Nemesis

by Skye McDonald

  “I didn’t like him, okay? He was kind of pushy, so I bounced.”

  “And then?”

  Adam saved me with our food and more smiles for my friend. That gave me time to scramble for a story and mentally kick my own ass for not just nodding to the Cam thing. As he strolled away, I knew I had nothing that would redirect her curiosity. Sure enough, her gaze returned to me while she sipped her beer.

  I puffed out a breath. “It was just a random hook-up, nothing to tell. Just a one-time thing, a crazy mistake, and it’s over.”

  “Say how you really feel,” she teased. “Disappointed much?”

  “No. It’s fine.”

  “How did you meet?”

  I shrugged—and then realized my shoulders were tired of doing that. Please, please just let it go, Megs.

  She was quiet a moment, eyes flickering in thought. I’d just reached for my beer when she coughed and slammed her glass on the table.

  “Will. It was Will.”

  My jaw unhinged. I just barely kept the drink upright as it slipped from my hand.

  Meg’s grin split her face. “Oh holy shit, I am so right.”

  “It… wasn’t?”

  She began to laugh. “Nice try, kiddo. God, so obvious! You could’ve sliced the tension between you at the gym and served it for dinner. How did I not get that sooner?”

  “How did you get that at all? Megs, you can’t tell.”

  “Come on. Who am I going to tell? And why would I? But wow, that’s a mess, yeah?”

  “No, it’s not a mess. It’s not a thing.”

  “Not a thing my ass. That man devoured you with those gorgeous eyes. I mean, damn Liv, he’s hot.”

  My head hit the table again. “How about we shut up a little bit? Please?”

  “I take it he was good.”

  I grunted. “But he’s such a smug bastard. You heard him tonight. He’s so condescending to me all the time.”

  She laughed again. “Yeah, and you ate it up and gave it right back. That was classic flirtation.”

  “No, that was real. It’s been real for years.”

  “Everything okay here?” Adam asked.

  I peeked up and smiled sweetly. “All good, thanks. Boy stuff.”

  “Ah-ha.”

  “Adam, did you ever fight with a girl you liked? Just to flirt?”

  He frowned at Megan’s question. “Not that I remember. I’m a little more straightforward in my tactics… like switching sections with my buddy so I can wait on a girl. That’s more my style.”

  Her lips curved. “Oh really?”

  Adam smiled back and leaned on the table. “What do you say, Megan? Can I get your number?”

  We traded glances. Slowly, she turned back to him. “Give me your phone.” He laid it on the table, and she typed in her number. “Sorry it’s not a napkin for me to put a lipstick stain on. Modern age, you know.”

  “I’ll be okay. I prefer lipstick stains on my face anyway.” Adam pocketed his phone and strolled away.

  We looked at each other and dissolved into girly giggles. “Oh my god, that was the cutest thing,” she hissed.

  “Smooth AF.”

  As we ate, she said, “Anyway, about Will. So what if you want him? Nobody has to know—oh, shit, but Tom...”

  “Who said I wanted him?” I nearly screeched.

  “You don’t?”

  I swallowed. “Can we not talk about this please?”

  She chuckled. “It must’ve been good to get you that tongue-tied.”

  “Megan,” I warned.

  “Okay. But it was, right?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yeah. You could say that.”

  She winked at me. “That’s my girl.”

  13

  WIll

  “What do you think, Will?”

  Matt and Carlos stared at me, but I had no response. I didn’t even know what the hell we were talking about. Politics, probably, but local, state, or national? Environmental? Financial?

  Who the fuck cared? Who had time for political theory when Liv Fucking Milani had rocked my world and then turned into an almost literal ghost for the past four days? Why weren’t we all discussing this point instead?

  Right. Because you’re a 30-year-old professional, not a middle schooler at a slumber party.

  “Sorry, long day at work. Say again?” The classic code for I wasn’t listening, but at least it got my head back in the conversation. I picked up the topic—urban development—and threw out some insights from the latest Washington Post editorial as we ate.

