Vibes & Feels: Falling for your enemy never felt so good. (Unlikely Pairings Book 2)

by Sarah Skye

I force a small smile, and Nina excuses herself to get ready for the day. And I’m left standing at the sink, wondering—hoping—that what she says is true.

  “Oh, my good lord.” Nina’s head rolls back as she takes a bite of banana pudding.

  “Taste okay?”

  She nods and takes another bite as she stands next to the counter. I shut the refrigerator door after storing the second tray of the low sugar, dairy-free banana pudding we just made together.

  “I can’t believe there’s hardly any sugar in this.”

  “So it was worth waiting four hours for it to chill in the fridge?” I ask.

  “Oh heck yes.” She raves about the creaminess of the pudding and how it pairs so well with the softened texture of the vanilla cookies.

  I scoop her a serving and she thanks me. She doesn’t even bother to sit down, she just digs in at the counter.

  “Morgan is gonna love this,” she says. “And the seafood stew you made.”

  “I guess we’ll have to see—”

  My phone buzzes. I step over to where it’s sitting on the edge of the counter.

  Morgan: Lily!!! Ughhh this date… is the WORST

  Morgan: First, when we sat down he asked if I’d ever consider dying my hair back to its natural color because he doesn’t like blondes.

  Morgan: Then he asked if I want to go skinny dipping later WTF

  Morgan: And he kept staring at my tits. Like, openly gawking at them. THE WHOLE TIME.

  I frown at my screen. I mean, I can understand the dude’s admiration. I like boobs as much as the next guy. But to be that obvious about it? What a dick.

  Morgan: I swear, I have no idea what the hell I did to piss off the universe or dating gods or whoever, but every date I’ve had lately has been a fucking disaster.

  “Everything okay?” Nina asks.

  “Yeah, all good. Just one sec, sorry.”

  I step out of the kitchen and call Morgan.

  “Hey, is everything okay?” she asks before I can even say hi.

  “Yeah, everything’s fine. It’s just, you realize you’ve been texting me about your date, right?”

  Morgan mutters “shit,” then groans. I bite my lip to keep from laughing.

  “I was texting under the table. I thought I tapped Lily’s name. Oops.” A heavy sigh rockets from her. “I’m so thrown off by this dumpster fire.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “You read my texts.”

  “Need help getting out of it?”

  She pauses. “You’d do that?”

  “Of course. The guy sounds like an asshole. You don’t deserve to put up with that.”

  There’s another pause, like she’s shocked at what I’ve said.

  “It’s okay. I actually already left, just a few minutes ago.”

  “Damn. Really?”

  “Yes, really. One cocktail is all I could endure with that guy.” She sounds emboldened. I like it. “Don’t tell me you think it’s better just to sneak out mid-date with no explanation.”

  “No, definitely not.” I clear my throat.

  “Oh shit. You’ve walked out on dates before, haven’t you?”

  She says it in such an accusatory tone, my cheeks start to heat. “I’m not proud of it, but yeah. I have. Only once though. In law school. I was an even bigger douchebag then than I am now.”

  “Doubtful.”

  I can tell she’s kidding by the smile in her tone. It melts my embarrassment.

  “What are you doing now?” I ask.

  “Walking to my apartment.”

  “What neighborhood are you in? You sure that’s safe?”

  Morgan’s cackle catches me off guard. “Listen to you being all cute and protective.”

  “Cute, huh?”

  I start to smile when I hear her stammer.

  “Jesus. Like I’d ever inflate your ego even more.” There’s only the tiniest hint of bite in her tone. The rest is playful defensiveness and a hefty dose of teasing.

  I really, really like it.

  “My ego?” I ask, pretending to be shocked.

  “You own a mirror, don’t you?” she says. “I’m sure you’re fully aware of how you look.”

  “Which is apparently cute. According to you.”

  She groan-laughs, which makes me laugh too. Behind me, I hear Nina stifle a sound that’s somewhere between a squeal and a laugh.

  “For real though, it’s dark out. You shouldn’t be walking out there alone. It’s not safe.”

