Page 44 of The Enemy: Extended Edition

“No,” I say into his shirt. “I can take it.”

“Do you want to keep my jacket for a bit?”

“Yes, please.” And I plan on trying to wring it out, extracting drops of his sexy scent into a vial that I will only let myself open and sniff once a year after he’s gone back to Chicago and I’m a lonely, creepy old maid.

“June?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re so beautiful.”

And that’s the moment my heart cracks wide open. I’ve never felt more vulnerable and safe at the same time.

I want to say something, but I’m afraid that if I do, tears will come out instead of words. So I let go of Ryan and bend down to pick up the box of coffee from the floor and then pad my way down the hallway to the bridal suite. I don’t need to look back to know Ryan is still watching me.

I slip through the door, shut it, and then lean back against it with a dummy smile like they do in those classic ’80s movies.

“Uh, that’s not the robe I bought you,” Stacy says, reminding me that I’m not alone.

Each of the bridesmaids’ eyes shoot to me, and when they see that I’m wearing a man’s suit jacket, they erupt in squeals and whistles. “I told you loosening up was more fun! Now get over here and pick a name.”

“A name?” I ask, hesitant to know what their next form of torture—I mean, amusement—is.

“Yeah,” says Carly (ringleader). “We wrote down the name of each single groomsman on a slip of paper and put them in here.” She shakes a little bag in my face. “We each draw a name, and whoever you get is your man for the night. No tradesies.”

I look at Stacy, and she just rolls her eyes, regret of ever asking these women to share her special day written unapologetically across her forehead.

“No thanks,” I say, turning away and going to busy myself with pouring Stacy the first cup of coffee and adding two sugars just like she likes it. There’s no way I’m going home with some guy just because I draw his name from a bag. Not to mention how disgusting it is to do this behind the guys’ back—not even giving them a say. It’s giving off objectifying vibes and I don’t care for it.

“Okay, I’ll go first,” I hear Carly sing.

“Who do you hope you get?” asks another bridesmaid.

“I think you know.”

“Ryan?”

Hearing his name makes my heart stop. Wait. Somehow, I forgot Ryan’s name would be in there. He’s single. He’s a groomsman.

“Duh. He’s so hot.” Carly dips her hand in and pulls out a sliver of paper, and I don’t even remember turning around, but I have, because I’m holding my breath, watching and waiting for her to read off the name.

She smiles deviously. “I got Ryan!”

My eyes shut tight, and now I feel sick to my stomach. I’m filled with a distinct desire to yell STOP and demand that someone push the pause button on life and just give me a moment to think. I just need a second to process. To decide. To weigh all my choices and figure out what I want.

But I don’t get to do that because now the bridal suite door is opening again, and a whole parade of wedding day entourage is entering. Hairstylist, makeup artist, mother of the bride, and Logan’s bratty sister, who managed to wiggle her way in while my guard was down.

I have no choice but to push thoughts of Ryan aside, let whatever happens happen, and focus on Stacy. It’s her day. I will not rain on her parade. And Ryan . . . well, maybe he’ll go home with Carly tonight and save me the trouble of having to figure out if he’s worth my feelings or not.

CHAPTER 18

Ryan

Logan and Stacy are married.

They tied the knot about an hour ago, and now everyone has moved on to the reception. I don’t know much about décor, but even I can admit this place looks like something right out of a movie. They spared no expense on this reception. A blanket of string lights hangs above the dance floor, massive flower bouquets sit in the center of each table, there’s an open bar, and a dessert buffet boasts anything with sugar you could imagine.

Everyone has been feeding off the romantic energy, dancing close, stealing kisses from their significant others; and June has stayed as far away from me as she possibly can.

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