Love Between Enemies

by Molly E. Lee

  Her brow furrowed. “I never said I wasn’t going out for the scholarship.”

  I gaped at her. “I asked you on the first day of school if you were signing up. You laughed in my face and said no.”

  A light clicked behind her bright green eyes and then she cringed. “I thought you were talking about Bray’s petition…” She flinched again and I raised my hand to my forehead.

  Seriously? She hadn’t known what I was talking about? God, now I really was a dick.

  “You thought I’d do that just to…what? Spite you?” she asked.

  “I didn’t know why you’d do it,” I admitted. “Fucking misunderstanding. In a big, bad way. New slate, remember?” I took a deep breath. “You asked me to stay. I’m here. You want to talk, I’m standing right here.” I extended my arms, almost like I was asking her to fall into them even though I knew that wasn’t what either of us needed.

  “An olive branch,” she said. “For both of us.”

  “Yes.” I lowered my arms. “One with two branches that go both ways.” I took a step back, the cool breeze sending a chill across my skin with the absence from the heat her nearness had created. “School is over. Next week A&J will have made their choice. We may see each other on campus at Stanford, we may not, but we have tonight.” I hurried over the last part, shifting my feet to make a slow walk along the patch of patio that separated the pool’s edge and Lennon’s house.

  Zoey’s flats scraped against the concrete as she shuffled to keep pace with me. “What do you mean we may see each other on campus?” She eyed me as we walked. “Just because we have different majors doesn’t mean we won’t have some gen-ed classes together. Odds are we’ll run into each other.”

  The truth clogged my airways, but I couldn’t choke out the words. Without the scholarship, and no guarantee of the internship, I may never be able to afford Stanford. I could try for loans and grants, but…well, I just didn’t know if I could handle the course load and work at the same time. I needed more time to think, more time to work the problem.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” Zoey arched a brow at me when I hadn’t responded.

  “It’s—”

  A high-pitched voice screamed Do it! and cut me off. Seconds later, a body crashed into the pool, spraying both Zoey and myself with cold water.

  Zoey squealed from the sting and I glared over her shoulder, hoping whoever the hell had jumped off one of Lennon’s balconies was still alive. I spotted Fynn in the pool, rushing toward the middle of it. He didn’t get very far before a massive dude broke the surface, fist-pumping the air.

  “YOLO baby!”

  I rolled my eyes, returning focus to Zoey, whose blonde hair was half soaked. She chuckled, shaking her hands to fling water droplets on the pavement.

  “Come here,” I said, tugging her toward the lounge chair area where Lennon kept towels stocked. I grabbed a couple of them and led us to a less crowded spot at the edge of the patio where it connected with the yard. I used the corner of the soft white cotton to smooth over a streak of black rolling down her cheek. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were crying.”

  She snorted but cleared her throat to stop herself, freezing under my touch. “You think I never cry?”

  She didn’t bat my hand away, so I continued until I’d wiped the black smudge off her smooth skin. “No,” I answered honestly. “In all the times I’ve gotten lucky enough to beat you at something, not once did you cry. It’s not a bad thing,” I hurried to add. “I think you’re one of the strongest, smartest girls I’ve ever known.” I dropped the towel, licking my lips in an attempt to regain some moisture in my suddenly dry mouth. “Also one of the most infuriating,” I joked.

  She smiled and a flush of red colored her cheeks. With the way her damp strands of hair fell over her shoulders, she’d never looked more beautiful.

  Shit. The more I stopped seeing her as the enemy…the more I realized there was nothing left to fight over…the more I couldn’t stop seeing all the ways in which she was amazing.

  “I cry,” she said, wrapping her towel around her wet hair and wringing it out. “I cried this morning.”

  My fist flew to my chest, and I scrunched my eyebrows at her. “I’m an asshole.”

  “Yeah,” she said, but her smile still shaped her lips. She squinted at me as she tossed her hair over her shoulder. “If I was really smart, I’d pay you back for it.”

