At Wits' End: An Enemies To Lovers Romantic Comedy

by Kenzie Reed

  “Jamie! No!” I say, appalled. “I can’t believe you think that.”

  She shrugs, making her penises dance. That’s my friend. The girl with the dancing penii, which I just now decided is plural for penis.

  “All right, the Witlocke family is beyond help, but Donovan and Sienna still have hope. We’re going to fix this. What are you two fighting about?” Pamela asks.

  I purse my lips in thought. “Well…”

  “You don’t even remember?” she squawks accusingly.

  “Well…we had great sex one night…”

  Jamie screams again. “My ears! My innocent, virginal ears! Warn me!” she yells. “How am I going to bleach those images out of my brain?”

  Resolutely, I carry on. “And the next day I sold my car because I needed the money to fix our bottling equipment. And Carrie found out and told Donovan before I had a chance to tell him.”

  “Oh yeah.” Pamela nods. “I saw a little item in the gossip column. I mean, why did you have to sell your car? Couldn’t he have fixed your equipment, or replaced it? That’s what he does.”

  Et tu, Pamela? “I just… I… I don’t want to owe him anything.”

  Pamela squinches up her face. “Please.”

  Jamie rolls her eyes.

  “Jamie, I would expect you to take his side, but Pamela, you’re my best friend – could you freaking have my back for once?”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “I always have your back,” she says icily. “And that means calling you out when you’re having an attack of the stupids. Like right now. If I were him, honestly, I’d be insulted. You’re basically saying you’re happy to have sex with him, but other than that he should just stay the hell out of your life. You just want to use him for his – Jamie, cover your ears” –Jamie makes her hands into earmuffs– “schlong. Imagine how that would make you feel, if a guy made it clear he only wanted sex and wanted no emotional intimacy whatsoever?”

  “Pretty lousy,” I mutter.

  “It’s safe now, Jamie!” Pamela yells. Amelia, who was dozing off, wakes with a start and makes a squeak of protest. Then she falls back asleep.

  Jamie drops her hands.

  “Look, I know how you are, Miss Independent.” Pamela’s eyes shine with sympathy and understanding. “You hate letting people help you. I offer to lend you money, when my husband I are frankly rolling in it, and you turn me down and sell your car instead. So I can imagine how things are with you and Donovan. Do you let him do things for you at all? Because if a man cares about a woman, he likes to do things for her.”

  “Well, he sometimes barrels in and insists, but overall… I mean… Why should I trust him? He’s a Witlocke!” I splutter. “No offense, Jamie.”

  “Meh.” She lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Right now I’m looking for a new family to adopt me, so none taken. I mean, look what they’ve made me do.” She points at the deely-bobber antennae. “This is me. Penis-head Jamie.”

  Pamela just looks at me. “Do you let him do things for you?” she repeats.

  “I am not my mother. I don’t need a man. I let my guard down once, and look what happened,” I say heatedly.

  “Donovan is not Slimon. You know me, I’m a harsh judge of character. I think he’s grown up, a lot, but even at his worst he was never Slimon. And you are not your mother. You never will be. She chases after guys and if they treat her decently, she dumps them, and if they treat her like crap, she circumnavigates the globe begging them to give her another chance to be a doormat. Please don’t let her mistakes define your relationships.”

  “I’m not,” I say smugly. “I take care of myself and I depend on no man. Anything she would do, I do the opposite.”

  “Which means that you’re still letting her define your relationships.”

  My mouth drops open. It closes again. I want to yell at her and tell her how wrong she is, but Jamie is nodding in agreement and, damn it all, Pamela might just be on to something there.

  “Wow. You just dropped a truth bomb on my head and I don’t know what to do with it.”

  “I will tell you what to do with it. Sit down and, without yelling insults or making snide remarks, just tell him what you’re feeling, even if it makes you feel scared and vulnerable, because if you do that, it will give him permission to lower his own defenses. We’ve all got them, and he’s a Witlocke, so he’s got a moat, a castle wall with crenellations, and a small army to guard his pride. Then ask him what he’s upset about, and how you can resolve the issue.”

