Page 57 of Undeniably Enemies

“Yawn.” Sorel rolls her eyes. “I want to see what he ended up doing with his bathroom.”

“My mom and I helped him pick out the fixtures, flooring, and stone,” Estlin states as we head directly for his bedroom. “I’m excited to see it too.”

“Creeping in my bedroom, ladies?” Jack asks behind us, his body close to mine, though I didn’t hear him follow us.

“We want to see how your bathroom turned out,” Sorel explains.

“Seriously?” He’s bewildered. “It’s abathroom.”

“Yes!” she exclaims. “Don’t ruin this for us. You know I have a thing for home renovations.”

“Uh.” He scratches the back of his head in uncertainty. “Fine, but fair warning, the toilet seat might be up.” We all scrunch our noses, and he throws his hands up. “I’m a single guy living alone. It’s what we do. I didn’t expect a handful of judgmental women to come in my bedroom.”

“It is very nice in here. And clean.” Keegan does a circle in his bedroom, but all I notice is the layout of his place and how his bedroom wall most definitely abuts mine. Awesome. And yes, that’s total sarcasm.

“A little light reading, Jack?” Kenna teases, going over to his nightstand and grabbing a book.

“Huh? Oh.” His voice drops. “Oh, shit.” That last part is muttered so low under his breath, I don’t think he intended any of us to hear it.

“What is it?” Estlin questions only to start laughing. “What on earth? Since when did you start reading spicy romance?”

I follow along with everyone else, and when I see the books Kenna is holding up, I freeze. There are two books in her hands. Two very familiar books. Two books I specifically recommended to my text stranger. Icy talons of dread scratch at my gut.

I spin around, and our eyes immediately lock. His wary, mine hateful. Jack is my text stranger. He knew it was me all along, and he never said a word. That son of a bitch!

17

Shit. Shit. Shit! Wren didn’t say anything. She stared me down for a long, hate-filled moment and then followed the other ladies as they oohed and aahed over my bathroom fixtures. Who does that? Who even cares about the color of them and how the stone goes nicely with the rugs and towels? Men don’t do that. We don’t go into each other’s bedrooms or bathrooms. Those are sacred places. There’s a half bath off the kitchen for guests. My room is my man space, and men respect that.

Not women.

They have no boundaries.

They weren’t supposed to go in my bedroom, and they sure as hell weren’t supposed to see the books on my nightstand. More than that, Wren was never supposed to find out. We’d agreed no more texting. It was over. A truce was declared. We were civil. The tension and sexual energy I couldn’t seem to shake was going to simmer and eventually burn out.

Now that’s all gone, and it’s like the ticking of a bomb with no way to deactivate it.

The women went across the hall to Wren’s place. They’redrinking wine and eating crudités or whatever women do, and we ordered pizza and subs and have beers and bourbon. Vander is setting up my WiFi and TV with all kinds of things I don’t want to know about. I legit surf the internet and occasionally purchase a few things, but the way he’s going about it, you’d think I worked for the NSA and held our government secrets on my laptop.

Alden is watching him and asking questions as he goes, to which Vander hardly replies. Mason, Bennett, and Owen are talking babies and what to expect when you’re expecting or something like that. Stone is texting with Tinsley because the man can’t breathe for five minutes without her. And I’m stuck here in some state of limbo, anxiously sweating this out.

She had accepted my apology, and even though I hated the terms she set before us, I knew she was right to do so. I’d been letting my guard down. She was under my skin. It was turning into hours spent every day thinking about her and fantasizing about her andwantingher. Desperately. Heedlessly. To the point where I see no other woman but her.

It needed to stop, and I didn’t know how to do that. So her line in the sand was the perfect antidote. A rule I would follow until this thing with her passed. Nothing good would come of my attraction to her, and I was determined to do the right thing with her. For once.

Now that’s all fucked, and she’s across the hall probably plotting which part of me she’s going to sever from my body first—my head, heart, or balls.

I’d have to take it. I have no verbal recourse. I lied by omission. I kept this secret from her because I… fuck, because I wanted her to talk to me without all the hatred and animosity she always has with me. I wanted… hell, I don’t even know. Her, I guess. I wanted her, even if it was just that small piece, and that felt like the only safe way to have her.

“You okay?” Owen asks, and I realize I’ve been standing inmy kitchen, staring at the wall that abuts her apartment, for I don’t even know how long on my quest to find a bottle opener.

“I’m good.”

Owen sets the bottle of Blanton’s he brought down on the counter. “Want one?”

“Sure.” Fuck yes, I do. I pull a set of tumblers down from the cabinet, and he pours both of us large glasses.

“Pour me one?” Bennett yells out, and Owen throws a hand up to let him know that he’s got him. Bennett comes over and joins us, leaning his back against the counter and surveying everything as he gratefully accepts the decent pour Owen gave him. “It’s a great place. And I really like your neighborhood. I’m kind of jealous of that.”

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