The Opposite of You (Opposites Attract Series Book 1)

by Rachel Higginson

  “Don’t apologize,” he ordered, his voice unrelenting with the demand. “You said no. That’s all I needed. I’m sorry to make you keep explaining.”

  He stepped back, and I immediately wanted to move into him. I also wanted to punch myself in the ovaries. God, could I just make up my mind?

  I didn’t want him.

  I did want him.

  I didn’t want to lead him on.

  I did want to go on a date with him and jump his bones.

  My libido was at war with my head, and my heart wanted to abandon my body altogether. God, I needed to get my shit together.

  And fast.

  “I’m—” I stopped myself before I apologized again. “Thanks for understanding.” That had to be the lamest letdown ever. As soon as he turned around, I was going to bang my head against my car door.

  His shadowed bark of laughter surprised me. “I don’t understand, Vera. I’m not even pretending to understand. But I’m not going to convince you to go out with me either. So, I guess I’ll see you around.”

  I grabbed his wrist before he could walk away. He paused, half turned away from me. “Thanks for introducing me to Jo. And for showing me this place. I owe you.”

  His shoulders rose with a deep breath, calming some of his fierce energy. “You do. You owe me.”

  My hands dropped to my side, suddenly trembling from that dark promise. He turned around, changing his mind. He walked back to me, slowly, deliberately, trapping me between his hard, tall body and the solid wall of my car. His arms caged me in, pressing against either side of my head.

  His chest barely brushed mine, hovering over me just enough to tease, to make me want closer contact, but denying me.

  Just like I’d denied him.

  I stared at him, waiting for him to do something. Say something. His green eyes held mine captive, flashing with thoughts I couldn’t read and emotions I couldn’t decipher.

  Just when I’d decided to break the tension between us by speaking, he lifted his hand to my jaw and carefully cupped my face. His fingers were calloused and rough, cradling me with a softness that came from inside him, something you would never see on his outside.

  “You like me, Vera. And if you haven’t figured it out yet, you should know I like you too. I like you a lot. Get over this ex-boyfriend of yours so we can explore where this thing between us goes.”

  Before I could argue with him, his mouth dropped to mine, pressing a swift, intoxicating kiss to my lips. My eyes fluttered closed, and I drowned in sensation. Butterflies erupted in my belly, sending tingles soaring through my body, making my head swim and my toes curl. His beard brushed against my face, scratchy and soft at the same time. His lips lingered long enough for me to taste them, feel the shape of them, decide how perfectly they fit against mine.

  He was gone just as soon as I’d decided to kiss him back. He stepped away from me, letting me slump against the car, disoriented and inwardly disheveled. He’d picked up all the pieces of me, all the puzzle pieces I’d been trying to sort through and put back together, and dropped them on the ground in a confused mess.

  Nothing was where it was supposed to be now. Nothing fit like I thought it should.

  “Bye, Vera.”

  I didn’t even reply. I just watched him walk away while my knees wobbled and my heart tried to beat its way out of my chest.

  Killian Quinn was nothing like I expected him to be. Charming when I wanted to be annoyed. Sensitive and thoughtful when I’d already decided he was only an asshole. Irresistible while I tried to do my best to resist him.

  I was stubborn. Headstrong. Determined to see my isolation through.

  But I was starting to realize he was more stubborn. More headstrong. More determined than I could ever be.

  And that was very concerning.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The next Saturday night I’d perfected my shishito and skirt steak tacos. They were a huge hit.

  I was super proud of them. And myself. Killian hadn’t stepped in once to offer his advice. Well, except for the lemon suggestion, but since that had happened before I tried out the recipe, I let myself believe I might have come up with that one all by myself had I been given the chance.

  The thing about lying to myself was that I had been doing it for so long that I hardly noticed anymore.

  And I’d been lying to myself a lot this week, so it was almost impossible to divide the lies from the truth at this point.

