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

by Abby Brooks

  Kennedy took one look and gasped, her gaze flying first to mine, then Maxine’s. “Is that Nan’s ring?”

  I nodded. “When I asked her for her blessing, she gave it to me to give to you. After seeing how much she loved her husband, I couldn’t think of a better way to start our life together, than by honoring theirs.”

  With tears in her eyes and a smile on her face, Kennedy held out her hand. “I’d love to marry you, Joe Channing.”

  I slipped the ring onto my new favorite finger and kissed her with the promise of years of happiness ahead.

  Epilogue

  Kennedy

  Joe and I were married in a quiet ceremony followed by a raucous party hosted by The Hutton Hotel. We traveled the world for our honeymoon, stopping at all the famous landmarks he’d already visited, then heading off on our own adventure.

  The Scottish moors weren’t foggy the day I saw them, but they were so beautiful tears sprang to my eyes. The Eiffel Tower was inspiring. Westminster Abbey sent chills down my spine.

  As I took in the soaring architecture and glorious stained glass, I caught Joe staring. “What?” I asked, raking a hand through my hair in case it had turned into a frizzy disaster without me knowing.

  “You should know by now that you drawing attention to your hair is always, always going to send my thoughts right into the gutter.”

  With a wicked smile, I threaded both hands into the locks and tossed my head back, giving them a flirty shake and him my best sex kitten stare. “I like it when your mind is in the gutter.”

  “You do realize we’re in a church, right? And you’re putting my eternal soul at risk by doing these things to me?”

  “When we first met, I didn’t think you had a soul. I thought you were sent straight from Hell.”

  “And now?”

  “I had my doubts until I saw you walk into this cathedral unscathed.” I leaned into him, resting my head on his chest as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

  “Very funny, Doctor Channing.”

  My new name had me wiggling with happiness like Delores with gossip. “Really though. Why were you looking at me like that?”

  “Because, as beautiful as this place is, the only thing I want to look at is you.” He leaned in to whisper, “Plus, I’m imagining what those lips will look like around my cock. Like all the time. Can’t get the image out of my brain. Scratch that. Don’t want to get the image out of my brain. It’s that good.”

  We hiked through rainforests. Rode camels through deserts. We visited ancient wonders and modern marvels, finally settling in a resort in Belize where the water was so blue it didn’t look real. Our room, if you could call it that, was a beautiful structure without walls, solitary and right on the edge of the water. Gauze curtains fluttered in the wind. We slept when we wanted. Swam when we wanted. Ate when we wanted.

  Made love when we wanted.

  We wanted to do that one a lot. A lot, a lot.

  A month after we returned home, I waited for Joe in our backyard. Stretched out in a chair, my skin still bronzed from our travels, I stared into the sky as my heart counted the minutes until he found me. A box sat on my lap, plain, white, and full of promise.

  “There’s my gorgeous Penny,” he boomed as he strolled in after a long day of work. His boots thumped against the grass. His black jeans hugged that delightful backside. And his floral shirt fluttered with each step.

  He leaned in for a kiss, and caught sight of the box. “What’s this?”

  “Good news.”

  His eyes told me he knew, or hoped he knew, what I'd hidden inside. Cocking his head, he blinked, his gaze locked on mine. “Good news?”

  “Open it,” I said with a nod.

  Carefully, he lifted the lid, then stared in silence so long I started to wonder if I’d misjudged the situation. But then those blues lifted, shimmering with tears, wonder, gratitude. “A baby?”

  I nodded.

  “We’re going to have a baby?”

  He dropped to his knees in front of me, cupping my cheeks, then pressing his forehead to my belly. I ran my hands through his hair. “We’re going to have a baby.”

  With a choking whoop, Joe looked into the sky, shaking his head and blinking away tears. “We will make the most beautiful human being.” He pulled me into his arms and danced us around the backyard. “We will fill him with love and laughter. Or her! It could be a her. A little girl with your hair… Oh, Penny. We will fill this little person with the best memories.”

