Page 25 of Undeniably Enemies

“Other than I don’t enjoy my food tasting like it, nothing. The quinoa in that bowl is excellent, but the spicy sauce on the tuna is something else.”

“I was thinking of going with the tofu pesto wrap.” I’m not. I just want to hear his reaction, and he doesn’t disappoint.

“It’s nut-free pesto and vegan mozzarella on that. Since I know you’re not vegan or even vegetarian with a nut allergy, I have to assume one of two things.”

“And what are those?” The line shuffles up a person, and we follow. His body is close. I can feel him behind me. Not quite touching, but so close it feels like he is. It makes my heart race. Again, not in fear, which is a bit of a trip, but I’m not afraid of Jack. No, my heart’s beating similarly to how it did this morning in the ER kitchen when I stupidly told him how hot I think he is and drank from his cup. Oh, and I touched him. I mean, our fingers touched, but that counts, right?

Working around Jack is already miserable. I’ve actively been trying not to think about him. Or fantasize about him. That last one is key. Nothing worse than trying to get yourself off, and you’re on a tangent of mental porn, and your asshole boss, who you hate because he once broke your heart pops in.

“One, you’re a poor, misguided fool who actually likes vegan food without being vegan, or two, you’re a glutton for pain and punishment.”

“That’s very judgmental of you.”

“Maybe. I do kind of like tofu on occasion. So which is it?”

“The latter.”

He presses into me with that, and I feel him against my back, his breath by my ear. Now my pulse quickens at a different pace as my panic starts to rise. I count backward by fours, and it helps.

“I hoped you’d say that.”

“Why’s that?” I sink my teeth into my lip to squelch the tension churning like corrosive acid through my gut. I don’t want him to know I’m reacting to him in this position.

“Something about you made me think you’d love being punished under the right circumstances.”

My breath catches, and my eyes shoot open, staring unseeingly at the dude in the floor-length puffy peacoat in front of me. My elbow jabs back, landing straight in the center of Jack’s gut. He oomphs but chuckles because it wasn’t a hard hit. Not like the ones I was landing earlier at the gym. Jack’s not dangerous, just an asshole.

“Next!” the woman behind the counter sings out, and I step up.

“She’ll have the wasabi salmon bowl, hold the onions, extra dressing, and edamame and carrots, please,” Jack orders for me.

I gasp and spin around. “How did you know?”

His blue eyes are right there, expectant and amused yet tinted with a hint of mischief. And that smirk? I can’t even with it. My world would be a lot better if Jack Kincaid didn’t look this good. And if the sweater he’s wearing didn’t show off his delicious arm muscles to perfection.

“We ordered from here a few months ago when we were hanging out at Mason’s, and that’s what you got.”

It makes my breath shutter that he remembers.

“Keeping close tabs on me, are you there, Jack?” I smart.

Refusing to answer, he speaks over my head. “I’ll have the fall harvest bowl with chicken and no beets, please. On the same bill,” he tells the person.

I squint. “You’re not buying me dinner.”

His gaze snaps back down to mine, and he gives me a crooked smirk. “Okay, Wren. I’ll just put my card down, and you won’t, and magically you’ll have your food.”

“You don’t get to boss me around.”

His face dips until he’s inches from me. “But I’m your boss. Isn’t that my job?” His fingers tickle up the column of my exposed neck, his eyes following their trail before they’re gone just as quickly. “Good night, my pretty Cinderella. I’ll see you tomorrow. Enjoy your dinner.” He takes a step around mebefore he spins back toward me. “Oh, and just so you know, since you told me you think I’m scary hot. You’re fucking gorgeous. Makeup, no makeup, whatever.”

And like that, he’s gone. Food paid for, a meal in my hand, his warmth and breath gone. He just said that. With like ten people around us who are now all staring at me.

“Damn. I wish my boyfriend would say that to me,” A woman behind me says, but I don’t reply. Jack isn’t my boyfriend. He never will be. He likely said that to get a reaction from me.

I have to ignore him. From now on, I have to. Because if I start to give in to this incredible itch… I’ll never want to stop scratching.

9

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