  “Damn, woman.”

  She smiles at me. “Part of being a good lawyer is trying to defuse hostilities and resolve conflict before it turns into a full-on battle.”

  “He’s setting up his office in your building today.” I purse my lips in thought. “I do have an idea, though. Can I borrow your car?”

  “If you’d have let me lend you the damn money, you wouldn’t need to borrow… Yes, fine, go ahead.”

  I drive into town, to the custom T-shirt store, and have them do a rush job printing up two shirts while I wait. Nothing fancy, but it will get the message across.

  That evening, when I get home from the winery, I take out a bottle of Pinot Grigio and two glasses, and wait. And wait. And wait.

  He doesn’t get home until eight p.m., and when he stomps in through the door, he slams down his briefcase on the new oak entryway storage bench and doesn’t even look at me. That makes me mad all over again.

  I toss aside all the words of wisdom Pamela bestowed on me, stalk over, and throw my bag with the T-shirts at him. He catches it with one hand and sets it down next to his briefcase.

  “Here’s a stupid present for you!”

  He opens his briefcase and pulls out two baggies, one of duck treats, and one of cat treats. “Well, here’s a stupid present for your stupid cat and duck!” he shouts. Then he yells over at Aceto and Ducktape, who are huddled together on Aceto’s cat bed, watching us with alarm. “You’re not stupid! Most of the time! I’m just pissed off!”

  Then, scowling, he reaches into my bag and pulls out two T-shirts. I had the shop print “Team Rilocke” on them. There’s one extra-large, and one small.

  He looks down at them, then up at me. Some of the anger seems to leak from his body, and his shoulders slump. The heated anger in his gaze cools, and his mouth quirks into a half-smile. “That’s…that’s pretty cool.”

  “I thought we were kind of a team, Donovan. For the summer, at least. Why do you not want anything to do with me?” I demand.

  “I never don’t want anything to do with you. Wait, that was a double negative. Let’s sit down.” He holds on to the T-shirts, pressing them up against his chest as we walk over to the couch.

  “Jettisoning our entire relationship just because I didn’t ask you permission to sell my own car feels pretty extreme. You didn’t even care enough to try to fix things, you just went into instant rejection mode.”

  We flop down side by side, and he turns to face me, hurt shining from his sea-glass-green eyes. “I do care. That’s why I overreacted. And I’m sorry. My parents have two communication modes when they’re upset with each other. It’s either yelling accusations, or icy withdrawal. That’s the only way I know to handle things. I guess I opted for the second of those, and it just made things worse.”

  I hug myself as a river of emotion courses through my veins. “If we’re going to survive this summer, we both need to be able to tell each other if we’re feeling hurt or angry about something the other person did. I’m not a freaking mind-reader, Donovan. To me, it feels like you’re trying to control what I do, and you’re going to check out on me if I don’t come to you for permission to sell my own damn property. That’s not okay.”

  “You’re right. It’s not. Next time I’m upset with you, I’ll put on my big boy pants and tell you why. The thing is, it wasn’t the sale of the car, it was the fact that you didn’t come to me for help and you never do.” He grimaces, running his fingers through his hair. “I was hum
iliated when Carrie told me you’d sold your car, and worse than that, I felt completely shut out. You won’t let me help you with anything. You won’t even let me make coffee or cook for you. Well, there was the steaks that one time, but you did that just to prove a point to your cousin. And you actually said that you could get rides from your friends. Like I’d rather make you take a taxi than give you a ride into town? You make me feel like a total asshole, and also completely disposable.” His words are raw with emotion, and I’m shocked at the naked vulnerability in his voice. “You won’t even trust me with coffee, Sienna. I just want you to let me in. I know I screwed up when I was younger. Are you ever going to give me a chance to show I’ve grown up?”

  His hurt washes over me and becomes my own. “I didn’t know you wanted a real chance,” I mumble.

  He shoots me a reproving look. “I’ve said so several times. You just didn’t want to hear it.”