  I hadn’t seen Killian since the Morning Market when I’d rejected his date request. I’d written him maybe three hundred texts, but deleted all of them before I accidentally pressed send. I’d also shown up to work way earlier than necessary in case I caught a glimpse of him, but he’d always been in his kitchen already. And unlike the weeks prior, he didn’t leave it.

  Last night, I heard his motorcycle pull away from Lilou, but I’d been plating to-go boxes in the safety of my food truck. He hadn’t stopped by. And he hadn’t sent anyone to spy on me as far as I could tell.

  There were no notes or texts telling me what I needed to change.

  Or add.

  Or cussing me out for using salt.

  And how pathetic was I? I’d done nothing but complain about the man all summer, and now he hadn’t talked to me for three days, and I was seriously reconsidering my life decisions.

  Even the ones I made post-Derrek.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind if I take off?” Vann’s question pulled me out of my spiraling thoughts.

  I looked down at the steak I’d been mutilating. Oops.

  “No, it’s fine. People will wait. And if they don’t, their loss.”

  He lightly punched my shoulder. “That’s the spirit.”

  Vann had waited for a lull in the crowd before broaching the subject. We’d been sporadically busy tonight. The bursts were big, but then the lulls were long and slow. It was a weird night.

  “So, this is the second date?” I propped my hip against the counter and gave my brother my full attention.

  “Second,” he confirmed. “She’s nice. You’d like her.”

  “Who cares if I like her? Do you like her?”

  He nodded, his eyes remaining bored. “Yeah, she’s nice.”

  “You already said that.” My brother. Good grief.

  He barely noticed. “Did I?”

  “I don’t know why you do this to yourself.”

  He jingled the keys in the pocket of his navy blue shorts. This was Vann dressed for a date—J. Crew shorts, crisp white, short-sleeved button up shirt, leather sandals. He looked like a preppy skater. If there was such a thing. “Do what to myself?”

  “Date nice girls. You don’t like them.”

  He gave me a look. “Of course I like nice girls.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  He laughed like I was a lunatic. “You think I should date mean girls?”

  “I think you should date a girl that makes you feel something other than nice.”

  He raised an eyebrow, not taking anything I said seriously. “Now you’re a dating guru?”

  “What? You couldn’t tell from my super successful relationship and happily ever after kind of life?”

  He stared at me for a minute, watching me, reading me. “I don’t know, sis. I think all your wisdom comes from the bad experience variety.”

  I shrugged, my happy mask slipping momentarily.

  “Are you ever going to talk about what happened?”

  I breathed through my nose so he wouldn’t notice the panic sizzling beneath my skin. He knew the story. At least I’d told him a version of what had happened when I first came home. But that had been the last time I talked about it. It wasn’t worth bringing up again. “There’s nothing to talk about. We didn’t work out. Relationships end all the time.”

  “Not usually by one of them running away to Europe for the year. Did he even try to come after you? Or reach out and apologize for everything?”

  I shuddered at Vann’s word u
sage. Derrek had no idea where I’d gone. I’d made sure of that specifically because he would have come after me if he had. But he had bothered my dad for a long time. And if I wouldn’t have deleted my email, social media accounts and canceled my phone, he probably would have found me and hunted me down.

  Europe wasn’t far enough away to stop him.

  Hell, Jupiter wasn’t far enough away.

  Or maybe not. Maybe he finally understood that I was finished. Europe wasn’t the first time I’d broken up with him. It was just the first time it had stuck.

  And only because I didn’t consult him on the decision. I just left. It was hard to convince someone to stay if they weren’t there to manipulate.

  My phone burned in my pocket. All of his unanswered Facebook messages felt extra heavy tonight.

  “I flew straight to Amsterdam, Vann. What was he going to do? Hop on a plane and scour the city looking for me?”

