Page 21 of The Enemy Plot

She glances down at it. “Well, book boyfriends aren’t as deceptive as real men.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “Of course they aren’t. They’re fake.”

She shrugs. “Sometimes, a girl just wants to lose herself in a perfect world.”

Her comment makes me wonder how many jackasses Alice has dated. Probably a lot, given the number of times I’ve seen her dressed up for a date since I moved in. My chest tightens, and I suddenly want to track down each guy she’s dated and break their noses for hurting her—and for going out with her in the first place. Instead of asking for their names, I clear my throat and say, “I don’t want to put that nonsense into Lola’s head. These books are already setting her up with unrealistic expectations as it is. Yesterday, I asked if she had a boyfriend—I ask every couple of weeks, just in case—and she told me no real guy would ever come close to the guy in her novel.” Come to think of it, that might not be a bad thing.

Alice laughs again. “Don’t worry. She’s a good kid, and reading is a healthy escape for her. Better that than smoking pot or whatever teenagers do these days to relax.”

My blood freezes. She’s got a point. I would rather have her hooked on books. “Why do you love reading so much?”

She studies me for a second, probably wondering why I’m suddenly asking about her. I’m not sure myself. All I know is that when it comes to Alice, I want to know everything. And as much as that scares me, I can’t help it. On paper, she’s everything I loathe, with her happy attitude, brooches, and bows, but whenever I look at her, I feel something. Something I can’t describe, beyond the self-loathing and depression that fill me. Something warm and reassuring.

“Like I said, a lot of fictional worlds are better than reality. I read to escape, to have a good time. Books let you travel, learn new things, and experience new lives. There is no better form of entertainment, if you ask me.”

Alice’s eyes sparkle with excitement, and that elated expression on her face is everything to me. She’s always been gorgeous, but she’s never been more beautiful than right now, when she’s talking about books.

“So, what kind of novels do you read?” I ask, not wanting the moment to end.

“I love historical romance and romcoms. Historical, because I yearn for the time when courtship happened in grand ballrooms, and men were elegant. And romcoms because, who doesn’t love quirky situations and a good laugh?”

The men she reads about are everything I’m not. No matter how Alice makes me feel with a single glance, I’ll never be the guy she wants, nor the one she deserves. What am I even saying? I don’twantto be that guy. I can’t be. My life is in enough turmoil as it is.

“Right. Well, I’ll go with that one, then,” I say, glancing at the book. “Do you have a few other suggestions? It’s her birthday tomorrow.”

“Oh! What do you have planned for the day?”

I stare at the book she’s holding. “Um . . .”

“It’s her birthday. You should do something fun, especially since Spring Break is starting,” she says with a smile.

“I don’t do parties.” The image of a dozen teenagers hanging out in my apartment comes to mind, giving me chills. Might as well set the entire place on fire.

She quirks an eyebrow. “It doesn’t have to be a party, just something to make her day special.”

I’m definitely not cut out to be a guardian. I have no idea what Lola’s idea of fun is. I did decide to get her a phone,so that might earn me some points. Yes, I know. Buying a child’s affection is bad, but I’m out of options here.

“Maybe you can take her to Madame Tussauds, or a play, or Dave & Buster’s? I don’t know. Something fun?”

I grunt in response. “Great.”

She picks out a few more books, and I follow her to the counter. She wraps them in pink wrapping paper before placing the perfect package in a fabric tote bag with the store logo printed on it. “The bag’s on us,” she says with a bright smile.

“Well, thanks for helping me out.”

She leans over the counter, her eyes glinting with mischief. “So, are we even now?”

A smile tugs at my lips. “Not even close, Frenchie. I killed for you. You were only doing your job.”

10

West Side Story

Alice

Do you know how many times I’ve dreamed of a hot guy sauntering into the bookstore and announcing, “I’d like to buy some books”?

An embarrassing number of times. That’s how many.

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