Page 43 of The Enemy: Extended Edition

For a split second, I worry that my robe has landed on the gross floor and I’ll catch something truly disgusting when I put it on. Then I hear giggles followed by another disappearing act: my clothes.

Someone—the ringleader, Carly, I’m assuming—very maturely shouts, “Time to loosen up, Fun Sucker!”

They hightail it out of the bathroom as if they expect me to chase them like we’re back in a college dormitory and I have water balloons stuffed in my bra, ready for a prank war at all times.

Fact: People stuck in their college days are more annoying than ingrown hairs.

I sigh and can’t help but wonder what events in my life have led me back to this place of being half-naked in a stall twice in one week. Oh, AND I’m phoneless because it was in my jeans pocket. So, great. Just great.

I have no other choice but to leave this stall in my bra and panties and walk as quickly as I can back to the bridal suite, where, instead of holding each woman down to Sharpie something mean on their faces like my gut insists, I will say Ha ha, very funny! and then funnel coffee down their throats for the rest of the afternoon. I know. #maidofhonorgoals.

The gross cream tile is cold and sticky against my bare feet as I inch my way toward the door. The air feels extra chilly now, and I’m almost certain it’s like this because the church officials didn’t anticipate needing to make the temperature more accommodating for a woman walking around nearly naked.

On my way to the door, I stop by the paper towel dispenser and crank out a long strand of stiff brown paper and begin wrapping it around my body, mummy style. It’s not doing much in the coverage department, and I have to walk like I’m wearing a mermaid fin, but at least it’s better than nothing.

I crack open the bathroom door and peer down the hallway in both directions, verifying that the coast is clear. When I step out, the hallway seems to grow in length, but I can see the bridal suite at the far end of the hall and am already relaxing knowing that no one will see me like this.

Except, when I’m halfway to my end goal and clutching the brown paper tightly against my bare skin, I hear a door open behind me. I whip around to see blinding light spilling around a tall form. If I were wearing a beautiful dress, there would be a choir of angels singing behind the imposing male figure. But I’m wearing brown paper towels, so instead, the only music my mind plays is the classic dum dum dum.

The door shuts, the light disappears, and I’m able to see that RYAN IS STANDING THERE HOLDING COFFEE AND I’M NAKED! Well, not naked. I’m wearing a slip made of archaic bathroom paper.

Instinctively, I let out a little scream and press the paper tighter to me, hoping none of it gives way suddenly. Ryan does not look away. He’s fully clothed (which is the normal look for most people in a church) and staring at me. But he’s not just normally clothed; he’s doubly clothed. A ridiculously handsome navy suit jacket wraps around his shoulders, and a black button-down shirt is tucked into a pair of slacks that matches the jacket. A slim black tie is knotted around his neck, and his hair is already tousled to perfection in a swoopy look you’d see on a model in a magazine.

“Turn around! Stop looking at me!” I whisper-yell because I don’t want to alert the whole building to what’s happening out here. I’m backing away from him and still trying to cover all the parts of skin that the brown paper is not hiding.

He starts walking toward me, and I can see that wolfish smile of his. “I don’t want to.”

“You don’t have a choice!”

“It feels like I do.”

I can’t decide if I want to cry from embarrassment right now or laugh uncontrollably because I’m standing in front of Ryan in a church wearing bathroom tissue. Still, I plead one more time. “Ryan! Please. Turn around.”

“Okay, okay.” He raises his hands in surrender and turns his back to me. “I can’t believe my luck that I get to ask you this again in one week, but . . . why are you naked, June?”

“Again, I’m not naked. I’m in my—”

“Underclothes. Yes, I’m aware. Your paper towel dress has lost the upper half by the way.” He’s walking backward in my direction.

I gasp and look down, grabbing the end of the paper that fell loose and is flapping in the breeze and retuck it under my arm. “This isn’t my fault. Those little jerks stole my clothes!”

Ryan stops right in front of me and sets the coffee down on the ground. I watch as he shrugs out of his jacket and then turns back around to face me—eyes closed. He steps close enough to drape the jacket around my shoulders, and I let out a relieved breath when I’m covered again. The unhelpful brown paper falls to the ground, puddling around my ankles. I pull Ryan’s jacket tightly around me and will myself not to drag in a deep breath of his delicious cologne.

He opens his eyes, and there’s something playful lurking in them. “You know, I still remember the first bikini you ever wore.”

His words pull a nervous chuckle from me. One that sounds wobbly and slightly hysterical because all my insecurities left over from Ben are bubbling up to the surface of my skin after having a man look at me for the first time without my clothes on since Ben cheated. “You do?”

He nods, his smirk not so devilish now and much softer. “It was light blue with white polka dots, and that’s the day I decided we would play shark and minnow every time we all went swimming together.”

I always thought it was because he wanted to prove he was faster and stronger than me. “You caught me every single time.”

His smile grows, and I feel like he’s looking straight through my soul. “Made sure of it. I hated when I had to let go of you.”

“In the pool?”

His gaze holds mine, and he’s quiet for a moment. “Then too.”

The next thing I know, Ryan’s arms are wrapping around me and holding on like he’s afraid I might disappear. He kisses my head, and the tenderness of it all tears me apart. “Do you want me to carry the coffee back there for you?”

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