Page 50 of The Enemy: Extended Edition

The moment she’s out of the room, Evie turns to me and flat out asks, “So, Ryan . . . how many women have you been with?”

Shocked does not begin to convey how I feel after that question. My mouth falls open a little, but before I can answer, Jennie steps up to the plate. “Do you have a criminal record?”

JULIA: “Why did your past relationships not work out?”

EVIE: “Are you serious about June?”

Someone help me. They are closing in. How can four small women tower over me like this?

JOSIE: “Do you want a family?”

JENNIE: “Is there a chance you already have a family that you don’t know about?” What the hell?

I glance back to the place where June just disappeared and consider shooting a flare up into the sky for help. Come back! I’m sorry! I’ll never choose your mom over you for dodgeball again!

But I’m a man. It’s time to grow a pair and give these women what they want. I roll my shoulders once and tilt my head side to side. Then, I take turns looking around the gang of women that I would never want to face in a dark alley alone.

I point to Evie first. “I’m not going to answer that because that’s a pretty personal question.” Boom. Moving on to Jennie. “A speeding ticket but no criminal record.” Julia. “Haven’t had a serious relationship because I’ve been married to my job.” Now I look at Mrs. Broaden as I answer the remaining questions, because I feel like her opinion matters most. “I’m more serious about June than I’ve ever been about anything in my life, and yes, I want a family. And no, there’s no chance. I’m always very careful. Big fan of protection.”

They all stand stunned for a full minute, glancing back and forth among one another before smiles slowly crack across their devious faces, and we all laugh. Bonnie claps me on my shoulder. “I always knew I liked you, Ryan. You’re gonna fit in with us perfectly.”

“I think I have to convince June of that first.”

This is the part where Bonnie should smile and say something encouraging like Oh, you’ve got nothing to worry about, sugar. She doesn’t. She actually looks a little apologetic. “You’re right about that. And it won’t be easy. She’s pretty set in her ways. I love my baby girl and will support her until the day I die, but I’ve gotta be honest, Ryan . . . I hope you can convince her, because I’d kill to see what a baby between you and June would look like.”

We’ve jumped from getting past date number one to wheeling June out of a hospital with a baby in her arms. Moms truly are a force to be reckoned with. But here’s the thing, is it weird to admit I’ve been dreaming of the same thing? Last night, I pictured June in a house of our own, with a kid on her hip, singing and making pancakes. I mean, what the hell, Ryan? I don’t even know if June wants a family—and if she doesn’t that’s fine with me. But I think I’d like one with her.

“Do you have any advice for me?” I ask Bonnie.

She tells the sisters to give us a minute alone and then turns to me and smiles. It perfectly resembles the sort of smile June gave me before she slipped a laxative in my Coke in the cafeteria (I didn’t know it until later, of course).

“Fortify yourself,” she says ominously. “June has never been one to give up without a fight. Batten down the hatches, and if you really want her, prepare to hold on in rough waters, because mark my words, sugar, there will be rough waters ahead.”

“Not the most encouraging advice.”

She pats my arms. “ ’Cause I like you, I’ll tell you something a little more practical to pair with the metaphorical. June doesn’t like jumping into cold water. Never has, never will. In the summer, she proceeds inch for inch into the pool until, finally, before she knows it, she’s up to her hair.”

I squint. “This still feels metaphorical.”

“Don’t make her jump into the cold pool, Ryan. Inch her in and let her see for herself that the water’s fine.” She reaches up and pats my cheek, and it makes my stomach ache from how much the action reminds me of my mom.

Bonnie walks out of the kitchen, and I lean back against the counter, trying to let her words settle into my thoughts.

A minute later, June peeks her head into the kitchen. “You still alive in here?” Her brown hair is tied into a cute messy bun at the back of her head, and little wisps are hanging loose around her temples. Her face is free of makeup, letting me see all the freckles on her cheekbones and that her lips are naturally cotton-candy pink. I love cotton candy.

A few days ago, she never would have let me see her without her makeup on. Mrs. Broaden’s words poke me, and I wonder if the water is up to June’s knees or hips right now.

I extend my hand toward her, and she takes it hesitantly. I yank her in close and settle my hands on her hips. Her eyes pop up to mine, and I lean down, ready to have a full serving of cotton candy. I barely brush my lips over hers before she turns her head and whispers in my ear, “Betcha wish you could kiss me. That’s one point for me, sucker.”

She ducks under my arm and saunters out of the kitchen, only pausing to wink at me over her shoulder.

Five hours later (yes, five), June closes the front door behind her family. After spending the entire day with the Broadens, I feel like I’ve just finished a triathlon that I hadn’t trained for. I’m worn out, but in the best way. It’s been too long since I’ve been around family. I almost forgot what it was like. Years of nonstop work almost had me believing that I didn’t even need a family. Like my pots and pans would come to life Beauty and the Beast style, and I’d have all the company I needed in the kitchen.

Now I see how deprived I’ve been.

I’m a man who has been locked up with only bread for a decade and was just presented with an entire feast fit for a king. I want more of this. Going back to that stale bread sounds miserable.

June locks the door dramatically, puts her back against it, and sinks to the floor. The new I ♥ NICK socks Bonnie gave her are pulled up her legs, stopping midcalves. “Gosh, I thought they were going to try to spend the night.”

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