It's Definitely Not You: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy

by Abby Brooks

  “He does that just to get under my skin.”

  “You’re not good at taking compliments, are you?”

  The more I thought about the way Joe treated Collin, the more I felt like I was standing at a precipice, toes over the edge, arms wide as I leaned into the mysteries of this man I’d misunderstood from the start.

  I turned to find Joe staring at me, one hand on the wheel, his gaze bouncing between my face and the road. A smile teased his lips. “You’re very beautiful.”

  “Me and my dirty penny hair.”

  “Don’t you knock your hair. I fucking love your hair. I daydream about running my hands through it.”

  “You daydream about me?” The news sent a confusing blend of excitement, lust, and celebration through me.

  “Oh, Kennedy Reagan Monroe. If you knew what I’d done to you up here—” he tapped his temple “—you never would have gotten in this truck with me.”

  “That’s funny. The same could be said in reverse.”

  I watched as that revelation sank in. First, the slight frown of confusion. Followed by the head tilt of understanding. Then desire darkened his eyes right before he gave his attention back to the road.

  Moments later, we bumped to a stop in front of Nan’s house. Wordlessly, we climbed out of the truck and met at the sidewalk. “I had a really nice time.”

  I gripped my hands behind my back so they wouldn’t grip him—though my self-control was slipping. I was seconds away from leaping into his arms. In an effort not to embarrass myself, I started for the house, but Joe gently took my hand, stopping me in my tracks. Heat surged through me as he pulled me back. We stood toe to toe, so close I could feel the warmth of his body against mine.

  “As far as first dates go, that was a pretty good one.” He slipped a hand around my waist and drew me into his embrace.

  “We’re upgrading it to a date now, are we?”

  “Definitely a date.” He brushed my hair off my face then ran his hand through it. “God, your hair. I think I have a new obsession.”

  I studied him, drunk on his scent. On the electricity sizzling between us. On the perfect night out with a man I thought I couldn’t stand, filling myself with tacky drinks and good company and the hopes of something really freaking amazing growing between us.

  “I’m going to kiss you again,” he said. “I’m going to kiss you again and I don’t think I’m going to be able to stop once I start.”

  “Good.” I tilted my head toward his. “I won’t want you to stop.”

  A breeze blew, lifting my hair as Joe’s eyes zeroed in on my lips. His hand came to my cheek.

  “Look at you two!”

  We jumped like we’d been caught cheating on a test in elementary school.

  Delores had abandoned her ceremonial velour track suit for one circa 1990—made with swishy material that announced a person’s comings and goings with enough friction to start a fire. Either the woman moved like a panther or we were way too caught up in each other.

  “I just knew you guys were hiding something.” She grinned. “How long have you been doing the deed? The horizontal hula? The ole bedroom rodeo?”

  My mouth dropped and I made a sound that was supposed to be a laugh. “We’re not.”

  Yet.

  Delores shook her head. “You know who’s gonna believe that? Nobody, that’s who. You guys have been walking around in a cloud of hormones for the last month, at least.” And with that, she took off in a flurry of swishy fabric. “Have fun, you two!” she called over her shoulder as she rounded the corner.

  I glanced at Joe, mortified. Whatever mood had been brewing just burst in a bubble of blunt older neighbors. “Have we really been walking around in a cloud of hormones? And does that woman ever sleep?”

  “Definitely not. On both counts, I think.” He gestured towards the backyard. “Have a drink with me?”

  I’d had enough alcohol, but not enough Joe, so I agreed and followed him to the guesthouse. We made it two steps over the threshold before he whirled, drawing me close and pressing his lips to mine. His hands were in my hair and mine were on his ass.

  “It’s as magnificent as I thought,” I murmured as I gave it a squeeze.

  Joe laughed against my mouth. “I do aim to please.”

  He shut the door with a fumbling swipe of his arm and drew me further into the room, his lips exploring mine as his hands danced along my curves. Desperate to feel him, I slipped my fingers under his shirt. His skin blazed against mine and he trailed his lips along my jaw, nipping at the soft spot just under my ear as he slid one strap of my dress off my shoulder.

