Page 37 of Beachside Kisses With My Enemy

Her eyes flutter open, and she jolts like she’s just stuck her finger in the electrical outlet. Her gaze flicks upward, then past me to where Thomas stands. “Um.”

I take a step back to give her space because what am I even doing? I shouldn’t be flirting with Lucy like this. First of all, the woman hates me. She might like my food, and she might be tolerating my existence for Marilee’s sake, but if the way she’s acted recently is any indication, she can’t stand me.

But even if she could, I can’t promise her anything. I’m leaving again in two months. Just like when I left twelve years ago, there is no future here.

So before she can say anything, or declare my food the winner, I grab a pinch of Thomas’s brownies and shove it into my mouth. Hmm. Not bad. Could use a bit more sugar, but pretty decent for a first attempt.

Then I take the same fork I used for Lucy—hopefully she doesn’t notice—and take my own bite of the dessert macaroni. It’s perfection, just like I thought it’d be.

And yet.

“Wow, dude.” I turn and offer my fist for Thomas to bump. He’s eyeing me curiously, his head cocked. “You are definitely the winner. Awesome job. Let’s get these on the menu.” Then I glance at my watch. “Oh, dang, look at the time. I need to get to bed. Early day tomorrow.”

And I hustle out of there before I do something even more stupid than flirting with a woman who despises me.

Something like…kissing her.

twelve

LUCY

Who does Blake Moffitt think he is?

I slash toothpaste across my brush and re-cap the tube before whipping the brush into my mouth, determined to get every bit of his “sweet macaroni” out of my mouth.

If only Blake himself was as easy to scrub from my mind.

What was with him tonight? He was being so…sexy.

Ugh, not that he isn’t always sexy. But this was more than a sexy existence. This was raw male power—perhaps even flirtation—and it was allllll directed my way.

It was all I could do not to tip my head upward and pull his face toward mine.

But then—then!—he backed off. Shook off whatever was between us. Declared Thomas the winner (he wasn’t). And ran away.

Just like he did nearly twelve years ago.

Of course, back then I told myself I must have been mistaken. In all my teenage adoration of him, it was easy to put the blame squarely on my shoulders.

But now I’m an adult.

And adult Lucy saw what teenage Lucy couldn’t—that man is into me.

Or at least, he felt something.

Doesn’t mean adult Lucy knows what to do about it, though.

I wince as the bristles of the toothbrush swipe my gums with ferocity. Ouch. If I’m not careful, I’m going to bleed my mouth dry. Spitting into the sink, I wash my mouth out with water and clean the paste from the brush. Then I give myself a quick once-over in the mirror—since Blake moved in, I’ve started wearing pajama pants and baggy T-shirts to bed—and open the bathroom door into the hallway.

Where a shirtless Blake is standing.

His hand is extended like he’s reaching for the doorknob. Because of course he is. “Sorry. Didn’t know anyone was in there.”

I should speak. I know I should. But my eyes are busy drinking him in.

Gaaaaah. He’s so beautiful, with his golden skin on display, his muscles well-defined and just the right size. His clavicle sweeps down from one shoulder, across him, to the other. And the rest of him—his pectorals, his flat stomach, his gym shorts hanging low on his tapered waist—beckons my hands, which I fist at my sides to keep from reaching where they shouldn’t.

“You okay there, Sunshine?”

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