Page 13 of The Enemy: Extended Edition

I hurry and unzip the dress before sliding it off and tossing it over the door. I watch the fabric disappear and hear Ms. Dorothy shuffle off.

Turning back to the mirror, I play with my hair, getting ideas for how to have it styled for the wedding while I wait for Stacy to toss my clothes over to me. But now that the dress is off, a familiar discomfort creeps up my spine. My eyes fall from my brown hair to my chest. Not much to see there. My boobs are . . . nothing to write home about. I assess my hips next, noticing the cellulite on each side. And then I start angling my body, trying to find the perfect pose, because maybe if I suck in my stomach and stick my leg out just right—

No!

I breathe in deeply and unclench my stomach. I pull my leg back in line with the other and relax my shoulders. I look at my breasts and my curves and I tell Ben to get out of my head. Because that’s what this really is about. I never struggled with how I looked to this degree until after he cheated on me. Until after what he said to me . . .

For the last few years, I’ve really hated being naked. Hated being anything less than perfectly put together if I’m being honest. It’s a lot of the reason I have an only-one-date rule. And why I don’t sleep with anyone on those dates. If I never let anyone get close, they can’t hurt me.

Not attracted to you anymore.

My ex’s voice is still too loud in my head, and I hate him for it. No matter how hard I try, I haven’t been able to stop asking myself the same questions over and over. If I had trained more at the gym—not let myself get so comfortable around him, would it have stopped him from cheating on me? Why wasn’t I enough for him?

But then, a healthier part of me surfaces from his callous words and actions and reminds me that he wasn’t good enough for me. That I deserve a man who loves me for me—in every form. And each day that I get further away from Ben’s toxic influence, I’m able to grab that version of myself by the hand and see her beauty.

But I would be lying if I said the insecurity is gone completely. I’m fighting through it. I’m fighting for myself. And I’m learning to look in the mirror at every part of me and love her.

“Shoot!” Stacy says. “Ms. Dorothy, I completely forgot to have you look at my slip. It’s about three inches too long for my dress and peeks out the bottom. Let me go grab it from my car.”

“Never mind that. I’m taking this dress home to work on tonight, so help me carry these things to my trunk, and I’ll get it from you out there.”

And any minute now, my clothes will rain down on me like manna from above. Except, I hear the chime above the door, followed by the sound of it shutting behind them.

“Stacy? Ms. Dorothy?” I call out to the empty room.

Well, shoot.

I have two options: (1) stand here shivering until they return or (2) make a run for it and retrieve my clothes with my newfound superspeed powers.

Ha ha, like I would ever pick option two! No way; I’ve seen all the movies, and the second my booty is in full view of the front door, Ryan will enter. No, thank you. I’ll turn into a human Popsicle before I let that happen.

Just then, the door chimes again, and I sigh a breath of relief. “Stacy, you jerk! You left me in here naked without my clothes! Just for that, I get to wear your red dress to the rehearsal dinner.”

I wait for her teasing laugh, but instead, a rumbling voice comes that makes my world tilt. “You’re naked on the other side of that door?”

My stomach drops through the floor. Ryan. Does he have some sort of radar that goes off when I’m in the middle of a humiliating moment? Maybe if I just stay really quiet, he’ll think he was hearing ghosts.

“June?”

I hold my breath.

“June, I know you’re in there.”

Shoot. I need to throw him off my scent. “Umm, no hablo . . . eagles.”

“Your Spanish is just as bad as it was in high school.”

Time to bring out the big guns. I assume my very best ghost voice this time. “Whattt do you meannnn? I’m just a ggghooossttt.” Someone sign me up for a part in A Christmas Carol because I nailed that ghost voice.

“So you’re a Spanish ghost now?” He sounds closer. I swear, if he looks through that crack, I will find a pair of trimmers and shave a stripe right down the center of his gorgeous hair.

“Yessss—I mean . . . siiiii.” It’s in this moment that I think I might have finally cracked under the pressures of life.

Ryan is quiet for a minute, and I’m hoping that maybe he left. But that’s ridiculous because I never heard the door chime. I would give anything right now for a magic blue genie to pop out of a lamp and give me three wishes. For the first, I’d selflessly ask to end world hunger. For the second, I’d give Ryan a permanent green booger that always hangs out of his nose. For the third, I’d beam him away to the farthest speed-dating service and lock him in for a million years, forcing him to go round and round a table of prying women until he loses his mind.

I peek through the crack in the stall door and find that Ryan has moved across the room and is leaning his shoulder against the adjacent wall, gaze cast down to his crossed boots. He’s facing away and wearing a plain white T-shirt that stretches across his back muscles flawlessly. Those dark jeans make his butt look way too good, and I’m not even a butt-admiring type of girl; however, even I can admit that his is something to behold. He’s also wearing a baseball hat, and from this position, I can see the ends of his hair curling out the bottom. He looks relaxed and effortlessly sexy, and I want to kick him.

“So why are you naked in there?”

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