Page 10 of The Enemy Face Off

I scan the ballroom.

Not that I'm purposely on the lookout for him. I'm just taking in the scene at Fraser's historical romance-themed party.

I've hung out with the girls, which was nice since I've hardly seen them all summer.

I had a memorable meeting with Evie's boss who, like me, came dressed as Marie Antoinette. Unlike me, the majority of her cleavage was pushed up and spilling out the top of her corset. But hey, if you've got it, flaunt it. And believe me, she hadplentyof it.

Then Fraser took to the stage to reveal the real reason for throwing this party. I may have shed a tear or two at his beautiful proposal to Evie.

Amiel and I joined the lineup, and we've just finished congratulating the newly engaged couple, which means…operation ATGG (Avoid The Grumpy Goalie) can recommence.

"You know, for a person who says she's trying to dodge a certain someone, you seem overly concerned in trying to find him," Amiel observes, bringing her champagne flute to her mouth in an attempt to hide her wry grin.

I ignore the underlying point she's making and take in the newest member of the Fast-Talking Five, and the person who, in a short space of time, has become my closest friend.

I don't make friends easily.

Since meeting Evie and Hannah in high school when my family moved to Comfort Bay, and Summer joining our posse a year after we graduated, I haven't made any new friends. Being a military kid and moving all the time meant I never developed friend-making skills. What was the point of getting close to anyone if we were bound to move anyway?

Not to mention, my personality is something of an acquired taste.

Characters in books make complete sense to me. I can see their strengths as well as their faults. Even when I don't agree with their actions, I at least understand their underlying motivation.

Humans in real life confuse me.

I'm a perpetual disappointment to my mother, but the apple of my dad's eye. I've got two twin sisters, Schapelle and Tenley, who are five years older than me. Schapelle and I click because we're both huge book nerds, but Tenley and I don't have much in common. My youngest sister Allie and I fight like cats and dogs even though we love each other like crazy.

And men?

Do not even get me started on men. They're not just from another planet, they're from another universe.

But with Amiel, it was friendship love at first sight.

She comes across as a little shy and reserved at first, but when you get to know her, she's witty, smart, super loyal, has the best taste in books, and makes the most wickedly delicious, salted caramel cupcakes I've ever had. They're so good, they've become my go-to when I feel like indulging occasionally.

She looks stunning tonight, a Greek goddess draped in a white toga-style dress with gold accents and accessorized with golden sandals, a leafy crown, a few pieces of chic jewelry, and a plastic apple in her hair. She's bronzed her skin and is positively glowing.

She lifts a brow, waiting for a response.

"I'm trying to find Milo so that I can avoid him," I explain, my eyes raking over all the people dressed in elaborate historical costumes, with oneFlintstones-inspired exception.

"Okay. Whatever you say." Her grin grows into a smile. "I think I just saw him step outside."

"You know what," I say, casually setting my drink on a nearby table. "Think I need some fresh air. And while I'm outside, breathing in all the fresh air, I'll make sure he's there. So that I can avoid him, of course."

"Whatever you say."

A small giggle escapes her, which I ignore, and make my way to the doors that lead out to the terrace.

Amiel was right. Milo is there, leaning against the railing, facing away from me, with those impressively wide shoulders lit up by a streak of moonlight.

From what I've been able to gather from the quick glances I stole his way during the evening so far—all to keep my distancefrom him, obviously—he's come as a Renaissance poet. An unconventional choice, but I like it. It's unexpected.

His costume is a burgundy velvet doublet, a ruffled collar, a beret that hides his man bun—bonus points for that—and ivory-white tights.

Very tight ivory-white tights.

So tight that even from the other side of the ballroom I could clearly make out his massive quads.

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