Kittenfish: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy

by Brenda Lowder

  I’m pleased to have resolved my dating situation, but the date I’m most excited about is the one with my vibrator right after my bath tonight.

  I run some hot water into the jetted tub and add some scented bath salts. I put my hair up, light a couple of candles, and relax against the jets. Usually I choose a paperback romance to set the mood, but tonight my musings take me back to the stairwell makeout session with Tarek, and these memories are sustaining enough.

  After my bath, I let the water drain, towel off, and slip on my satin robe. I go to the kitchen for a glass of water but am interrupted by a knock on the door.

  I look out the peephole. It’s Tarek. As my heart flutters against my ribcage, I purposely turn off my brain and open the door.

  He’s leaning on his arm against the doorframe, panting like he’s just run up the stairs. He’s drenched, water dripping from his hair and plastering his shirt to his chiseled chest. There’s a hunted look in his eyes which travel from my face to the ample cleavage on display in my too-open robe. I pull the sides together and tie it tighter.

  “Why are you wet?” I ask without looking up, a hint of annoyance in my tone.

  “Because you left me standing in the rain.”

  My eyes go to his. “It wasn’t raining when I left you.”

  “No, it wasn’t. But I stood there thinking long enough until clouds rolled in and rained on me.” He sweeps his wet hair out of his eyes. Tiny droplets of water flick my arm. “And then I couldn’t get a parking space and had to park two blocks away from here.”

  I nod, but continue to bar his entrance.

  “Let me in.” His intense eyes pin me with his heated gaze.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I know what will happen.”

  “God, yes.”

  “No.”

  “Please.”

  And that’s the word that’s odd. Not the word so much or the meaning behind it, but the way he says it. With anguish. Like he has feelings. Like he’s in torment, and I’m the one and only woman who can save him.

  He’s exquisite. It’s true. I’ll concede the point. I don’t have a problem saying it. The man is nipple-hardeningly attractive. It’s the reason Tarek is the absolute best player, the best manipulator of women, the most prolific man whore in the entire world. I don’t think there’s a woman on earth who wouldn’t drop her panties for him right now. Even I, who have known what he is, been aware of his tricks, hated him for what he’s done, and seen him in action for the last twenty years, am almost orgasming just from looking at him.

  With his hand planted on the wall by my door, his breath coming in gasps, his smoldering gaze piercing mine, I feel like having sex with him is the only, only thing I have ever wanted.

  “Yes. Yes, please.” I step aside and let him in.

  Chapter Twenty

  He barrels through the door and kicks it closed behind him. His hands are all over me, sliding against the slippery fabric of my robe.

  I tear his jacket off and throw it aside and then start undoing the buttons on his ruined brown silk shirt. He makes a frustrated sound low in his throat and rips the shirt open for me, scattering buttons. He shrugs it off, wraps his arms around my waist, and kicks his shoes off. He lets go and pauses for a minute to bend and take off his socks. I slide my hand against the outside of his pants.

  He curses under his breath in what sounds like impatience, longing, and delight. “Duchess, you’re killing me.”

  I step back and let him finish taking his socks off. He straightens and pulls me back to him by my belt. It unties and my robe gapes open, revealing my naked body.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he breathes before taking me in his arms again. I warm all over, my blood zinging hot in my veins with his touch, his attention.

  His technique is so good. It’s a wonder he doesn’t charge for this. Women would pay to have someone—him, with his gorgeous body and everything else—make them feel this good about themselves.

  He lowers his lips to mine and kisses me hard, hauling me to him, pressing a hand on my back and the other at my waist so I’m flush against him, crushed against his chest with pulse-accelerating firmness.

  “Follow me,” I say huskily, and walk backward to my bedroom. He stops just inside and looks around.

  “I’ve never been in here before.”

  I laugh at his serious tone. “I know.”

  He glances at the made bed with its fluffy white duvet, at the dresser with my earring tree and jewelry box atop it, and the partially open closet door, which reveals my clothes sorted by both type and then color, in Roy G. Biv order.

