Page 20 of Just Can't Fall for the Enemy

“It is. But one that fits, unfortunately. Or at least, it used to.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “My subscribers like that aspect of my life, so we bring it out during editing. Most of the world knows I’m unattached and have been for a long time. I guess that makes me and my channel more desirable.”

I wanted to point out that the tabloids had photos of him with a new woman at least every month, but that would make me sound like I was stalking him. Which I most definitely was not, even if I had binge-watched at least ten episodes yesterday alone. His face and voice now felt almost as familiar as that of my friends and family.

His hands on my waist, though—that felt new and utterly glorious. Electricity still hummed beneath my skin where he touched it, even through the thin fabric of my dress.

And he was staring at me again, I realized. Worse, I was staring at him. And we weren’t moving anymore, just standing there on the dance floor while couples swayed around us pretending they weren’t watching the YouTube star and his guide gaping at each other like they’d never seen the other before.

“I, um, need to go get a drink,” I said just as he said, “I should check on the camera.”

We both laughed awkwardly and separated. The instant we broke contact, my skin felt colder where his hands had been.

“Tomorrow,” I told him.

“Tomorrow,” he confirmed but didn’t turn away yet. There was something wistful in his eyes, something deeper than the persona on his channel. Deep and beautifully complicated. Like a man seeing something he wanted but couldn’t have—or, at least, wouldn’t let himself have.

If Tanner Carmichael was as complex as his eyes, I was in serious trouble.

Ten

Somewhere in the room,my phone buzzed.

I pried my eyes open and blinked away the fuzziness and confusion. The room was still black, preventing me from orienting myself. Where was I? Still in Wyoming in that mining town? I’d go back to sleep and figure it out in the morning. My phone said 5:00 a.m. Stupid phone.

Then I remembered. I was supposed to meet Sophie at the lake at six, and I’d promised to pick up breakfast. I already regretted agreeing to this.

Something still buzzed, but it wasn’t my phone. Oh. The old-fashioned hotel alarm clock. I pressed every button I could find and still it buzzed. Finally I made a fist and pounded on the top. No luck.

I growled, slid to my feet, and unplugged it. Blessed silence at last.The past me had been smart to program that in addition to my phone, but now I wanted to take a hammer to everything in sight.

My phone buzzed again.

I nearly threw it through the closed window before seeing I had a text from Sophie.You sure you want to do this, Carmichael? Say no and we can both go back to bed.

I grinned despite myself and texted back, my fingers fumbling in their haste to respond.If you don’t show, I’m stealing your boat and heading to Canada. I’ll call you from Lethbridge.

She answered quickly.Sounds like we need a geography lesson. And, for the record, if you so much as touchAnastasiawithout me,I’m throwing you in. To the sharks. Which we totally have in Montana. I hear they especially love YouTube stars. Maybe something about being soft from all that traveling and restaurant food?

I chuckled, wide awake now. She called her boatAnastasia, as in the Russian princess? I had to admit, Sophie certainly kept me on my toes. I typed my reply and hit send.I’ve swum with sharks before, and they weren’t all that interested. Kind of like the last girl I asked out, but that’s another story. See you soon with some food.

Scanning through what I’d just sent, I instantly regretted reminding her that she’d turned me down. Would it make today awkward? Would she decide not to show up if she thought I was coming on to her? We would be alone all day, after all. I didn’t want her to feel unsafe or uncomfortable with someone who was essentially a stranger.

But my phone buzzed seconds later.It isn’t spaghetti, is it?

I laughed, grateful she’d smoothed over my mistake.I could have ended the conversation there, but for some reason, I wanted to keep talking this way. Sometimes she felt so distant and distracted, keeping herself far from reach. I’d caught only glimpses of the real Sophie. But this conversation was the real her, and I liked this version more than I wanted to admit.

I waited a few seconds so I didn’t seem too eager, then sent another reply.You called it. I was going to bring you my famous spaghetti-flavored cappuccino, but if you don’t appreciate it, I’ll take my creation elsewhere.

Sophie responded in less than a minute.You’ll find that I’m the most unappreciative person ever when it comes to pasta-flavored hot drinks. Maybe I’d better bring my own creation this time. Can I get you one? Something with plenty of jalapeños, perhaps?

I belted out a laugh, feeling my respect level up another notch or two. The woman was fearless.I’m good, thanks. I’m watching my jalapeño-coffee consumption these days.

Pity,she wrote back.See you at six.

I read the entire conversation again, still chuckling, and headed for the shower.

I arrived nearly ten minutes early, but she still beat me there. She sat against the morning light in the driver’s seat of her boat—which did indeed readAnastasiaXVIIIin big block letters—wearing a white sweater and shorts that exposed plenty of her long, bare legs. Definitely not forest-ranger legs. Maybe fairy-dancing-ballet-in-the-forest legs. Her entire outfit contradicted itself, fall and summer, friendly and cold. Sophie would keep me guessing until the end of time.

Or until I left town in a few days, as I reminded myself yet again.

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