  “You’re right. Pamela just gave me a lecture about how I’m not my mother, and I need to stop letting her define my relationships, blah blah blah.” I heave a sigh. “I’m afraid of needing anybody. I hate needing anybody. I needed Slimon, or I thought I did, and he basically spit on our relationship in front of the entire town.”

  “Yes, he did, and you got right back up and found yourself a new career, a new job and an apartment, and you were just fine.”

  I shake my head. “I wasn’t fine for a long time. I couldn’t take care of myself then, and it was terrifying. I wasted all that money on a degree I never ended up using, and I wasn’t qualified to do anything else that pays a living wage. I needed a big bailout from my mother.”

  Donovan scowls. “I wouldn’t give her too much credit.”

  All right, he really needs to step off the Linda hate train. “For that one time, yes, I do.” There’s a bite to my voice. My mother has been calling me every day, visiting the shop, and telling me about what she’s learning in therapy. She’s trying. People can grow. They can change. “She really saved me when I needed it most.”

  “I think you’d have been fine no matter what.” He takes my hands in his. “I want to be there for you. Really be there. I want to be able to do things for you, to help you when you need it. You helped me when you lectured me on how hard I am on myself. It helped me see some things I’d never acknowledged before, and it made life better for me, in a lot of little ways. I want to be able to do that for you.” He straightens up and squares his shoulders. “I’m a man, damn it, and I don’t care how old-fashioned and cliché it sounds, a man wants to be able to take care of his woman.”

  His woman?

  Those words sound so right, so safe. I blink hard, hot tears rushing to my eyes and spilling onto my cheeks. I remember how I felt the day I married him. So lost and lonely. I wanted someone to sweep in and rescue me – so why won’t I let him?

  “All of my aunt’s equipment is so old it’s basically held together with chewing gum and paper clips at this point,” I blurt out. “And I can’t afford to buy new equipment. I’d like you to look at it and tell me what you think.”

  “Will you let me fix it or replace it if it needs it?” He pulls his pocket square out and blots my tears, a tender, gentle gesture that brings a spurt of fresh liquid to my eyes.

  “I…”

  Just the thought of it lifts such a huge weight from my shoulders.

  “I mean, why wouldn’t you?” he says impatiently. “It’s what I do.”

  I heave a sigh. “Pamela said that too. She’s three for three so far, damn her.”

  “Wow. She’s smarter than she looks. Please, for the love of God, do not tell her I said that.”

  I smile through my tears and sniffle. “Now I have something to hold over your head forever.” Then I lean back in my chair, frowning in thought. Am I betraying my aunt by doing this?

  I don’t know what else I can do. What she wants of me is impossible. She expects me to run the vineyard and the winery with broken equipment and without enough money to pay her employees. She’s had declining revenues for years. She can’t pay her vendors. She can’t pay her loans. She’s setting it up to fail, but she’d be devastated if she lost it.

  “I would like you to look over the equipment, if you could repair it I’d be eternally grateful, and if any of it needs to be replaced…” I blink at him. “I mean, it would be a huge help.”

  “There, now was that so hard?”

  I smack him in the chest. “Do you have to be such a dick about it?”

  “Apparently.” He smirks. “And speaking of hard…” He takes my hand and places it on his lap. He’s hugely swollen. “Do you know how much I’ve wanted you these past few days?”

  “How much?”

  “When I saw you in that red lace lingerie, I thought I’d die. You look fucking amazing in red, and the way that lace just barely covered your nipples… Sometimes when I thought about it I’d literally, no exaggeration, get dizzy.”

  My mouth twitches up in a smile. But he’s been a jerk for days, why should I make things easy on him?

  I look him right in the eye. “How do you know I’m in the mood?”

  “Hah.” He lets out a snort of contempt. Then he stands up and arches his eyebrows, eyes glinting with mischief. “Well, when you decide you’re in the mood, I’ll be up in the loft.”

  And he turns on his heel and walks off, the son of a bitch. The hell with playing hard to get; I ache for him from the tips of my hair to my toenails.