  He runs his hand over the green velvet fabric of the curtain. “I always wondered what your room looked like.” He turns and scans the titles of the books on the shelf.

  I cross over to him. He stops looking at my books and looks at me. I scramble onto the bed. “Come on!” I order.

  He smiles and follows me. I kiss him hungrily. He runs a caressing hand over my shoulder and my pulse skyrockets.

  He moves over me, supporting himself on his arms, and pauses. There’s a look in his eyes I can’t read, but it’s gone before I know what it means.

  He inclines his head and takes my lips with his. I forget to breathe. He breaks from the kiss to lean up on his elbows and study me with serious eyes.

  “If any of your boyfriends rings the doorbell right now, don’t answer, okay?” His kiss crushes down on me and I moan.

  “Ungh…I promise.”

  ∞∞∞

  I wake up slowly, my body warm and heavy from sleep, muscles aching in the most pleasurable way. I turn over and watch Tarek, who’s still asleep. His face is relaxed, his expression innocent, angelic, vulnerable. His long dark lashes lie soft against his cheeks. His brown hair curls slightly toward his face in different directions, looking all the better for being tousled.

  Panic slams into me. I have to go. I have to get out of here. I scoot to the edge of the bed. I have to leave before he wakes. I know the Tarek carnival ticket is good for one ride only. It ends in the morning, if not before. He’s never had a second date, never gives a second ride. There will not be a repeat performance. I don’t want to see him today, awkward with the weight of an ending.

  As quietly as possible, I throw on some yoga clothes and pack my makeup and a work outfit into my duffle bag. I’ll take advantage of that Fitness Lifeline gym membership I haven’t used in two months. I’ll get a good workout in and shower and dress there.

  This way, when I run into Tarek next, I’ll be as good as he is at pretending last night never happened.

  ∞∞∞

  Lexy calls me on my cell while I’m at work.

  “Would it be possible for filming to go on hiatus?” she asks, her voice a little shaky.

  I lean back in my chair. I haven’t even written the next scene. Tarek hasn’t messaged Giselle lately, and, well, not that I’ve made any firm decisions, but the idea of catfishing Tarek has lost its appeal. Sure, I’d like for him to regret coming between Liam and me. And more than that—increasingly more than that as I’ve gotten physical with him—I’d like for him to learn a life lesson about the existence of love, a woman’s feelings, and the value of a real relationship. But what we have—what we had—was only physical. As much as I might like to, I can’t affect him emotionally like that. And who knows if Giselle ever could. At the moment I can’t stomach trying to get him to love somebody else. “I think that could be arranged. For how long?”

  “Two, three weeks, tops. I got a role that’s really good. Not so big now, but could lead to better things later on. But it starts right away.” Her pitch is even higher than usual, light with excitement.

  “Sure. I think I could work it out with the other actors.” I pull a pen out of the cup on my desk and click it up and down. “We could all use a break. And this sounds like a great opportunity for you.”

  She blows out a breath. “Wonderful!” I can hear the smile
in her voice. “I’ll be in touch!”

  “Great,” I say, thinking that throwing some more physical time apart between Giselle and Tarek might be just the thing to bring them closer together emotionally.

  Complications are good for love, right?

  ∞∞∞

  Tarek Oliver

  How’s Berlin? Isn’t it about time for you to come home?

  He’s thinking about Giselle enough to write her. And he’s asking when she’s coming home. Does he miss her? Is he in love with her? Is this lesson in love finally working? Was he thinking of Giselle, the myth with Lexy’s face, while he was making love to me? I don’t care, I remind myself firmly. I force myself to write him back.

  Giselle Bisset

  It would be, but I got a new assignment I have to stay and finish. I’ll be here at least another two weeks, maybe three.

  I miss you, though.

  Tarek Oliver

  Miss you too. I had a good time hanging out with you and Marissa and everyone. Can’t wait to do that again.