  He breathed deeply, nuzzling my neck. “Fucking lilacs. Why do you always smell like lilacs?”

  The fact that he knew the scent of my shampoo had my libido shimmying a happy dance.

  We took two more fumbling steps, still locked in a make out session to rival anything from my teenage years. I’d passed the point of no return and I couldn’t care less. In fact, if the clench and throb of my lower muscles had anything to say about it, I wanted Joe more than I let myself realize. My body celebrated my brain finally getting on board.

  We kissed, petted, and laughed our way through the room. Shirts and shoes fell to the floor in a haphazard trail to the bed. When the back of my knees bumped his mattress, I collapsed to a sitting position, staring up at the man I’d misunderstood from the start.

  With me barefoot and his glorious chest on display, we drank each other in for all of two seconds before our lips clashed again. His hand cupped my cheek, fingers threading into my hair. We tumbled back onto the bed and he ground his erection against me. My hips rolled, reveling in friction, as I explored the muscled planes of his back and shoulders.

  “If you hadn’t just met my brother, would you still be here with me tonight?”

  Drawing my fingers up his arms and into his hair, I gave the only answer a question that ridiculous deserved. “No.”

  Joe pulled back, looking so stricken I had to laugh.

  “I’m just kidding, Wiki. Yes, I’d be here tonight. Like I said at dinner, I’ve been ignoring my attraction to you for a long time.” I took his hand and guided it between my thighs, letting him feel the dampness gathering there. “That’s because of you. Only you, Joe.”

  He growled his approval, a grin lighting his face as he slipped a finger past my underwear. It skated past my folds and slid across my clit, eliciting a shiver of anticipation. I arched my back and closed my eyes as he lowered my panties past my hips, then hiked my skirt up to my waist. His tongue dipped and darted, stroking bursts of starlight to life behind my eyes.

  One finger slipped inside me, hooking to massage my inner walls, and I groaned—if you could use such a polite word to describe the animal sound emanating from my throat. Joe chuckled as I writhed.

  “Don’t stop.” I lifted my head in time to see his face lower, that tuft of dark hair tickling my thighs. My orgasm wasn’t delicate or polite. Nor did it give me any warning of its arrival. It blazed through my body, shattering me, my muscles quivering and clenching as I moaned and shook.

  As my gyrations died down, Joe sat up, grinning as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You sure know how to make a guy feel like he knows what he’s doing.”

  “Stop being humble. You definitely know what you’re doing.” Pushing up on my elbows, I had the distinct pleasure of watching his body shift and flex as he stood, then crawled over me, caging me with his arms as he lowered his lips to mine.

  He drank me in. The kiss as luscious as fine wine. Heady. Lingering. Intoxicating.

  My hands flew to his pants, tugging the metal button free from the fabric, then slipping inside to stroke his velvety length. I swirled my thumb along the tip, spreading the precum gathering there in sensuous circles. Joe’s cock pulsed in my hand and his teeth captured my bottom lip.

  I freed him of his jeans, shimmying them off his hips along with his boxer briefs. He kicked them off his feet, then reached in
to the bedside table for a condom as I yanked off my skirt and unhooked my bra. He took himself in his fist and lined up with my entrance. I cupped his face as he slid into me, then let my arms fall to my sides as my back arched.

  His thrusts were slow, controlled. Long caresses of his cock that set my nerve-endings ablaze. As he picked up speed, something deep inside me quickened. Not just the fluttering of a second orgasm, but a surrendering.

  Joe Channing wasn’t a criminal. Nor was he an asshole. He wasn’t sent from Hell to ruin my life. Nor did he have dinner parties with Satan and his legions of demons.

  He was kinder than I gave him credit for.

  Generous even.

  And the slow, tortuous pulse of his hips proved my point as his giving nature afforded me yet another orgasm. I squealed and grunted, fisting his sheets in my hands as my body erupted in sparks of pleasure.

  The louder I got, the faster he moved. Our skin clapped like thunder every time his hips crashed into me. I panted and moaned.

  His cock.

  His scent.