  I laughed, but a cold shot of fear zinged up my spine with the way her eyes twinkled when she made the joke. Zoey was brilliant and beautiful, which only made her more terrifying. Thankfully, she happened to be surprisingly cool, too, because she’d accepted my apology. I didn’t even want to imagine what she’d dish out as revenge had I played the jerk card and not shown up tonight to beg her forgiveness.

  Just the thought made me shudder.

  Chapter Eight

  Zoey

  “Gordon!” Dustin called as we walked toward the house.

  “Dude, weren’t you just passed out?” Gordon asked, shaking Dustin’s offered hand after he’d run up to us. He gripped a square red bean bag in his free hand, his eyes darting between me and Gordon.

  “I’ve rallied,” he said, laughing. “Nothing a game of Cornhole can’t fix. We’re playing doubles, you want in?”

  “How much?” Gordon asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Twenty to the winner. Nothing major.”

  Gordon glanced down at me. “You want to?”

  “I’ve never played before,” I admitted.

  “It’s easy,” he said.

  Dustin agreed, but pointed at me while eyeing Gordon. “She’s on your team.”

  “Hell yeah, she is,” Gordon said. “She’ll pick it up in a snap and then your money will buy us a second dinner later.”

  Dustin laughed. “We’ll see!” He spun around, and we followed him to an open patch of ground near the lake.

  “You sure you want me on your team?” I asked, scoping out the setup. Two sloped wooden boxes were on the ground, spaced about twelve feet from each other. A wide hole rested in the same spot of each one—Lennon’s band logo for Ignited Hearts decorated the flat surface—and bright silver paint that practically glowed rimmed the circle around the hole.

  “Absolutely,” he said, and his instant declaration made my stomach flip. We hadn’t spent much time working together—except for a few projects we were paired up on. I was used to competing against him.

  This should be interesting.

  My cell vibrated and I jolted. I made sure to turn away from Gordon for a second to open Julie’s text. It was a picture, but all I could make out were wall-to-wall bodies.

  Julie: Phase 1 complete. The place is packed!

  My stomach dropped.

  What had I expected? My plans never failed. Of course, I hadn’t realized that when Gordon had shredded me this morning, he’d thought I had betrayed him on purpose.

  The tangled mess of emotions tightened inside me, but I finally shoved it down. Yeah, he’d been wrong about me. The scholarship had been a misunderstanding. But what he’d done in his speech? Pure spite. He’d upped the stakes. I was simply following through.

  I needed to play the game. Whatever kept Gordon here—at the party—was all that mattered.

  “Jesse!” Dustin shouted, waving the red bean bag in his hand at his partner. “My man! We’ve got twenty on this. Meyers is always down for a good bet!” He smacked Gordon’s chest and jogged to talk to Jesse, whose neon-teal polo and matching eyeshadow popped against the muted lights from the house illuminating the area. Jesse’s red hair was in perfect spikes, and I couldn’t help but envy the guy’s skill level at creating a smoky yet dramatic eye. We’d chatted a few times when we hit library volunteer duty on the same days, and he was as funny as he was pretty.

  Too bad Gordon and I would have to take him and Dustin down.

  “You like to bet?” I asked, my voice lowered as I glanced up at Gordon.

  �
��Just on little things,” he said, shrugging. “It’s something that is entirely risk-based. No amount of skill or planning can help in a fifty-fifty shot, and those are the bets I like to take.”

  I nodded. “That makes a whole lot of sense.”

  “Yeah?” he asked, his eyebrows raised. “Fynn doesn’t get it.” He chuckled. “Thinks I’m crazy to risk any kind of money on something so up to chance.”

  “No,” I said. “I get it. All the studying, cramming, working—it’s all about control and preparation and planning. Betting takes that out of the equation.” I jolted when his jaw dropped slightly. “What?”

  He blinked a few times. “Nothing. Just…yeah. You’re spot on.”

  I smirked. “I usually am.”

  “Wait,” Jesse said as Gordon and I walked over to where he chatted with Dustin. “You paired Meyers with Zoey?”

  “So?” Dustin shrugged.