  “I’m less than a mile from my apartment. And it’s well-lit and busy.”

  “Good.”

  “What are you and Gram up to?”

  I walk back into the kitchen and put her on speakerphone. “Just finished making banana pudding.”

  “Oh Sugar Pea, wait till you try it,” Gram says, polishing off her bowl. “It’s delicious. And it’s his grandma’s recipe, isn’t that sweet?”

  She tells Morgan how I modified the ingredients to make it diabetic-friendly and dairy-free.

  “I cut out some of the bananas too,” I say. “To limit the starch and carbs.”

  There’s a pause on Morgan’s end. “That’s really thoughtful of you.”

  She double-checks with Nina about her follow-up doctor’s appointment tomorrow and promises to be here in the morning to take her. When Nina says she’s going to get ready for bed, Morgan tells her goodnight.

  “Love you, MoMo.”

  “Love you, Gram.”

  Nina pats me on the arm as she walks past me toward her bedroom. I take Morgan off speakerphone.

  “Okay, I take it back,” she says. “You made your grandma’s recipe for my grandma and tweaked it so it would be special for her. That’s really, really cute.”

  My heartbeat leaps at her softly spoken words, at the sincerity in her voice.

  Before I can say anything, she continues. “I guess I won’t have to burn you to the ground after all.”

  I laugh. “Lucky me. So, you’ve been on a lot of bad dates lately?”

  When she doesn’t say anything at first, I kick myself. Conversation was flowing so well, it felt right to ask. I didn’t mean to be a creep.

  “Yup. It’s like I’m on some kind of streak.” Her tone sounds tired, not freaked out.

  I take it as a win. “How many bad dates have you had?”

  She pauses for a few seconds, and I can hear her whisper-counting.

  “God. Like… seven in the past six months.”

  “Jesus.”

  “That’s actually what I was doing the night I ran into you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup.”

  “I think you’re due for a damn good date then,” I say and instantly pray it doesn’t come off too flirty or creepy.

  “Ha. I’m not holding my breath. So I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “Wait, are you at your apartment yet?”

  “Just walking up the steps to my building.”

  “Don’t hang up until you’re inside your place and you’ve locked the door.”

  Her soft laugh echoes in my ears. “Gotta say, this is very un-douchebag behavior coming from you.”

  “Even douchebags care about the safety of their friends.”

  “Oh, so I’m your friend now?”

  “I was hoping.”

  God, do I sound pathetic or “cute” here? I don’t know. I haven’t even tried chatting up a girl in a bar in more than a year, and chatting with Morgan is like tap-dancing through a minefield. But then again, I kind of can’t resist. And to be fair, being her friend would be great. More than enough, but also weird as hell for her, certainly…

  The sound of her footsteps echoing and a door shutting fills the silence between us for the next several seconds.

  “I’m in,” she says through a breath.

  “Glad to hear.” I can’t help the tinge of disappointment that hits when she says nothing more.

  “Have a good night then,” I say. “I’ll see you tomorrow.
”

  “See you tomorrow, friend.”

  When she hangs up, I’m smiling.

  8

  MORGAN

  Gram wears a plastered-on smile while the doctor pokes and prods her on the examination table. Blood pressure, reflexes, urine sample, glucose test, etc etc. Meanwhile, I’m in the corner, chewing my thumbnail and trying not to ask a million questions.

  At least Marco isn’t here. I swear, this guy is taking his role as Gram’s aide more seriously than even I do. He put up such a fight when I said I’d scheduled this appointment. Friday midday was the best time for me, but as soon as I told him about it he started grumbling. “I have a meeting in the city,” was all he’d say.

  Fine by me. Let him go to his mystery appointment. I can take care of Gram just as well as he can, thank you very much. Okay, so texting with him on my way home from yet another nightmare date left me smiling like I haven’t in a long time. So he and Gram clearly seem to be getting along. And so the pages of notes he AirDropped me about her insulin levels and progress were super helpful. That’s not the point. Sure, I was impressed at the level of detail. But no one knows Gram like I do, and so it’s right I’m the one with her today.