  He rambled on and on, promising me and our child the world. Swearing that he’d right the wrongs of his past with our future.

  And if I knew anything about my husband, he’d give it all to us, bit by bit, piece by piece. Constructing the perfect life with the precision and care he gave all his projects.

  I’d seen many different versions of Joe Channing since we’d met.

  The sexy and villainous Captain Asshole who strutted out from Nan’s house.

  The cocky handyman who never let a chance to bump heads with me pass him by.

  The generous friend who went out of his way to make people’s days better.

  The brooding man in black nursing an injured heart.

  I’d seen him happy, sad, mad, hopeful…but until that moment, I’d never seen him look so inspired. So free. So certain that the struggles of his past were finally behind him, once and for all.

  Joe dropped to his knees in front of me again, his lips just inches from my stomach. “I will be the best father,” he promised my belly button. “I will make sure you never wonder if you’re loved or if you’re good enough because you are. You will be. I’ll challenge you to grow into your best self and spoil you with a better birthday party every single goddamn year.”

  His voice caught and he leaned his head against my stomach, swallowing hard. I ran my fingers into his hair, fighting tears of my own.

  When Joe finally lifted his gaze to me, happiness swam in those watery blues. “And you,” he said, climbing to his feet and sliding his hands around my waist. “I will spoil you, too. I’ll make you feel like you’ve earned your nickname, Your Highness. Every single day.” Joe leaned in to whisper, “With my dick. A lot of the spoiling will happen using my dick. Just in case I wasn’t clear.” He stepped back to eye me hungrily.

  “Is that a promise?”

  “You better believe it. In fact, why wait?”

  As I opened my mouth to respond, Joe swept me into his arms and carried me to our bedroom. With the reverence of a man holding something precious, he stretched me out on our mattress, then kissed my ankle.

  “Every day, Penny,” he said, then kissed my calf, my knee, my thigh. “I’ll make you feel like a queen every fucking day.”

  With a smile on his face, he relieved me of my clothing and did just that.

  Thank you for reading Joe & Kennedy’s story! I really freaking loved this couple and I hope you did, too. If you’re not done living in their world, meet Lucas and the rest of the Huttons (and get another taste of Joe!) in the Hutton Family series.

  I’ve left a taste of Lucas for you. Just turn the page! (Or skip the sneak peek and grab it now.)

  Beyond Words Sneak Peek

  Chapter One

  Cat

  Dearest Journal,

  Day 431… and the search continues.

  WHERE IN THE WORLD HAS MY ORGASM GONE?? You know better than anyone I’ve looked everywhere. Under the bed. In the fridge. I even cleaned out the trunk of my car (just in case). Nash sure seems to find his without any problem. So, why in the name of all that’s holy has mine gone M.I.A.?

  At this point I’m beginning to wonder if it’s my fault. Was it something I said? Please, if you’ll just come back, we can talk it out. I know we can. Please come back! Pretty please?

  If I wasn’t in a public place right now, I’d laugh.

  On second thought, maybe I’d cry.

  Nah, I definitely think I’ll stick with laughter. There’s too much real tragedy in
the world for me to look at something like this as anything but a joke.

  On paper, Nash and I are good together. We’ve been good together and we’ll continue being good together. For the rest of our years. This is just a little bump in the road. He’s overworked and I’m…what? What am I?

  Bored?

  Uninspired?

  Those are big words for someone like me, even though I know I’m the one who wrote them. Someone with so much going for her she can’t help but breathe it in and sit back in quiet awe.

  But still…

  I miss the way it feels to lose myself. That molten feeling that starts low. A thrum. A throb. Then it begins to work its way through my body and next thing you know I’m panting and screaming and lost in bliss and…

  …I don’t know what else.

  It says something that I can no longer find the words to describe it properly. That it’s been so long I don’t even remember how it feels.

  I miss feeling beautiful.

  I miss feeling passion.

  I miss feeling.

