishes on it and lays the first two on the table.

  “Here we have some kimchi,” she indicates the first bowl, “and some oi munchim, which is a spicy cucumber—oh,” she interrupts herself and stares at Tarek. “Tarek?” she squeaks.

  The four of us freeze. There was a particular tone to the way she said Tarek’s name. Former conquest, no doubt. The already awkward dinner is about to get worse.

  Yup, sure enough, Tarek squirms in his seat next to me.

  “Hello,” he says to her but keeps his head down and pretends to study the grill.

  Oh, no. He doesn’t even remember her name.

  Oblivious to Tarek’s discomfort and the girl’s mounting anger, Trina looks at my cleavage. “What do you like to do in your free time, Marissa?”

  Kya pulls her empty plate toward her and pushes it away again. She looks more miserable by the second.

  “Excuse me.” I scoot back from the table, intent on escaping this fiasco by hiding in the ladies’ room.

  I jog out of the curtained area of hidden tables and down a short hallway where the restrooms are. I try the handle on the ladies’ room, but it’s locked. A muffled cough issues from within. Occupied. I’ll have to wait out in the open to hide. Which defeats the purpose. The bathrooms are just singles, though…I try the handle to the men’s room. Also locked. Ugh.

  I glance back to the dining area. The curtain in front of our table wavers. Is Trina coming after me? I look around. There’s a door ajar to my right where I can just spy a yellow bucket with a mop inside. A small broom closet. Before I can talk myself into being more of an adult, I dart inside and close the door.

  There’s no lock. I feel along the wall, and I can’t find a light switch either. I don’t care. I know I can’t disappear in here forever, but I need a minute away from Trina ogling my boobs to figure out what to do about this stressful non-date before going back out there. A time-out will help me regroup. Or at least let me catch my breath without anyone watching me do it.

  Footsteps echo outside my door. Someone rattles the knob of one of the restrooms across the hall. Crap. Trina. Hopefully she’ll give up and go back to our table.

  Instead, the closet door swings open, and my stomach leaps. I’m cornered.

  But it’s not Trina’s form briefly illuminated by the hallway light and then suddenly squished up against my person inside the small space.

  It’s Tarek’s.

  He shuts the door behind him, and I jab him with my elbow.

  “Get the hell out of here. This closet is my hiding place.”

  I put my hands in between us and push against his solid chest. His back hits the wall, and the mop bucket sloshes, but I’ve only gained an inch of space between us. It’s a very small closet.

  “You get out of here.” He straightens and erases the inch of distance I’d gained.

  “This was my closet first.” My hands are on his chest again. I don’t know why. Magnets? But before they can push him to get my inch back, they start enjoying the terrain.

  My traitorous fingers trace the defined muscle ridges beneath his shirt through the thin, silky fabric of his dress shirt. His abs are impossibly hard.

  Upset with myself for giving the slutty man credit for his sculpted physique, I push him again but then, as if he has intuited the faint weakness in my fortress of distaste for him, he covers my hands with his and laughs low in his throat. It’s a sexy sound that curls a tendril of desire below my belly.

  “Shut up.” I struggle to hold on to my annoyance, but my words come out breathy and a little upbeat. Like I’m flirting. I shake my head at myself. He’s an ass, I remind myself. Know it. Remember it. Live it.

  He laughs again, and I startle because the sound of it is disturbingly close to my ear. He leans forward and propels me up against my wall, and suddenly there are no freedom inches anywhere around us. We’re vertical pancakes in a stack of two.

  Oh my gosh, he smells good. His citrus woodsy scent is in my nose, traveling to a pleasure center of my brain. My heart thuds in panicky bursts, and I curl my fingers into my fists so they’re not tempted to explore new terrain.

  “We’ve never been this close before,” he whispers in my ear, tickling my neck with his warm breath until the sensitive skin there begs for more. There’s a touch of wonder—and is it fear?—in his tone.

  I should be struggling to break free, to kick him somewhere soft and vulnerable—which wouldn’t be his beautifully muscled chest, if I’m honest. Or his rock-hard wall of abs that are pressed up against my breasts. Yikes. My mind has gone somewhat soft and lumpy. I’m experiencing some kind of brain fog that’s making rational thought impossible.

  My brain function may be out on break, but my hormones are clocking overtime. I wish Liam were here to see how hot I am. My current heat level is blazing past medium spicy. I think I could hit jalapeño or even habañero levels if Tarek’s proximity lasts much longer.

  “Tarek?” I whisper his name against his cheek. I’m not near enough to feel the roughness of his stubble against my face, but if I were to lean in an inch to my left, I would be.

  “Yes?”