  ∞∞∞

  It’s Friday before I see Blaire. She shows up at my desk wearing oversized sunglasses and a sombrero.

  “What’s with the sombrero?” I’d told myself I wouldn’t feed into her drama anymore, but it’s too distracting not to ask.

  She pulls her sunglasses to the end of her nose and peers over them at me. “I’ve been trying to be culturally insensitive.”

  I blink at her. Only Blaire. “Is it working?”

  “No. People already thought I was Hispanic. And according to 23andMe, they’re twenty-five percent right.”

  I shake my head. “Where have you been?”

  She sinks into the chair by my desk. “Ronnie had me tested for dyslexia.”

  “What? You’re not dyslexic. You just wanted to spell ‘Dildo Fest.’”

  She sighs. “Unfortunately, it turns out I am dyslexic, and now Ronnie won’t fire me.” She takes her sombrero off and throws it on the floor. Her hair is frizzy underneath. It’s a not-put-together look I’ve never seen on Blaire before.

  “You really want to get fired?” Of course she does. There’s no other defense for her level of insanity.

  She nods. “Desperately.” She leans back with a sigh. “But now it feels impossible to achieve.”

  I turn my chair around to ask the obvious question. “Why don’t you just quit?”

  She sighs again, and her shoulders sag. “I guess I’ll have to, but I really wanted to get fired.”

  “We all have dreams.” I shake my head. “Why?”

  She looks down her nose at me. “For the unemployment. And because of the non-compete clause in our contracts. I want to go work for The Herald.”

  I throw my head back. “Oh my gosh. You work in classifieds. Do you really think Ronnie would hold you to that non-compete clause?”

  She puts a finger to her mouth and chews on her nail. Her eyes dart to the walkway by my desk, but no one’s coming. “And because it was fun.”

  That’s the Blaire I know and love.

  She stands to go then bends to pick up her sombrero. “Well, I’m still employed, so I’ve got to get to work.” She rolls her eyes. She has never sounded sadder.

  “You go-getter, you!” I smile broadly, trying to send her some of my cheer.

  She stops and turns around, suddenly alert. “Did you have sex with Brandon?”

  I sit up straight, and my mouth falls open. “No. Not yet. Why?”

  Her eyes narrow, scanning me with a calculating gaze and a frown. “You’re too happy. And your skin has that healthy, great-sex glow.” She frowns.

  “Oh, thanks. I don’t know why.” I shrug and try to look innocent.

  She tilts her chin, unconvinced. “There’s something up with you.”

  I shake my head and widen my eyes. “Must be the avocado toast I’ve been eating.” I swivel to my computer and type nonsense until I hear her shoes clicking against the floor tiles, returning to her own desk and her own life and hopefully not preoccupying herself with mine.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  When Liam shows up at my door on Friday night, his shirt and khakis are freshly pressed, his pants sporting sharp vertical center creases. He hates to iron. A tiny lump lodges in my throat at the effort he’s gone to. I swallow and steel myself. What am I thinking? It should take more than a little ironing to make up for the heartache he’s caused me, even if he has returned for me.

  “Hi.” He licks his lips, and his eyes travel from my face to my feet and back again.

  “Hey. You ready?” I ask, still holding on to my door. The tiniest bit of me is reluctant to leave with him and start us down the post-breakup path.

  “Yeah.”

  “Let’s go. I’m ready too.” I say this, hoping to make it true. My purse is already on my arm so I don’t have to let him into the apartment. I step into the hallway and close the door behind me.

  “Do you want to drive, or do you want me to?” Liam pushes the elevator button to go down.

  “You can drive.” I pretend I don’t know that he prefers to be driven around.

  When we get to the hibachi restaurant, Liam holds the door open for me—something I don’t remember him ever doing before. I wonder what happened with the stripper that his manners have improved. And what, exactly, made him come back to me? I’m burning with more questions today, but I’m also scared to get the answers. We’ll take this slow. Slower is safer.