  For the first time in his life, Vann looked passionate about something. Not just serious. Not just involved, but zealous. “Yeah. That. Or the whole damn country. If you love a girl, if she’s the one, you don’t let an ocean stop you. You go after her. You don’t let her get away.”

  My brother had been invaded by the body snatchers. It was the only explanation. Vann didn’t do commitment. I’d never seen him date someone for longer than a couple of months. He didn’t even take love seriously. He always said he was allergic to it. So, what was this?

  “Where is this coming from?” I asked, shocked.

  He looked out the window, avoiding my stare. “It’s not coming from anywhere. That’s just the way of it. You go hard after people you care about or you probably never cared about them to begin with.”

  “Then you should probably stop dating nice girls. You’re not going to find Ms.-fly-across-the-world-to-get-her-back in your current pool of availables.”

  He shrugged and checked his pockets for his wallet. “You never know, Vera. She might turn out to be the one.”

  “You really think so?”

  An amused smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “No, but she can be the one tonight.”

  “You’re so gross.”

  “And late. I have to go. You sure you’re okay on your own? Do you want me to send Dad over?”

  “I’m fine. When Wyatt comes over for his break, I’ll ask him to walk me to my car later.”

  “Alright sounds good. Lock the door behind me.”

  I saluted him because that’s what little sisters did. He waved me off and headed out. I did as he asked and locked the door as soon as he stepped outside.

  Oh, Vann. I didn’t get his relationship issues. I had tons of reasons to swear off men and dating.

  But his history with girls was so boring.

  Busy. But overall, uneventful.

  A few people walked up to the truck, and I threw myself back into my work. I hadn’t been lying when I told Vann I’d ask Wyatt to walk me to my car later, even if I had to close up a little early. Killian might have been avoiding me, but I fully expected Wyatt at some point. He was like the stray puppy I’d accidentally adopted.

  After I’d taken their money, I got to work, making tacos as quickly as possible and putting it in a box with sriracha esquites and a lemon wedge. I handed the boxes out the window, warning them that it might be a bit spicy.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone step up to the order window, so I passed out some extra napkins and left them to enjoy their meals.

  The side door of Lilou opened and captured my attention as I walked down the line of windows to the order side. My heart stilled in my chest, pausing just long enough for me to see it was someone taking out the trash—not Killian on break. Not that I was waiting to catch a glimpse of Killian or anything. Because I wasn’t.

  I let go of a frozen breath, and my heartbeat normalized again. But only for a second.

  “What a relief to find out you’re not dead.”

  His voice stopped me cold. Too late. I stood just inches away from him, separated by the thin siding of my food truck.

  Derrek.

  Derrek Hanover. Executive chef. Adjunct professor at CAI. Ex-boyfriend. Nightmare.

  I wasn’t a fan of horror movies. I could tolerate them, but they weren’t my favorite genre. That said, I had always watched them with a sort of elevated sense of self. I would imagine myself in the exact shoes of the heroine in whatever movie and know exactly what I would do differently to save myself from whatever horrific situation she’d gotten herself into.

  For instance, I would never run up the stairs if a serial killer chased me around the house. I would fight like hell to run out the door. Or car keys. I would get them in the lock in plenty of time not to be murdered. I wouldn’t fumble around waiting to have my throat sliced. No simple task would stop me from survival.

  And yet here I was, a psychopath just inches from me, and I’d taken the elevator to the top floor and thrown my keys down a well—probably the same well the girl from The Ring lived in.

  Good lord, did I have a death wish?

  “What are you doing here?” Again—I should have been dialing the police or running away or hiding. Instead, I was asking inane questions and allowing him space in my new life that had been constructed around the entire idea that he didn’t belong in it.

  He ignored my question. The answer was obvious. “I thought something happened to you. I called the cops. I filed a missing person’s report. I didn’t know where the fuck you went, Vera. You just up and left. Who does that? Who just fucking leaves like that?”