  His breath in my hair.

  His hands on my body.

  I would be forever changed.

  He left pieces of himself in his wake, as if whatever it was that made him him was combining with whatever it was that made me me.

  Or maybe the sex was so good I was losing my mind.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Joe

  At some point during the night, Kennedy claimed half the bed and all the pillows, stretching out like a queen staking claim on a new territory. Thanks to her invasion, I found myself awake at five o’clock in the morning. Her chest rose and fell and her sex kitten hair fanned out around her in a copper cloud.

  I stared like a peasant in the presence of royalty. Rapt. Overcome. Amazed that someone like her existed in the same world I did. Knowing she had to work, I slipped out of bed, pulled on my jeans, and ambled into the kitchenette to start a pot of coffee.

  Last night, I called Kennedy’s hair my new obsession.

  What a fool I’d been to think things would stop there.

  Her body, the sounds she made when I was inside her, the way she looked at me when she came…

  After just one hit, I was an addict. I’d never recover.

  As the aroma of coffee tickled my sleep-fogged brain, an idea popped into existence. What Kennedy needed after a night of sexing was a delicious breakfast to fuel her body for work, so she’d be ready for more sexing when she got home. I congratulated myself on a fucking solid plan and got to work.

  Carefully, quietly, I pulled out a pan and tossed in some bacon, sipping on coffee as it sizzled away. The scent brought up a sliver of a memory from when I was five, maybe six. My foster mom at the time was wonderful. A beautiful woman whose caring heart had room for the entire world. She cooked three meals a day for me. Supported me as I worked through the baggage left by my bio-mom. My poor, unsuspecting soul let down its guard, deemed her Perfect Mom, and then boom. She and her husband decided they didn’t have the energy to be the kind of parents they wanted to be. No adoption for me. Back into the system I went.

  I drowned those bittersweet memories with a searing swig of coffee and pulled a carton of eggs out of the fridge. The rustle of skin on sheets sounded behind me and I straightened to find Kennedy blinking awake. Clutching the comforter to her chest, she pressed up on her elbow and rewarded me with a smile.

  “Morning, your majesty.” I set the eggs down and leaned on the counter, drinking her in.

  “Morning yourself.” Her hair fell over her shoulder as she swung her legs off the bed and pulled on some clothes. “What’re you doing?”

  I placed a hand over my heart. “I am making a solid breakfast to reward you for the pleasure you provided last night, in the hopes that you will be interested in continued pleasure this evening.”

  She frowned. “But Joe. I’m a vegetarian. And a doctor. I took an oath to do no harm and I take that very seriously. I can’t eat that.”

  Silly, lust-struck me took the bait hook, line, and sinker. I stared at the sizzling meat in the pan and stammered an apology as she laughed.

  “I’m kidding. I mean, come on, you’ve seen me eat at least seven hamburgers and even cooked me a steak that I downed quite enthusiastically, as I remember.” Her smile lit the room. I had no choice but to return it.

  “I don’t operate at full capacity for at least two hours in the morning. Imagine my brain like the Scottish moors. Beautiful and worth exploring, but obstructed by thick fog.”

  She perched on a stool at the counter and folded her hands under her chin. “Are the Scottish moors foggy?”

  “They were when I was there. But San Francisco was worse.” Using a fork, I pulled the bacon out of the pan and cracked in the eggs. They hit the heat with a satisfying hiss and I stuck a couple slices of bread in the toaster.

  “You’ve been everywhere.”

  “I’ve seen a lot more of the world than I thought I would when I was a kid. But, there are still some places I’d like to visit.” I plated her breakfast and handed it to her with a dramatic bow. “How does her majesty prefer her coffee?”

  She giggled, thanking me as she accepted the plate. “Her majesty prefers her coffee as mostly cream and sugar.”

  “You and the sweet stuff.”

  “I guess I’m just that sweet.”

  “Ha!” I hunted down a carton of cream and pulled a bag of sugar out of the cabinet and set them in front of her.

  She stirred in a ridiculous amount of both. “What’s with the new nickname?”