  “Dude,” he said, rolling his eyes. “They’re the two smartest people in our entire class. They’re going to crush us.”

  Dustin huffed. “Being smart doesn’t make you an expert at Cornhole, especially when you’ve never played.” He pointed at me again, and Jesse’s popping eyes lit up.

  “Nice,” he said.

  “Easy,” Gordon chided as he scooped up four blue bean bags from the grass beside the wooden box we stood next to. “Don’t celebrate too soon. I wouldn’t underestimate her. Ever.” He turned to face me, pointing at the boxes as he explained the overall objective and rules of the game.

  Playing doubles, I’d have to stand on one end of the box with Jesse, while Dustin and Gordon played from the other box across the way. They’d go first, both trying to make as many bags into the hole in our box as possible, and then we’d go. The team who earned twenty-one points first won. Sounded easy enough, but a crazy rule upped the challenge. Each shot the opposing team made not only earned them a point, it deducted a point from the other team.

  “And,” Dustin said after Gordon had made sure I felt okay with the gist of the game. “Party rules apply. If you miss the box completely, you have to take a drink. And if you knock off the bag of an opponent, they have to drink. Whoever loses the game at the end—”

  “—has to drink!” he and Gordon said at once.

  “Lots of drinking,” I said, chuckling. “Think I’ve got it.”

  Gordon gave me a thumbs-up. “You’ve got this,” he said as he and Dustin walked to the opposite side of the area. I couldn’t help but respond to this lighter side of Gordon—the way he bounced on the balls of his feet before he expertly tossed a bag at the box I stood just to the side of, the easy grin when he sunk the bag in the hole, the playful taunts at Dustin when he’d made a bag in, too. It was infectious, his enthusiasm for the game, and though I tried to stay focused on the plan, I was committed to winning. You simply couldn’t place me in a competition and not have me try my damnedest to win.

  “You’re up!” Gordon called after he’d earned us eleven points to Dustin’s eight.

  “We’re golden,” I said as I stepped up and threw my first bag. It landed on top of the box, but nowhere near the hole, only earning us one point.

  “That’s all right!” Gordon said, waving off the pout my lips had curled into. “You’re just getting the feel for it. The next one is going in the hole!”

  “That’s what she said!” Dustin shouted, smacking Gordon on the back, who just rolled his eyes.

  Jesse sank his in the hole right out of the gate. “Aw,” he teased. “Don’t worry, Zoey. You can’t be great at everything.” His joke was playful, not malicious.

  “Says who?” I rolled my second bag between my fingers, getting used to the weight. I focused on the hole, ignoring the way my eyes were automatically drawn to the elaborate black and purple swirls from Lennon’s logo design on the box. After a slow breath, I tossed the bag nice and easy, and it sank perfectly into the hole. “Yes!” I squealed.

  “Nice!” Gordon sent me an air-fist-bump, and I immediately returned the gesture.

  “Shit,” Jesse said. “I knew it. You pick up things way too quickly.”

  “It’s a curse,” I said, laughing as he tossed his second bag. It landed on top of the fractured heart in the center of Lennon’s logo.

  My next shot landed close to it, and then Jesse’s third bag knocked mine onto the ground.

  “Ha!” he said. “Drink up!”

  Gordon handed me a bottle of cider from the ice-filled wash basin that sat a few feet away from the game.

  I snapped my fingers, resisting the urge to stomp my foot. I hated losing at anything, but the game wasn’t over yet. I used my shirt to twist off the bottle’s cap and took a fast drink.

  After another couple of rounds, we’d finally made it to where only a three-point shot separated us.

  “If you make this in the hole,” Gordon said, rubbing his palms together, “you’ll win the game for us.”

  “No pressure,” I said, squeezing the bag.

  “You work best under pressure,” he said from his spot across the yard.

  I stood up a little straighter. “You don’t know me.” I’d meant the accusation as a fact, but it came out more like a tease. Because he was right, I always performed better under stress.

  “Please,” he said. “I’ve seen it a hundred times. Up the stakes and you’re all over it.”

