Page 36 of Undeniably Enemies

“Feel better, kiddo.” I rub the back of her hair. “Later.” I give Estlin a hug and Owen a fist bump.

“I’m going to take off too,” Sorel explains as she empties her water over the puke to try to wash some of it away. “I’ll see you tomorrow at work.”

“I’ll drive you home,” my mom offers, and we all part ways on the vomit-covered sidewalk.

I should just go back to my old place and finish the last of my packing, but it’s all boxed up and depressing. So I decide to grab some takeout and eat it in my new place. A place where Wren does not live or occupy. Sorel’s words have been sitting heavily on me, and as I enter my building, jog up the steps to the second floor, and unlock my door, I don’t want to think about Wren.

The place smells like fresh paint and sawdust and feels open and bright thanks to the extra overhead lighting I had installed. I slide my hand along the smooth, cool stone countertop in my kitchen and take in the nice stainless-steel appliances I’ll have to make myself learn how to use.

It’s mine. All of this is, and it’s a feeling of accomplishment like nothing else.

Probably because everything else in my life that I’ve worked for or wanted has fallen apart on me. College football died when my hand got sliced open and nerves were severed. My scholarship was revoked, and I transferred schools, needing to get away from all of it. But with that injury, my career in surgery was over before it ever began. Tilly took what was left of my heart and pride and bashed them to a pulp with a bat. Then what happened with Wren was my final straw.

Not much has been right for me.

Except for this.

So no, Wren isn’t going to be allowed to fuck this up. Even if my concern for her living, at the very least nearby, is growing.

12

“So you have no idea who it is you’re texting with?” Keegan asks while I lay like a starfish on her apartment floor.

“No clue. He wouldn’t tell me. It was like one minute he was flirting and the next he was short and dismissive. I don’t know. But how weird is that?”

I squint an eye open and meet my cousin’s puzzled stare. On Friday nights I typically like to chill in with a movie and bake or read or drink or do all three. Sometimes I’ll do that with Estlin or Tinsley, but when Keegan texted me and asked if I’d come chill at her place, I didn’t hesitate. Mostly because I didn’t feel like being alone tonight and Estlin is with Owen and Tinsley is in London.

It’s been quite the week, and I think I might have told my asshole boss—more than once during it—that he’s ridiculously hot. He definitely told me he thinks I’m gorgeous. I might have also flirted a bit yesterday. In fairness to me, I was in a particularly good mood. I kicked ass at work. Or so Daffy told me. Today I didn’t see him much since we avoided each other again.

Kenna is at some conference in DC, and the guy Keegan isquietly obsessed with, an actor by the name of Loomis Powell, who’s shooting a film with Tinsley in London, doesn’t see her as more than a buddy. I’m here for moral support and because she doesn’t do alone well. It’s the twin in her, I think.

“So weird.” She’s sitting on her sofa, staring contemplatively at the wall. “And he knows who you are.”

It’s not a question, but I answer her all the same. “He does. He used my name and everything.”

“Wild. That would drive me freaking crazy. I’d have to know who he is or I’d never be able to let that go. Did you fuck him?” Her chin drops, and she looks at me.

“No. I was eighteen when we first texted.”

“So weird. Are you going to text him again?”

My face scrunches up. “No. I mean, I shouldn’t, right?”

“Um, if you’re asking me, I would, but I’m clingy like that. Just look at my mess of a nonexistent love life.”

“He’s your friend.”

“Yeah,” she deadpans sardonically. “Wow. Friends is awesome.”

Fair.

“I don’t know who he is, and clearly I didn’t like him enough the first time to put his name with his number.”

“True. But I still think I’d have to know. Especially since he liked you enough to not only put your name in his phone but also remember exactly who you are.” She sighs. “I miss sex.”

“Same,” I lament. “So same. God, it’s been forever since I’ve had any, let alone anything good.”

“Yes. The last guy?” She shakes her head. “He couldn’t find my clit or G-spot with a map and a flashlight. He’s a doctor and in his thirties. How is that even possible? He knows basic anatomy.”

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