Page 28 of Undeniably Enemies

Me: Why is it impossible?

Then it dawns on me. Our first text chat was seven years ago. She was eighteen and still a virgin.

Wren: That’s personal.

Me: Fine. How many one-nighters with random people have you had?

Wren: Again, none of your business, weird, random stranger. My point is, since that’s all you can possibly be in my history, I think it’s best if we end this conversation now.

Me: You’re probably right.

Because I can’t take this anymore. I can’t take the want. The weird yearning for the illicit. The reminder of just how lonely and alone I am.

Wren: Awesome. But before I do that, quick question, and I need a real answer here. Are men no longer interested in friendships with women? Like, is it always about the sex? I figured you’d give me an honest answer since we don’t know each other, and I obviously can’t ask my real male friends.

I wonder if this was her date from tonight, and once again it has my jaw clenching and that unwelcome and uncomfortable feeling within me stirring. Things were much easier between us when hate was our only game, I saw her sporadically and didn’t have to speak to her. But put us alone together, and the gloves come off, and my stupid, traitorous dick gets hard.

Or again, maybe I just need sex.

Me: I have good friends who are female, and I don’t think about sex with them.

It’s true. I’ve never looked twice at Sorel or Katy that way. Sorel especially. We both moved back to Boston around the same time, and since she started floating down to the ER on occasion, we’ve become close. In fact, I was bitching to her about Wren being my student just the other day. Despite the fact that she’s cousins with Wren, Sorel has always stayed neutral, which I appreciate.

Wren: So you’re basically saying the guy I went out with tonight is an asshole then?

I take a final sip of my beer and set the empty bottle on the coffee table before I return to my phone.

Me: I’m saying maybe he’s always wanted to be more and likes you.

And if you tell me who he is, he’ll be dead or bleeding heavily in under an hour.

I sigh. I have a problem. What is it about her that turns me into a teenager? All hormones and jealousy and yearning. It’s been five years for Christ’s sake. It was one night. One sexual encounter that didn’t go so well.

Wren: I’m fairly certain he only wants the sex, but I’m sure your brother-in-arms will appreciate the solid you tried to give him.

Me: *Shrugs emoji* Can’t be helped. So it was a bad date then?

Wren: If you consider him trying to grope my leg and ass before we even ordered our drinks, and when I pushed his hand away, he got bitchy like a PMSing cat and stormed out bad, then you can call it that. It wasn’t supposed to be a date. Like I said, we’re friends. Or were.

Me: Wow, okay, that’s bad. I take it back. He’s an asshole.

Wren: Thank you for the validation. It was fun chatting with you and all, but I’m deleting you from my phone now.

Me: I doubt that.

Wren: Are you trying to challenge me on this? I’m very competitive and always like to win.

Me: Same for me. If you gave me your number once, you obviously liked me enough to allow that to happen.

I stand up and walk my empty bottle into the kitchen before I chuck it in my recycling bin. What. The fuck. Am I doing?

Me: You know what? Forget that. You’re probably right. Delete me.

Wren: Tell me your name first.

Me: Arthur.

Wren: Arthur? As in the king of Camelot?

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