Page 73 of Undeniably Enemies

I can hear the smile in his voice, even as he plants his lips on the top of my head and takes a deep breath in—smelling me. “Wren, chill out.”

“What?” I half sit up so I can glare down at him, affronted.

His blue eyes are so light right now, the lightest I’ve ever seen them. And that smile he’s giving me, complete with dimples, is utterly devastating. “Remember that truce we called? It’s in full effect today. Tomorrow all this is over. I agree. It has to be that way for all the reasons we’ve already spoken about, plus probably a lot of others. But I want you for today. I want more of what we just did as much as we can, even if I’ll require a liter of IV fluids and fifty pounds of protein. That means you need to chill out with me. I’m not here to mess you up or fight with you. I’m not here to take over and be your boyfriend. I want to fuck your brains out, and that’s it.” He cups my face and gazes into my eyes in a way that makes my belly flutter. “Can you do that?”

I stare down at him, trying to kill those damn butterflies dead. “I don’t know.”

“Can you try?”

If I let my guard down with him today, even if it’s just for one day, I’m opening myself up to a world of hurt. But I haven’t had this in so long. So freaking long, and if I’m honest, I’m not sure I’ve ever had it like this. My body, my mind, and my heart crave it, and I’m not talking about the sex. I’m talking about closeness with a man I trust. A man I know won’t hurt me—at least not physically. Well, at least not more than I want him to.

Christ, this is a mess.

“Give me five minutes to think.”

He smiles and leans up to kiss my lips. So simple. But it’s tripping me out.

I scoot off the bed and make quick time into the bathroom, flipping the latch four times before I turn on the shower. I need to remove the plug—kind of gross now—and I need to rinse off after I do that. I turn on the faucet to hot, remove the plug with a bit of a wince, and wash it with extra soap. Once it’s clean, I set it on a towel and climb into the shower.

It’s funny, I never used to be a freak-out girl. Most of the time, I’m still not. Only with men, and that’s sort of an obvious one. It’s not that necessarily. It’s the fact that it’s Jack. A man who I loved and then hated and now… now I don’t know what to think about him.

Maybe that’s the key for today.

Don’t think about him. Don’t think about today in terms of Jack and our history. He’s a guy. A guy who’s undeniably the best sex I’ve ever had. A guy who wants more of that sex with me and nothing else. It’s just sex. Just today.

If I can shut my mind off from anything else, I’ll be fine. I can do that. No problem.

22

Chappell Roan’s “HOT TO GO!” is playing through my speakers. It’s actually my running mix, but it has a lot of badass chicks on it, and I wanted to try to throw Jack off. I should have known better. While I was mentally talking myself back from an emotional cliff and into a hot fling for the day, Jack ran back to his place, changed out of his running clothes, grabbed food, and came back over before I even stepped out of the water.

I don’t know how men do things like that, but by the time I left my bedroom, he was already making us coffee in my kitchen and scrambling up eggs. Now he’s singing along and shaking his hips as he pours the eggs into a heated pan. Jack is doing that. He’s making me breakfast and singing along to my music. I feel like I must be in a coma, and this is some alternate dream state fugue, and soon I’ll wake up and not remember anything, including my name or my family, but I’ll actually be married with children or something.

I’m not even making sense.

But neitheris Jack doing this.

His head swivels over his shoulder, and he throws me that perfect smile. “I hear you cook.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Who told you that?”

“Tyson Freaking Mayme. Because he lives upstairs and your brother didn’t mention that last night, which is crazy to me as a C’s fan. Anyway, Tyson said you make these incredible pancakes. I’m not a pancake guy, but what else do you have in your arsenal that would go well with these eggs?”

“Your liver?”

He chuckles and turns back to the eggs, stirring them with a spatula. All that’s missing is an apron. As it is, I have to watch the muscles in his back move against the soft cotton of his shirt. Didn’t I just pep talk myself into saying I’d treat today for what it is and ignore everything else? He’s talking food, not future babies here.

I make a disgruntled noise because I have to and head for the freezer.

“How do you feel about homemade sourdough and jam?”

He groans. “Don’t make me hard yet. I need to save all my cum for your pussy and mouth.”

I snort. “If you think I’m not only sucking you off but swallowing your cum, you’ve been spiking your coffee.”

“Just wishful thinking. Sourdough and jam would be amazing.” He gives me a boyish smirk and a wink, and it’s like, who is this guy? “When did you start baking and cooking like this? I don’t remember Owen ever mentioning it. Yet another thing.”

He doesn’t so much as wince at the drop of my brother’s name, which tells me exactly where his mind is. Today and not beyond it. It’s helpful actually, and I do what he told me to earlier. I chill out. Well, partially. I can’t exactly tell him the real reason I got into cooking and baking.

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