  It’s a long day, nearly an hour in the waiting room doing a crossword puzzle together from the paper she brought, then a thorough exam. I have to swallow my pride and reference the notes Marco gave me to help with the update. Finally, when all is done, I have to swallow my pride again and take a ton of notes about new insulin levels and points to remember just so Marco will have a full report.

  He didn’t need to come. I can just tell him.

  “You should’ve let me make the appointment. I’m available basically anytime but Friday afternoon. It would’ve been good for me to talk to the doctor,” he says as soon as we’re back at Gram’s house and I’ve shared my notes. Dark eyes scan the words, but a line appears between his brows that makes my jaw clench.

  I purse my lips. “You have the info. You’re clearly doing okay so far. The doctor says she should be good to come off the insulin in another month.”

  “He’s doing great.” Gram’s quiet voice floats from behind me, where she’s sitting in her overstuffed armchair.

  But Marco’s twitching his brow at me. “I have the info, but I’m learning as I go, remember? Stubbornly insisting that you be the one to—”

  “I was trying to find a good time to—”

  He speaks over me. “Stubbornly insisting that you be the one to go keeps me from—”

  “You didn’t need to—”

  “It would’ve helped!”

  “Then why am I even here?”

  “Because you don’t trust me?”

  I tap my nose. “Bingo, buddy. And my Gram is my responsibility.”

  “Which you’re honoring. By entrusting me with her care. Which you know isn’t a mistake. But you still—”

  “Enough!”

  Our little spat ends abruptly with a sharp bark from Gram. We both whirl to face her.

  Gram’s angry scowl dissolves. She closes her eyes and rubs her temples. “Stop it, children. You’re quibbling, and you’re talking about me like I’m a pet cat. I know what I need, surprise surprise.”

  Her blue eyes open. “I need Marco’s help right now. And, Sugar Pea, I need you to trust that we’re doing okay here. I know you want to do everything yourself, but I am not a battle to be won. And I changed your diapers, so don’t you start acting like I can’t make my own decisions. And while you’re at it, stop making decisions for Marco, too. He’s not as clueless as you think he is.”

  I don’t miss the jerk’s smug smirk from the corner of my eye.

  I bumble an apology/excuse, but Gram holds her hand up again. “I know you mean well, honey. I know you’re worried. But you have to unwind a little. And as for me, I need two hours to myself.”

  We stare as she rises from her chair and juts her chin. “I’m kicking you both out. Marco, hand me my pocketbook.” She rummages in her purse once he fetches it and opens her pale pink wallet. “Here’s twenty dollars. Go… do something for a while. Let me have a moment to myself to rest and get cleaned up.”

  “Gram, you said I should stay tonight. Do you want me to go back to the city now?” I say at last. Not like I’m thrilled to stay with Marco in the house, but what Gram wants, Gram shall have.

  She shakes her head with a smile as Marco mumbles, “You’re staying?”

  “She asked me to,” I mumble back.

  “No, honey, you should definitely stay with us. We’ll all three have a nice dinner, and you can tell us about your week. Just give me a little time. You two go do something that doesn’t involve yelling at each other. My phone is all charged, and I promise I’ll be okay.”

  It’s possible that Gram literally shoves us out the door. Either way, I find myself on the front stoop beside Marco, unsure what the hell just happened. After a long, awkward silence, I exhale a ton of tension and thread my hands in my hair, realizing as I do that I’m also gripping Gram’s $20.

  “Do you drink beer?”

  “What?” he asks, clearly startled.

  I turn and face him, crossing my arms and pursing my lips. “Beer. Is that too pleb a drink for a corporate boy like you? Figure since I’m rolling in money,” I wave the bill, and we both suppress a smile, “A drink is the least I can do for you taking such good care of Gram.”

  I didn’t plan this, but it’s my way of making amends. My way of letting him know that, yes, I do see he’s doing an incredible job. Yes, I do trust that Gram is in capable hands with him.