  “So how about those new girls at CrossFit? What do you think their story is?” Matt said as we waited on the check.

  Carlos shrugged. “I figured they were a couple.”

  “They’re not.”

  Matt chuckled at my declaration. “Either way, the Italian one seemed to be giving you a run for your money, Langer. I’ve never seen someone dared into a gym membership before. Guess y’all know each other?”

  We rose from the table, and I crooked a tight smile I didn’t feel. “You could say that. I have to run; see you next week.”

  Alone in my car, I gripped the steering wheel and exhaled hard. Know each other, yeah sure. A decade of forced indifference boiled over into the hottest Saturday night I’ve ever known, and I’ve gone and pissed her off again. Sure, you could say we’re acquainted.

  I walked into the house just as Tom was carrying Maddie upstairs for bed. The recliner seemed as good a place as any to continue replaying those moments at the gym when we couldn’t take our eyes off each other—all up until I defaulted to pissing her off, just to get her to commit.

  What is she thinking about all this? Is she thinking about it? I envisioned the flush that had started tinging her cheeks anytime we interacted. She’s thinking about it.

  Logic said that she could be feeling one of many things, from embarrassed to guilty to angry. Angry was a worst-case situation because it could mean she felt used. That would be a nightmare.

  Although logic said all those were options, instinct told me that another possibility was that she felt just as I did: conflicted as hell and desperate for more.

  While I assessed the situation, the back door opened and the woman of my dreams and nightmares walked in. She glared when she saw me, but again she wore that beautiful flush that gave me hope. Her dark hair was loose around her bare shoulders, legs miles long in black jeans. How did she take my breath every damn time I looked at her?

  Enough. We need answers. My pulse kicked up as I swallowed hard and muttered, “Please don’t walk away.”

  She huffed, but she didn’t leave. Arms crossed, she glanced around. “Where’s Tom?”

  “Upstairs putting Maddie to bed.”

  “What do you want, then?”

  “I’m sorry I spoke for you.”

  Her fidgeting ceased, eyes blinking rapidly as she focused more on me.

  At last, a chance to clarify myself without her threatening to castrate me first. “You never need someone to speak for you. I didn’t intend to, and I’m sorry if I did.”

  “Damn right… thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” I wanted to laugh at her change of tone, but the sincerity was obvious.

  “So, um, that’s all?” Her fidgeting resumed. It made me want to pin her to the wall and kiss her until she redirected all that energy into dragging her nails down my back.

  The recliner snapped closed, and in a second I stood inches from her. This was my opportunity to say everything that had been on my mind for half a week, and I was going to take it. “That’s hardly all, but I can’t get two seconds alone with you before you run away.”

  Panic flared in her brown eyes. She shook her head and stepped back. “Don’t.”

  “You already said that. And I didn’t. I’m waiting for you to.”

  “What do you want me to say?” she hissed, both of us too aware that Tom was upstairs. “You want me to say it was a mistake? That I was drunk? That we… I don’
t know what?”

  “If that’s the truth.” Her words punched my sternum, but anything was better than guessing how she felt.

  “Fuck you, Will.”

  Amusement tugged at my lips despite the tension. “Is that a curse or a request?”

  A laugh slipped out of her, clearly unbidden, and I smiled a little deeper. Relief wanted to flood my system, but we hadn’t reached anything definite yet. The heart of the matter had to be said.

  The next words out of my mouth were so dark, so dirty and wrong and hot, that adrenaline surged my system just to say them. “Do you want me to say it was a mistake? That I feel guilty? That Tom’s little sister off limits?”

  She sucked on her lip, that flush turning darker red. “If that’s the truth.”

  I shook my head. “Oh, Olivia. I am not nearly that good of a person.”

  Terrible person, asshole friend, absolute prick—whatever title I deserved, at least I knew the truth. I didn’t feel the least bit guilty about obliging her wish to kiss her, and I’d do it again and again if I had the chance.