  “I—”

  “Shut up,” he snarled. “You made me look like an asshole. Everyone wanted to know where you went and I had nothing to fucking say because I didn’t fucking know.”

  His eyes burned, pinning me in place with the intensity behind them. But it was nothing like Killian’s, it wasn’t the slow, delicious burn that licked its way up my legs and swarmed in my belly. No, Derrek’s was nothing but searing fire that wanted to scorch me to ash, blaze through me until I was nothing but dust.

  I tried to swallow but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even breathe. Panic welled up inside me like an overflowing dam, spilling over my brittle walls of protection in a rush of total destruction.

  His voice dropped, gentled. His gaze softened too. He stopped being the terrifying avenger and transformed into the master manipulator. “You could have told me you were unhappy, Vera. You could have talked to me. I would have listened. I would have changed. For you. If you would have just talked to me first, we could have figured everything out. I could have made everything better. For you.”

  “How did you figure out I wasn’t missing?” I hadn’t intentionally misled him to believe that something had happened to me. But I also hadn’t done a whole lot to reassure him I was fine. When I said I just left, I meant it.

  He went to work one day, and I packed up all that I could, took him off the one bank account I had and disappeared. I ran like the hounds of hell were chasing me.

  And I didn’t stop running until Dad had called with the cancer news.

  “Your dad returned my hundreds of calls. Apparently, you had enough time to let him know where you were going. He said you needed to ‘find yourself.’” He stepped closer to the window, wrapping his fingers around the ledge. I flinched at the sight of them, at the restrained strength that lay temporarily dormant inside them.

  “I’m sorry I made you worry,” I told him honestly. “I didn’t mean for you to get the cops involved. I should have left a note.”

  His lip curled. “You think I care about that now? I was worried about you! Of course I called the cops. I loved you, Vera. I would have done whatever it took to keep you. I would have changed. I would have bent over backward to make you happy. But you didn’t give me a chance. You didn’t even involve me in the conversation.” He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. Then he added, “How could you just leave like that? How could you walk away from everything we had without saying
goodbye?”

  The night was hot as hell, but my fingers were ice cold. I took another step back. I needed to close for the night. I needed to lock the windows and turn off the lights and curl up on the floor until he went away.

  A sob caught in my throat and I started blinking rapidly to hold back the tears. What if he didn’t go away?

  What if he didn’t leave?

  He sounded so nice. He was the penitent boyfriend, heartbroken by the girl he thought he was going to spend the rest of his life with. But oh, how his selective memory could play tricks on us both.

  He didn’t remember all the yelling, all the name-calling. He couldn’t recall the time he slapped me. Or yanked me to the ground by my hair. He didn’t remember the bruises on my arms I had to hide. Or the time he’d thrown a plate at me because he didn’t like something I’d made. He didn’t remember the days I spent walking on eggshells just to keep the peace or the nights spent curled in the fetal position trying not to shake the bed with my frightened sobs.

  He only remembered what he wanted to. And he was going to use that idyllic history to paint a picture of our relationship that never existed. He’d done it a hundred times before.

  The problem previously was that I always bought into the illusion. Everyone was flawed. He would try to change for me. He loved me. He didn’t hit me that hard, I just bruised really easily. I should know better than to talk back to him by now. I shouldn’t have made him so angry.

  I should have kept my mouth shut.

  I should have worn the dress he liked. Or made the food he wanted. Or remembered to record the show he’d asked me to.

  It was always my fault. He always hurt me because of something I did. He didn’t want to. He never wanted to hurt me. But sometimes I pushed him too far.

  God, what a sick game.

  I knew better now. At least my head did. I’d spent the last year analyzing everything I did wrong. And then every single thing he did wrong. I forced myself to relive traumatizing memories so I could guard myself against it happening again.

  But my heart hadn’t seemed to learn the lesson. Not that I still loved Derrek. I hadn’t loved him in a very long time. But I couldn’t stop from reacting when he laid on the guilt like this.