  Despite his closeness and the unprecedented physical reaction I’m having to him, I want to tell him off. I want to make him know how wrong he is about every stupid thought and feeling he’s expressed about love and commitment. I want to cuss him out for making Liam leave me and wrecking the life we were meant to have together. The life that was going to be safe and unchallenging and good enough.

  But I don’t do any of that. Breath quickening, heart racing, fingers itching to stretch out past enemy lines, I apparently want something else more.

  To kiss Tarek.

  Tilting up on my toes in the darkness, I aim for his mouth and brush his lips with mine. His are soft and warm and a hot jolt shoots down past my belly. I want more. I’ve gauged the distance right, that’s for sure, but I’ve also shocked him. He pulls away and stacks those missing inches back between us.

  I open my mouth to apologize and realize how ridiculous my situation is. Apologize to the man who dumped me in the shower and bruised my butt? After stealing my fiancé away from me? So to speak.

  But there’s a vulnerability here I’ve rarely seen. He’s trembling, and a pang of regret twinges in my gut for what I know I’m going to do to him.

  “I—” I start, but all at once he collapses the distance between us and seizes my mouth with his.

  My heart flutters against the solid wall of his sculpted chest. His jaw, rough with stubble, brushes against my neck and my knees buckle. He clasps me tight against him with powerful arms. Looping my arms around him, I slide my hand up the back of his neck and stroke his hair. My lips part, and he slides his tongue against mine, caressing, exploring, enjoying. My lower belly quivers. Flames of desire leap south of it.

  He circles my waist with his hands and presses me so flat against the wall that I feel the texture of the plaster against my back and the hard outline of the bulk of his unspoken attraction against my already overheated thigh.

  We kiss hard with lips and tongues and teeth—like someone has shot a starter pistol and we’re racing for the finish line. Our heads swivel, my breath catches, and he lightly bites my neck. I shiver with delight and slide my hands down to his waistband, tucking my fingers over the edge.

  His lips stop kissing me. He caresses my cheek with feather-light fingers and steps away.

  We’re both panting, gulping for air. I feel like I’ll never have enough oxygen to my brain ever again. I peer into the dark space between us and marvel that he’s the one who put it there.

  I turn the door handle and blink painfully in the bright hallway, ending my time-out.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Marinated beef short ribs sizzle on the grill when I rejoin Trina and Kya at our table. My absence has not relieved the tension—the two of them are staring at opposite bamboo curtains in frigid silence.

  “Sor
ry about that,” I say. “Tummy troubles.” It’s technically true. My stomach has not calmed down from the blazing flames Tarek ignited in the closet.

  My brain is having trouble processing recent events. I’ve gone crazy, that’s what I’ve done. It’s the only explanation for making out with Tarek in a broom closet like an eighth-grader. Well, not like me in eighth grade. I was reading about kissing in eighth grade, not actually doing any.

  “This smells great!” I smile and try to rally the table.

  Using stainless steel tongs, meat chef Kent scoots the beef around the grill until he’s placed it near the edges. He pronounces it ready. The three of us pluck beef chunks with our chopsticks and nibble them. Hot, juicy, and full of flavor, the short rib melts in my mouth. I scoop up a couple more pieces and put them on my little plate. I take a pink pickled radish slice from one of the side dishes and eat it with a chunk of the meat. My eyes roll back in culinary ecstasy.

  “Isn’t this fantastic?” I prompt them, satisfaction with my food at least pitching my voice low.

  Kya and Trina grunt at me. They seem to be enjoying the meal, but they’re still not looking at each other. Or speaking to me, apparently.

  I take a deep breath and lean back in my chair. I’m worried about Kya, but I don’t know how to help her. I hope Tarek will return from cooling off in the closet soon. This table could really use his charm to smooth over the missed love connection.

  As if I’ve conjured him, Tarek appears. He moves the bamboo curtain aside and takes his seat next to me, scooting his chair an inch or two to the right, putting more distance between us. He looks pale and shaken. Did he run into a ghost on the short walk back to our table?

  Inclining my head in his direction, I try to catch his eye to figure out what his problem is, but, just like Kya and Trina, he won’t look at me. Instead he picks up his chopsticks. They wobble on their way to the grill.

  My eyes snap to Kya to see if she’s noticed. She’s studying Tarek with concern. She doesn’t look at me, and I breathe a little easier. She’d be watching me, too, if she had any idea what just happened in the mop closet. Since she doesn’t suspect, I can forget that momentary brain fog and congratulate myself that the makeout session didn’t go far enough to number me in the…what? Hundreds? Thousands? Bajillions of women who’d made Tarek their briefest mistake.