Page 6 of My Enemy, My Obsession

His expression is indecipherable. “Definethe kind of man.”

“Wealthy. Good-looking. Powerful. Arrogant.”

He laughs. “You think I’m arrogant?”

“Aren’t you?” I challenge.

He tilts his head slightly, his eyes alight with amusement. “At times.”

I suddenly like him more for his candor and willingness to laugh at the topic of himself.

“And good-looking,” he adds.

“Proof of arrogance,” I say, and now I’m laughing.

“I repeated your words. I didn’t say them myself.”

I sip my whiskey, and I can feel its seductive tug as surely as I feel his. Our laughter fades, and we’re staring at each other. The mood fades from light to serious, a beat of intensity between us. “Who burned you?” I ask, wondering about the woman who wanted his money. The one who hurt him, because it feels right.

“No one in the last ten years,” he replies. “I’m not that young or foolish anymore.Young and foolish isn’t just about your wallet size. We all have to go there to live better.”

He refills his glass and then sits back, studying me. “Who lied to you?”

I blanch. “What?” And I’m not even sure why my heart is racing. Maybe because I’m sort of lying to him by way of silent omission.

“You said you don’t like fake people. The entire act of being ‘fake’ is a lie.”

I consider his words thoughtfully and conclude that he’s both right and wrong. “That’s true,” I say, “but there are times when people fake things and even tell lies, with good intentions.”

“Such as?”

I sip from my glass. “When you tell someone you’re seeing someone else when you’re not interested and you just don’t want to hurt their feelings. When a mom and dad play Santa Claus. When a parent tells you it’s going to be okay when it will never be okay again.” I swallow hard, cursing my whiskey-induced loose lips.

My eyes fall to the table, and I’m instantly flashing back to the ER after my mother’s accident. I was hysterical. My father had grabbed my arms, looked me in the eye, and said, “She’ll be okay. It’s not her time.”

“Zoey,” Ethan says softly, and for a moment, just a moment, I think he’s talking about my mother, as if he knew her, or of her, and my gaze lifts to his.

And then comes his confession.

“My mother had a heart attack when I was ten,” he says. “My father told me she’d survive because he wanted it to be true. He was wrong.”

I suck in a breath before I say, “That wasn’t on your wiki page.”

“I made sure it wasn’t. It’s private.”

“And you told me?”

“Yes. I told you.”

It’s an answer that says very little, but one thing I know is me and my inability to handle whiskey. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “This is a tough subject all the way around. It was only five years ago for me. A drunk driver. It’s still a little raw. Okay, a lotraw.”

“You were close. I already figured that out.”

“We were.” I lift my glass. “You’re going to regret giving me this.”

The waiter appears. “We have your table ready. I’ll bring your drinks after we get you settled.”

Ethan’s attention is warm. “Let’s go eat.”

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