  My gaze flickers to those exact hands as Marco reaches up to rub his neck. Long fingers end in jagged cuticles that say he bites his nails, but his palms are broad. Strong.

  Capable hands indeed.

  A shiver runs through me.

  What the fuck?

  Luckily, Marco pulls me out of that weird moment. He flashes a half smile. “I avoid beer because of the carbs usually.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “Of course I do. But if you’re buying, I might make an exception.”

  I raise a brow. He raises one right back.

  “There’s a pub a block away. We can walk.”

  And that’s what we do.

  Friday afternoon, even in the burbs, means that the bar is already filling up. We manage to nab two stools at the end of the bar and each order a beer and a shot. Two bourbons, plus a Hefeweizen for me and a red lager for him, appear in front of us. Gram’s twenty isn’t going to cover it, but I was going to slip the bill back in her purse later anyway.

  Marco lifts the shot glass. “To Gram?”

  “May she live another twenty years and not age another day.”

  Clink, go the glasses.

  The alcohol burns, so I wrinkle my nose and slam the glass down on the bar. Marco chuckles. “What?” I wheeze.

  “Don’t do a lot of shots, do you?”

  “Do you think I have time to drink between work and worrying about Gram?”

  “And going on nightmare dates with douchebag skinny-dippers?’

  I aim an accusatory finger at him. “How dare you bring that up?”

  But the grin that’s twitching my lips kind of undermines the whole message. He just laughs at me again and picks up his beer. “Your turn for a toast.”

  “I just did one.”

  “No, I said to Gram. You just embellished.”

  My eyes almost lodge in the back of my head with how hard I roll them. “Fine. Then here’s to unexpected frenemies.”

  He cocks his jaw. “You said we were friends.”

  “I was embellishing.”

  That makes him chuckle. “Okay, to frenemies. May they have your back more often than they try to bury a knife in it.”

  Clink again.

  But then that awkward silence falls again. Because who the hell are we to be out drinking together on a Friday night?

  “So the report was good, right?” Marco breaks the s
ilence and gives me something to focus on.

  “Yeah, good overall. Like I said, she’s on track to come off the insulin in about four more weeks.”

  “Will she need me after that?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He nods silently and rubs his neck again. This time, I notice a slight wince. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “Nothing. Just a little pinched nerve from sleeping on a couch two feet shorter than I am.”

  “You’re not sleeping in my room?”

  As soon as I ask it, it strikes me how weird that would be. He can see it in my expression as I snap my jaw shut.

  “Felt a little invasive.”

  “You want help with the ache?” He knits his eyebrows, so I hurry to add, “I was a masseuse for a while when I finished school.”

  “I’ve never had a bar massage before.”

  “Shut up. Forget I offered.”

  Marco pokes out his lip in a pout, but his eyes are smiling. It’s the most boyish, silly look I’ve ever seen him make, and my heart stutters several beats because, dammit, he is too cute for words. Even admitting that to myself makes my gut clench with guilt. Don’t go there, Morgan.

  “So,” he says as he picks up his beer again. “What do you do now?”

  “I model.”

  “You’re so short.”

  “You’re so douchey.”

  “That’s why I was a good lawyer.”

  He laughs. I let myself join him, then say, “Anyway, five-five isn’t short, it’s average—unlike your giant self. What are you, seven feet or something?”

  “Six-two, but thanks for making me feel freakish.”

  “Glad to help.”

  “So what do average women model?” He’s still teasing, but I nod at the question.

  “I model athletic wear mostly and rep brands on Instagram. And I do novel cover modeling sometimes, when I can. And, I’m, um, Lily’s form model for her class.” I swallow over the guilt just saying her name.

  His expression freezes a little—presumably at her name, too. We are so in trouble.

  But then he says, “You’re a nude model? What’s that like?”

  “Super sexy.”

  “Really?”

  That frozen expression wasn’t about Lily. He’s trying hard to play it cool, but I can see the intrigue in his eyes. I bite back a laugh. “Yeah. It’s always a little awkward at first when everyone in the class comes up and touches me, but after a few sessions it’s just like a big orgy, you know?”