  We’re shown to one of the grills and told that a chef will join us shortly. Liam and I sit by ourselves for a while, and I marvel how, with so much I’d wanted to say to him for weeks now, I don’t know how to start.

  “Nice place.” He surprises me by speaking first. “Have you been here before?”

  Several times, and I’d told him about it when we were together, but obviously he doesn’t remember. Will we forget everything that happened B.S. (Before the Stripper)? Start a whole new narrative for our relationship?

  “It’s good. I think you’ll like it.” I unfurl the silverware from my napkin.

  He nods and licks his lips. He arranges his own silverware and after a minute says, “The other night was weird.” He looks at me as if I should know why. When I don’t say anything, he goes on, “Finding you and Tarek together like that.” I give him a blank look. Let him think what he wants. I’m not sure the truth would be less shocking. “It made me forget all the things I’d wanted to tell you before coming over.”

  A young woman in a red satin embroidered dress and chopsticks in her bun seats a family of three across the grill from us and takes our drink orders. When she leaves, I angle my knees toward Liam and wait for him to say more. He looks at me with expectant eyes as if he hopes I’ll help him out. I won’t.

  “So, um, I want us to start fresh. I regret…a lot of things.” He scoots forward in his seat, and his voice picks up energy. “I want you to know that I’m all in. I want to forget the…interruption…between us completely. I’m back and I want us”—he waves a hand between us to indicate the two of us—“back.” He wipes his palms on his thighs, and I wonder if they’re sweating because he’s talking to me or because of the heat from the grill.

  I nod, ready to agree with him, but I stop myself. “There’s no going back to what we were, Liam.” I swallow the lump that’s threatening my throat again. “I’ll never feel the way I used to about you—the blissful trust I gave you unquestioningly.” I take a sip of water to give myself a beat. “But we might be able to find a new way forward with some forgiveness.”

  He takes my hands in both of his. His touch is tender, and the look he gives me is even more so. “Yes. I forgive you.”

  I yank my arms away and stare at him, open-mouthed. “I was talking about me forgiving you.”

  He sits back. “Oh, right.” He rubs a hand over his chin. “But you know, you’re not blameless in this.”

  “What do you mean?” Here it is. The list I’ve been waiting for. Everything that’s wrong with me th
at made him listen to Tarek and run away with a stripper. Instead of looking at him, I stare at the onion volcano the hibachi chef is lighting on fire.

  Liam takes a deep breath. “You weren’t always as tuned in to our relationship as I would have liked.”

  I whip my head around and gape at him. No recriminations about medium spicy? About not wearing makeup every day? About saving sex for nights and weekends?

  I feel like a deer stepping cautiously into a clearing during hunting season. “In what way?”

  He squeezes the table edge before answering. Finally, he shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess I always felt like we were waiting for something—like real life hadn’t started yet.”

  I blink at his bizarre answer. I have no idea what to say. Or how to take that. I feel like I should be upset and defend the relationship we had, but the truth is that after the initial hurt, I haven’t really missed Liam and the life we had. Luckily, it’s time for the chef to load our plates with the steaming stir-fried vegetables, so I sort of nod at Liam and hold my plate out, all the time wondering what it is I’ve really been waiting for.

  ∞∞∞

  Saturday night I meet Brandon at Pho City Café to eat pho. The restaurant is my choice, not his, but he seems happy enough to go along when I suggest it. I’ve never been before but have been looking forward to trying it.

  Cute wood shutters and striped cloth awnings attach to walls painted with tropical cottage scenes. Green vines and ropes of silk flowers and leaves twist over the huts, edge the ceiling, and drape down at intervals, making me feel a little like I’m at a Disney World version of a Southeast Asian village.

  I spy Brandon at a secluded table under one of the wooden awnings, and he waves at me. He stands to greet me and pulls me into a hug. There’s an awkward moment when I go to kiss his cheek, and he turns his head, and my kiss lands half on his cheek and half on his mouth. He stands still as if contemplating an attempt at a real kiss, but I release him and sit down in my seat before he can.