  I need to feel like a woman made of fire and energy and possibility again. Not this empty body, filled with gray and ash and boredom. I miss that surge of adrenaline that used to spin and twist through my stomach when Nash looked at me. A tornado of love, setting my nerve-endings on fire.

  For that matter, I miss having Nash look at me, but that’s another thing altogether. He’s so busy with work and I respect that he’s building our future, but I sure as hell am bored in the present.

  He’s tired, I get it, but one smack on my ass and I’m supposed to be ready to go? He climbs on. Won’t even look me in the eye. No kissing. No touching. No connection. No foreplay at all. It’s just, I don’t know, clinical. A means to an end.

  My body is a tool, designed for his pleasure and his pleasure alone. And really, I wonder if he even gets anything out of it. I mean, he definitely finishes, so there’s that.

  But there’s more to sex than just the physical side of things, right? I know men and women are different, but there has to be more than a muscle spasm and some fluid and we’re set. Right? I mean, right? Everything in this world revolves around sex.

  Wars have started…

  Empires collapsed…

  Friends and family walk around with knives firmly lodged in backs…

  If it’s really all about a second-long dick sneeze, then I’m just ashamed about the human race in general. It has to be about the connection. About sharing something that intimate and that special and that personal with someone you love and cherish and adore. There has to be something spiritual to it. There just has to be.

  *sigh*

  I stopped believing Nash feels anything but annoyed and obligated to me a long time ago. Although…that’s not fair. That’s me being melodramatic. He works hard. I know he loves me. Things just fade after that first burst of new love.

  We’re in the Comfortable Zone now. Capital C. Capital Z.

  That’s just as good. Better even. I know him and he knows me and we don’t need fireworks to remind us we’re special to each other.

  Although I do miss the fireworks…

  And you want to know the real kick in the shins? I can’t even get myself off anymore. Believe me, I’ve tried…

  …and tried…

  …and tried…

  There’s just…nothing.

  It’s like I’m numb.

  Dead.

  Like all the feeling has been sucked out of my body and I’m just a shell of who I used to be.

  See? None of this is Nash’s fault, is it? If I can’t even do it for myself, it’s got to be something with me, not anything to do with our relationship. But honestly, I’m too young to face the rest of my life having to go through the motions of sex without getting anything from it. It’s messy. Awkward. Sometimes it hurts.

  Please tell me this isn’t all I have to look forward to.

  Please tell me there’s more to life and love than disappointment.

  I don’t want to spend the rest of my years surrounded by people and still feeling completely alone…

  Chapter Two

  Lucas

  My feet thumped against the sand as early morning light glittered off the ocean. Sweat dripped down my back and chest and I fought the limp in my left leg for as long as was healthy. A few more steps and I stopped, shaking out my thigh as breath ripped through my lungs. My doctors called the fact that I was running at all nothing short of miraculous, but I was annoyed that my body continued to betray me time and time again. I still had miles left in me, but my damn leg was done.

  I raked my hands through my blonde hair and stared out over the water, drowning in deep thoughts. My life wasn’t supposed to be like this. I wasn’t supposed to be here, drifting and useless. I wasn’t supposed to wake up panting, drenched in sweat, shivering and shaking in fear until I remembered where I was. I was supposed to be making the world a better place, not wasting time and taking up space and being forced to give up long before I was done.

  Everything I thought I was or ever would be, died back in Afghanistan. Every hope. Every dream. Every plan I had for the future. Before, I had purpose. Since the incident, I merely existed. Life was little more than a string of days to get through. Nothing more. Nothing less. With one last look at the waves rolling up to the beach, I turned and made my way back to my car, accepting my pace, walking slowly so as not to limp.

  The docs assured me I wouldn’t do any more damage to my body as long as I listened to the warning signs. Over the last year, I had learned that pushing past the pain would leave me in agony for the next couple days.