  True. And most of the time it was because he’d pushed me to that moment, knowing I had to pull out all the stops to win when competing against him. But we weren’t competing now, we were on a team.

  And we were about to win.

  I focused on the hole and sank the bag with one fluid movement. Dustin dropped to his knees with an overdramatic no! but Gordon sprinted the distance that separated us. “Yes!” He scooped me up and spun me around. “That was brilliant,” he said, stopping our spin but still gripping me to his chest. I’d never realized just how hard and sculpted it was until I was pinned against it. My breath caught, the exhilaration from winning mixing with the heat seeping into my skin from his body.

  A muscle in his jaw ticked as our eyes locked, and he slowly set me on the ground, my body sliding down every inch of his in one smooth, slow motion. Flames licked my skin as I found my breath again, and I took a tentative step away, afraid if I stood close to him for a second longer I might combust.

  “Great job,” he said, clearing his throat while he high-fived me.

  My heart raced. “Thanks.”

  “Beginner’s luck,” Jesse teased.

  “No way, bro,” Gordon said, nudging me, the seriousness in his eyes shifting back to the lighter tone they’d been before. “No one is a match for this team.” He grinned down at me. “Who knew we’d make a great pair?” He high-fived me again and I nearly choked on the air in my own throat.

  That felt too good.

  No, it was just because we’d won. I lived to win. That was the only reason my heart raced, my cheeks flushed, and my blood sizzled. The sparks dancing across my spine had nothing to do with how Gordon smiled at me with a sense of pride at our win—our team win—and it certainly didn’t have anything to do with the fact that he was 100 percent correct.

  We make an excellent pair.

  Too bad tonight wasn’t about making friends.

  “Sorry I had to rush off,” I said as I stopped in front of Gordon, who leaned against a wall near the makeshift dance floor. I’d spotted Bray when we’d taken a water break after winning another round of Cornhole, and had left him to check on her. I motioned behind me. “I know Braylen better than anyone else does—well, except maybe Fynn—and that look…” My eyes trailed to the side before returning to him. “She needed to talk.”

  “She okay?” Gordon asked, glancing over my shoulder at Braylen, who slowly made her way toward the kitchen.

  “Yeah,” I said. “She will be, at least.” I hated putting an ultimatum on her like this—tell Fynn that she was in love with him by midnight or I would—but there was no way in hell I was let
ting her love for Fynn go unknown. She was about to embark on the future she’d dreamed of for years, and I wanted her riding off into that beautiful sunset without any regrets. And not admitting to Fynn that she loved him? She’d regret that forever. She’d find her own way to tell him before midnight, I was sure of it. And if she couldn’t, I would bite that bullet for her because I adored her, and she of all people deserved to be happy.

  “That’s good,” Gordon said, and it really seemed like he meant it. All the concern he’d shown tonight had been so genuine, even his apology, which was totally screwing with my head.

  Julie had texted me again while I was chatting with Braylen a few minutes ago, updating me with more picture proof that the plan was fully underway. And instead of feeling the exhilaration at it going off without a hitch, I was second-guessing myself.

  I never did that.

  It was all Gordon’s fault. His words, his damn touch that sent heat rippling over my skin, like when he’d gently dried my face after the pool incident, or when he’d picked me up after winning the game. I mean holy hell, if he’d been any other guy ever, and not the enemy I knew him for, then it would’ve been something straight out of a romantic comedy.

  But he wasn’t a good, solid guy sweeping me off my feet for the night. He was Gordon Meyers. Lifelong adversary, constant presence pushing me to be one step ahead of him, and the person who broke my heart this morning. Humiliated me in a way I never thought possible. He could apologize all he wanted and smile that damned smile I couldn’t get out of my head and smell like the best baked bread in the world, but damn it, I was sticking to the plan. That’s what I did. And that’s what he deserved.

  Then why does your stomach hurt so much?

  Because I’d already drank more than usual. I shoved that at my conscience and made a mental note to drink more water. It would still be a few hours before I’d have to drive Gordon to the destination point of plan A, but I wanted to be sharp and sober once we got there. Him on the other hand…