  Liv trembled and sucked in a deep breath. She moved so we were nose to nose, and suddenly that chance was potently real.

  “Are you telling me that you don’t think it was a mistake?”

  I leaned even closer. “Fuck you, Liv.”

  Goddam, she tasted good. So good, I moaned as our lips fit together and our tongues stroked, soft this time. She wrapped her arms around me, and I held her perfect body tight to mine. No panic or anger—this kiss felt practiced, like we’d done it enough already to know how to meet the other’s desire.

  I nibbled on her lip, then licked it slick once more before I had to pull away and crash us back to reality. Liv wobbled as I released her, so I put my hands on her shoulders as her eyes slowly blinked open.

  God bless.

  Those eyes sparkled under an absolutely perfect glow on her cheeks. Her lips were blushed, even fuller than usual, and the tiny, dazzled smile that played there softened everything about her. For just a moment, this sassy, brilliant woman was blissed.

  Because she kissed me.

  Holy fuck.

  “You look fucking beautiful after I kiss you. Electric.” My voice was raspy, and I couldn’t care less.

  “I feel nuclear.”

  I kissed her again for that.

  “Will,” she croaked when I pulled away. “What are we doing?”

  After days of analysis and years of strategic maneuvering, the answer was suddenly clear:

  “Foreplay.”

  14

  Liv

  Over the next few days, I studied and got deep into my teaching coursework. I went to work. I talked, texted friends, ate meals, did all the regular stuff I was supposed to.

  But that word, that one word, became the filter on all my waking moments—and maybe my non-waking ones, too. Hazier than any starlight effect could ever be, foreplay blurred the lines of logic and fantasy.

  It was the thought when I stared into space after looking at the textbook too long, the whisper in my head while I went through the motions at work, and definitely the word behind my eyes when I went to sleep at night. It vacillated between conjuring a queasy, yellow dread, like we were headed toward a total train wreck, and tinting my world with a rosy hope that I would die before I admitted to a single soul.

  Every time the word rattled too loudly, I’d snap back to reality, tell myself that this was foolish—that Will Langer and I didn’t even like each other, had never liked each other—and try to move on with life.

  Will, unfortunately, made that hard to remember. He was a little too good at this whole foreplay bit, and every interaction we had spun my head all over again.

  Case in point: I was curled on the couch with Maddie Thursday afternoon watching My Little Pony when Will got home.

  “This sh is weird,” he grumbled, careful to edit his language for my niece.

  “There are men your age who obsess over this show. Which is your favorite?”

  He snorted.

  I stood and turned up the volume, so Maddie’s attention stayed focused on the show. Certain she was rapt, I faced him with my hands in my back pockets and flashed a daring grin. “I want to do my hair like the shy one.”

  Will groaned. “Tell me you’re joking.”

  “What’s your problem with colorful hair? A lot of people have it.”

  He twisted a lock of mine around his finger and tugged gently. “Like you need anything extra for everyone to see how beautiful you are.”

  A smirk curled my lips. “I wear it like this because I find it pretty and fun, thank you. Has nothing to do with others’ opinions.”

  He arched his brows. “Fair point.”

  “I do have them once in a while, despite what you think.”

  He stepped closer and put his lips to my ear. “I think you’re the cleverest woman I’ve ever met. I can’t help but also think about how hard I’d have to pull this hair until you begged me to stop.”

  I wound his tie around my hand. “You’re the one who’ll beg.”

  “I’d beg you right now if I thought it would help.”

  “Hungry, Livi!”

  I jumped out of my skin, chirping loudly, “Me too, Mads! Let’s go to the kitchen.”

  Will laughed as Maddie went running ahead of me. I kept one eye on her, pulled on that tie, and stole a kiss before hurrying to make dinner.

  Sexy as that was, Will really shook me Friday afternoon. Maddie had dozed off snuggled beside me on the couch again. I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling. The door clicked open, and he appeared, upside-down in my line of vision.