  So, time and time again, I walked right up to the pain, stared it in the face, and then turned around and sent myself home. Some days were better than others. Some were worse. But on the whole, I lasted longer than I used to, so I counted it as a win.

  As I approached my car, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I slipped it out and answered a call from my younger brother as gulls strutted in front of me, keeping a safe distance and a watchful eye in case I had food to toss their way.

  “Hit me with the good stuff, Wy-guy.” I yanked open the door and pulled out a towel to swipe over my face.

  “I have good stuff, and I have bad stuff. Whatcha want first?”

  I ran the towel through my hair and closed my eyes. “Let’s get the bad stuff out of the way.”

  “All right. Bad stuff it is.” Wyatt paused. “Dad passed away last night.”

  And so, that was that.

  I had been waiting years to hear those words. For most of my adult life really. I knew for a fact all five of us Hutton kids wished our father would curl up and die more than once throughout our lives. Despite outward appearances, despite what the community thought about his philanthropy, despite the father he was when we were little, it turned out he wasn’t a nice man, after all.

  “And the good stuff?” I asked my brother.

  Wyatt huffed into the phone. “Dad passed away last night.”

  I bobbed my head in agreement…understanding…acceptance. The asshole had held on too long as it was. “How’s Mom?”

  “You know Mom. She’s taking it gracefully. Mourning the loss of the man she fell in love with while celebrating the loss of the man she ended up with.”

  I never understood why she stayed after things got bad. She said it was for us kids, but that never made sense. Mom was too smart not to see the effect it had on us once Dad started drinking. We scattered to the wind as soon as we could, all of us but Wyatt, who said he stayed to help with the business. What he wouldn’t admit, but what everyone knew, was that he stayed to keep Mom safe and sane.

  The scattering of the Hutton tribe was so complete, my sister couldn’t bring herself to make an appearance when I got hurt. Wyatt, Caleb, and Eli put their heads down and stood in stony silence next to Mom and Dad in the hospital room, but Harlow sent a text and a fruit basket and called it a day.

  Wyatt droned on about the funeral arran
gements, which would be massive to sate the public’s grief. No one understood why most of us Hutton kids left the moment we were able. They called us ungrateful. Selfish. Spoiled.

  If only they knew.

  “Mom’s calling in the cavalry. It’s time to circle the wagons, brother,” Wyatt said, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  “I expected as much.”

  There was a pause and then, “I didn’t know whether or not to count all of us being together again as good or bad.”

  “It’s probably a little of both,” I said, though the thought of seeing my family sans Dad had me smiling. My siblings and I used to be close, before we learned how to duck and cover when Dad was around. When was the last time we were all in the same place at the same time? If Harlow had been there, it would have been when I was in the hospital. But she pulled the no-show, so the last time I could remember all five of us being together was right after I enlisted in the Marines. “Everyone coming?”

  “Far as I know.” Wyatt coughed, and the faint rustle of shuffling papers sounded in my ear. “Flights are being planned. Armor is being donned. Lines are being drawn.”

  “You make it sound like getting ready for war.”

  “Isn’t that what happens when all of us come home?”

  I closed my eyes and leaned against my car. Living with Dad had turned life into a battlefield. Now that he was gone, I hoped our family could heal. I said as much to Wyatt who snorted, but agreed. As the only one of us to stick around, he knew what Dad was capable of, better than anyone.

  “Mom has rooms set aside at the resort, by the way. You just need to get your bionic ass down here and it’ll be like old times.”

  “My bionic ass, huh?”

  “You’ve got so much metal in that backside, you might as well be Robocop.”

  I shook my head. Only Wyatt would turn his brother getting blown up in Afghanistan into a joke. He made it sound like I’d lost my leg instead of the pins, rods, and shrapnel embedded in my abdomen, hip, and thigh. I told him as much, but as usual, he didn’t seem to care, claiming it was so much more fun looking at things the way he did. We finished our call and I dropped my phone into the cup holder in my car. A gust of wind blew as I pulled my T-shirt over my head and breathed in the salty air.