Page 20 of My Irresistible Enemy

Which was fair, I supposed, except it sent my anxiety levels through the roof. All I needed now was for Aiden to walk out onto the porch and say something equal parts infuriating and arousing to complete the maelstrom of panic swirling around in my chest.

I worked so hard to maintain control at all times. To keep myself calm and composed—or at least to appear that way on the outside. Aiden shot that all to hell.

“Hear that?” Mal said, turning to Deacon. “Gorgeous setting. I told you it was a good idea to let them film here.”

“They might just be talking about Summersea in general,” Deacon said with a shrug.

“He’s being modest,” Em snorted.

Mal laughed. “That, or he’s sad that they didn’t refer tohimas scrumptious-looking, too.”

“Believe it or not, I’m actually quite happy with the internet not knowing I exist, much less having an opinion about my appearance,” Deacon said.

Tate poked Em in the side. “Keep reading.”

“Season 13 takes place on the island of Summersea, Georgia, which couldn’t get any quainter if it tried. I counted four antique shoppes—that’s shops with an extra ‘P’ and an ‘E’ at the end,” Em clarified. “Four antique shoppes, three ice cream places, and more gingerbread architecture than you can shake a baguette at in the opening credits, and that’s before the camera slowly pans over the Wisteria Inn, the host of this season’s competition. If that name triggers visions of flower-draped wrap-around porches, scalloped pink shingles, gabled roofs, and a cluster of kittens gambolling in a laundry basket lying in a patch of sun, congratulations, you’re either psychic or you watched last night’s episode as well. It’s almosttoocute, and I predict that the Wisteria Inn will be fully booked from here to eternity by the time this season wraps.”

“There, see.” Mal smiled triumphantly. “I told you so.”

“Let’s hope everyone looking for a vacation this year reads this review,” Deacon laughed.

“What’s it say about the contestants?” Tate asked, leaning over to look at Em’s screen.

“Hold on.” Em pulled his phone away. “I’m reading.”

“Well, read faster.” Tate flashed me a grin. “I want to hear all about how America fell in love with our favorite ass-tattooed restaurant manager.”

“Ass tattoo?” Mal said, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“Before I met you,” I told him. I glared at Tate. “I got that removed, you know.”

“Idon’tknow,” Tate said with a shrug. “After all, I haven’t seen your ass lately, have I?”

“Wait, why have you seen Nolan’s ass at all?” Deacon asked.

I ran a hand over my face. “It’s not important. It was the result of an extremely drunken night in college that I prefer not to think about.”

“Oh, come on. It was a very nice tattoo, from what I remember,” Tate said, his voice far too sincere. “High quality. Great shading and line work. There’s no reason to be embarrassed.”

A loose pillow lay by my feet, and I considered throwing it at his head.

“Yeah, sure,” I told him. “That’s why you kept your tongue ring in, too.”

Mal turned to Deacon and whispered, “Tongue ring?”

Em just snickered, which confirmed my suspicion that Tate had told him the story of that night. It had been the first time I’d ever gotten truly wasted, and had ended with a very regrettable tattoo that I’d had to pay to get painstakingly removed later.

You’d think that night alone would have been enough to teach me to be more careful, but evidently, I was someone who needed to learn things the hard way.

“Come on,” Deacon said, reaching out with his foot to nudge the swing that Em and Tate sat on. “What’s it say about Nolan?”

“Give me a sec, I’m scrolling.” Em’s thumb swiped along his screen. “Okay, first they’re talking about Lucinda, then Omar, and then—oh, here it is.Nolan McAllister, a twenty-eight-year-old restaurant manager from Washington, DC, looks to be this season’s—” He snapped his teeth shut.

Shit. I knew something was wrong. I’d felt it on Monday. I’d been too stiff, too awkward on camera. And that fight with Aiden hadn’t helped.

“This season’s what?” Tate asked, leaning over to look at Em’s phone again. Em pressed the screen to his chest. “What do they say about him? This season’s contestant to beat? This season’s most crush-worthy baker?”

“It’s not that interesting,” Em said. “The whole article is pretty boring, actually. Doesn’t say anything I didn’t already know.”

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