  “Hi,” I murmured.

  His brows furrowed. “You want a drink? Looks like you’ve got a lot on your mind.”

  I carefully moved Maddie to the mat inside her gated play area. Sure she was settled, I followed him to the kitchen to sit on the counter while he poured. We clinked and sipped in a weird silence. Acknowledging each other, sharing a drink, were beyond alien for Will and me. By the tension in his shoulders, I guessed he was quite aware of it, too.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked, elbows on the counter, gaze at the wall.

  “Since when do you care?”

  Will snorted. “I care.”

  “No, seriously, since when?”

  Dark eyes cut to me. “What are you asking?”

  I sucked on my lip. “I was thinking… about… a long time ago.”

  Shut up, shut up. I sipped and imagined the burn torched my words. Words I’d scribbled in my journal this morning. Words that I hadn’t thought of in eight years.

  But Will’s attention was captured. He turned, drank, and waited. I shook my head and rolled the glass between my palms. “Say it,” he said.

  “Do you remember—”

  “Yes.”

  I twisted my lips. “You don’t know what I was going to—”

  “That night we talked till dawn.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut as watery memories of a night that I’d almost convinced myself was a dream—no, that I had convinced myself was a dream—floated up after so long. “We were drunk.”

  “And you were a baby.”

  I twitched my lips again. “I was eighteen. It was a graduation party for all three of us.”

  “No. We’d been to a party off-campus. Then we went back to the apartment and—”

  “Tom passed out—”

  “And you and I… talked. About everything.” Will paused. I heard him drink since my eyes were still squeezed tight.

  “You’re pale,” he said.

  “I hadn’t thought of that in a long time. I don’t remember much about it, just that we talked. That we… I thought you…”

  I thought that, at last, at last, the secret fascination I’d had with you as I grew up had a purpose, a reason. I thought you liked me.

  “I did.”

  My eyes flew open to find Will staring into his glass. A line cut between his brows, but I wa
s certain I hadn’t spoken. He sighed, head bent a little lower. “Oh, god, I did.”

  Is it weirder that I didn’t finish the thought or that he didn’t need me to?

  Those fingers—mm, those fingers—sliced through his dark hair, and my palm itched jealously. I reached and pushed my own fingers from his temple to his neck. Will wore his thick, wavy hair with just enough length to keep it stylish, not frizzy or moppy. Sliding my hand through it gave me the best kind of chills.

  I didn’t want to think about the past anymore. “Your hair is very touchable. That’s what I’m thinking now.”

  He pushed off his elbows and stood between my knees. “You can touch it whenever you please,” he sighed, face placid, blissed. I let my hands play.

  “You can touch me whenever you please, Olivia.”

  My pulse jumped. “Is that an invitation?”

  “Mm-hmm, a standing one.”

  “Since when?”

  Will palmed my waist and pulled me closer. My knees spread to let him lean until we were nose-to-nose. “Since you wanted to,” he said before our mouths connected.

  “Will,” I said between kisses. He grunted a reply, so I pulled back just enough to say, “This is such a mistake.”

  It was the first time I’d said the m-word aloud, and the taste in my mouth was bitter with doubt. But it was, wasn’t it? There was no way something that felt this right with someone this wrong could be a good thing.

  Right?

  Will’s eyes opened and fixed on me. “Should we stop?”

  “We have to.” Even as I said it, I leaned for his lips again.

  He recoiled.

  “Fine, Olivia. If that’s what you want.”

  And with that, he turned and disappeared. By the time I hopped off the counter, he was already upstairs.

  That encounter wasn’t exactly foreplay. Why, then, did I spend the night staring at a single page of my textbook and wake up the next morning with him still on my mind? Passing him in the hall didn’t help given the tight black shirt and shorts he wore, a bicycle helmet dangling from his fingers.

  After that vision, even yoga couldn’t clear my head, and that’s saying a hell of a lot.