Page 150 of Sincerely, Your Enemy

I make the mistake of looking up at him. Just like that, I’m a prisoner of those eyes and the feelings pulling me under.

“I know the only way I’ll be able to do that is by getting you to trust me again. But how can I expect you to trust me… when I’ve been too much of a coward to trustyou?”

I’m pleasantly surprised that he came to that conclusion on his own.

“Now, before I continue, I just want you to know that there’s no pressure whatsoever. If, afterward, you still don’t want me in your life, I’ll understand, and I promise I’ll leave you alone.”

Afterward?

“What are you saying?”

He pauses as if to gather the courage necessary to keep going.

Then he says the one thing I never saw coming.

“I’m saying I want you to meet my mom.”

Lacey

Idon’t particularly like my job.

I’ve known it since the day I got hired at the café.

Working as a barista can be dull and repetitive—especially when the place is dead—but I’ve gotten used to long, never-ending shifts over time.

Wait. Allow me to rephrase: IthoughtI was used to long, never-ending shifts. That was before TJ asked me to come with him to meet his mom after work.

That’s right.

He wasn’t lying when he said he’d do anything to win back my trust. He texted me that he’d be picking me up after work early this morning.

Suddenly, seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into hours. I must’ve checked my watch over a hundred times since I got here, and it earned me a few nosy questions from my coworkers. Eventheycould tell I was desperate to get out of here.

After a painful, tedious shift, I clock out and tread to the back room to gather my things. The time on my phone reads 3:00 p.m. sharp, and I check my notifications as I walk to the front of the café.

I have two messages from Dia and one from Aveena, all asking me if I’ve gotten some answers out of TJ yet, and a new message from the secret-keeper himself.

TJ

I’m outside.

Sure enough, I spot his black car parked in front of the building from the moment I push the door open. A pit of anxiety forms in my stomach as I make my way over to him.

TJ looks up from his phone when I slide into his passenger seat and slam the door. His dark eyes grow in size when he drinks me in, and I assume he wasn’t expecting me to be so dolled up.

I know his mother’s made her fair share of mistakes, and the woman is far from a saint, but I still want to make a good impression, which is why I put extra effort into my appearance today.

I curled my hair, something I practically never do, and put makeup on—alotof makeup, maybe too much.

Shit, did I overdo it?

I know I shouldn’t care what this woman thinks of me, but I can’t help it.

I shift in my seat. “What?”

TJ clears his throat, as if to collect his composure, and says, “You look…”

I knew it, I look ridiculous.

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