  “You colonized my bed last night. Claiming not only the land as your own, but also the resources, i.e. the blankets and pillows.”

  She looked as mortified as I felt when I fell for her vegetarian joke, so I made up for it by moving behind her, slipping her hair off her neck, and nuzzling the soft spot below her jaw as she chewed. Goose bumps flared across her arms as I trailed my fingers along her shoulders.

  “You keep doing that and I won’t be able to finish my breakfast.”

  “Does that mean you want me to stop?”

  “Whatever you do, don’t stop.” She turned her head, affording me the real estate to continue my travels. “You’re taking such good care of me, I’m going to have to come up with ways to spoil you.”

  “I can think of a few things, but it’s my duty to warn you that most of them involve your lips. And my cock.”

  “Very subtle, Wiki. Very subtle.” She arched a brow. “And in case you can’t catch the sarcasm through that brain fog, I’m hilariously remarking that you were, in fact, not subtle at all.”

  My erection pressed into her back and she put down her fork to reach around and stroke me. I pulled away, adjusting myself. “Oh no, your majesty. First, you must finish your breakfast.”

  Reluctantly she swiped up her fork and cut into her egg. “What’s your favorite birthday memory?” she asked after a few more bites.

  “Talk about a hard right turn.” I frowned as I perched on the stool next to her. “Did you do a search for awkward conversation starters or something?”

  “Maybe,” she said with a shrug and a quirk of those lips. “But, you’re required to answer.”

  “Required? This sounds like once again, you’re confused on the way human interaction works.”

  “I’m not sure I’m the one confused here. Think about the really uncomfortable message you’ll send if you chose not to answer a question that basic after what we did last night.”

  Maybe birthdays were a basic topic for someone with a normal childhood. My upbringing was a different story. She did have a point, though, so I swallowed down my fear of vulnerability and answered the damn question.

  “Birthday’s weren’t really a thing for me, growing up. They happened. I mean, I got older each year. But…” I searched my brain for any positive birthday memories and found one featuring Perfect Mom. “Once, I had a foster mom who threw me this really elaborate party. She made me a cake. D
ecorated my bedroom door with balloons and crepe paper, then invited people from school over. I was like six or seven.”

  And not one month later, she decided she didn’t want to be my mom anymore. For a long time, I wondered if I did something at that party to embarrass her. I’ve since decided she was one of those people who push too hard to be the best at everything. She just couldn’t be the best at yoga and work and whatever else she was into—and being my mom, too.

  Kennedy put down her fork. “What about after that?”

  “Birthdays really weren’t a big deal.” That was all I wanted to say about that.

  My past sucked. My present didn’t. Why bring it all back up again?

  “When is yours?” she asked.

  “Do I get to ask questions?”

  “In a minute.”

  She looked so cute, how could I let her down? “It’s a month from today, actually. September fifteenth.”

  Kennedy’s eyes lit up as she polished off the last of her coffee, then pushed off her stool. “Stand up for me.”

  Her command earned another strange look. “You’re weird in the morning.”

  “Says the guy who compared his brain to a Scottish moor.”

  As there was no fighting her logic, I complied with her request, tantalized by the look in her eyes.

  She sank to her knees in front of me, shaking her head as she pried at the button at my waist. “He even wears jeans in the morning.”

  With a giggle, she slipped my pants down and freed my enthusiastic dick from his denim prison, then slowly, deliberately, drew her tongue along the shaft and circled the crown. I fucking shivered from head to toe as I met her gaze, then lust burned that shit away as she wrapped those lips around my cock and sucked.

  It was weeks of fantasy coming to fruition and reality blew my daydreams to smithereens. I gripped the counter. Ogled her bobbing head, those copper locks streaming over her shoulders, and stored the image in the old memory banks for future use.

  The smell of bacon would never remind me of Perfect Mom ever again. It would always be Her Royal Majesty Penny fucking Dreadful on her knees in front of me on a Wednesday morning. I grabbed a fistful of that gorgeous hair. My balls clenched. She cupped them, slowly swirled her fingers around them, and I came with a force that threatened to drop me to the ground beside her.