  I leap to my feet and run after him. “I’m in the mood! I’m in the mood!”

  He spins around, grinning evilly. “I know you are.” He scoops me up, throws me over his shoulder fireman style, and carries me to the bedroom.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Donovan’s lips are warm and commanding on mine. I return his kiss enthusiastically, tugging at his clothes until he laughs and gently disentangles me to give me a little help with buttons and zippers – desire has made me overeager and clumsy. Judging from the impressive erection that springs free when he pushes down his pants, he doesn’t mind a bit. I reach out to touch, and he’s steel-hard beneath the smooth, velvety skin, a drop of pearly fluid gathered at the head of his cock.

  I lean down to taste, but he pushes me back onto the bed. I groan with longing, but my groan turns into a sigh as he kisses my throat, nibbling gently, then works his way over my collarbone and down my sternum, dealing deftly with buttons and fasteners as he goes.

  I know where he’s headed, and I know what this is about. Control – mine, not his. He wants me to give up my white-knuckle grip on every situation, to allow him to do something for me. And I know why. Trust – he wants me to trust him. So I do. I let go, and I allow myself just to feel.

  Donovan skims down my panties and parts my thighs, and I feel his breath, warm and dizzying against my sex. I know I’m already wet for him, and I fight down the urge to blush, to clamp my thighs together and push him away. Let go. Let go…

  The first touch of his quick, clever tongue makes me tense up for a moment, and then I consciously, deliberately push all thought from my head and allow myself just to feel. Let go…

  He laps tenderly at my flesh, and at once tendrils of sensation begin to creep through me, spiraling upwards and wrapping themselves around my spine. I gasp and shift beneath him, reaching down to tangle my fingers gently in his hair. I let my eyes flutter open and I glance down. The sight of his dark head between my parted thighs sends a thicker bolt of sensation through my core, making me moan and writhe.

  Donovan makes a little noise of masculine satisfaction and redoubles his efforts, swirling his tongue around my clit. The sensation is so sweet and intense that I arch off the bed, pressing my sex against his mouth and feeling the first trembling of orgasm inside me. I anchor my fingers more firmly in his hair as the feeling swells, intensifying sweetly until I shudder and cry out…and let go.

  My orgasm rocks me like a storm, leaving me trembling and clinging to Donovan’s shoulders as though he’s the
only solid thing left in the world.

  He holds me as I fight to get my breath back under control and calm my wildly galloping heart. He gentles and soothes me and tenderly pets my hair. He doesn’t say a word – he just silently and effortlessly gives me exactly what I need.

  Then, when the lights have stopped flashing behind my eyes and my body feels like my own again, he lays me down and enters me in a single smooth, confident thrust.

  He makes love to me slowly and thoroughly. He kisses my breasts, stroking the tender skin with his tongue and suckling my nipples into hard little beads. He explores each inch of my body with his fingers and palms, seeking out the secret places that make me sigh and squirm, pushing buttons I never even knew I had. And I realize I really do trust him. I’m willing to put myself completely in his hands – not just literally but in a much more difficult way too. With him, I’m willing to let go.

  All the time he touches and teases me, he’s working himself inside my body with smooth, controlled thrusts. Each time he pushes fully inside me, he rolls his hips, and it hits my clit just so, keeping me trembling uncertainly – exquisitely – on the brink of orgasm.

  I can see on his face what it costs him – the control he has to exert over his own body. There’s a little furrow of effort between his brows, and his dark green eyes are dilated with lust. But he holds back until I twist beneath him, moaning, and he lets the fierce spasms of my climax carry him into his own release.

  The sound of his frantic cries is enough to send me again, and he gives another heartfelt groan and twitches inside me as he feels me pulsing around him.

  We collapse side by side, gasping fond nonsense as we fight to get our breath back. We’re both sticky with sweat, and Donovan’s fingers tremble just a little as he brushes a damp curl away from my forehead. I put my palm on his chest and I can feel his heart beating against my hand, still fast, but strong and reliable.