Page 84 of Undeniably Enemies

I choke on my frosting and end up coughing out a chunk onto my counter. Gross. I clean it up with a wet cloth, but I can’t stop reading what he wrote. Wow, is that blunt. And holy wow, is it turning me on. I can’t tell him it’s been the same for me. If I do, he’ll be here, and I can’t have him here. I can’t sleep with him again. My heart is already shaky.

Me: Getting clingy for me already?

Jack: I sincerely hope not.

Me: Me too. I don’t like clingy. And I still don’t like you.

Jack: That’s a lie. We both know it’s a lie.

I finish smearing on the frosting and use cellophane wrap to roll the whole thing up into a tight cylinder. It looks good and smells even better, but it needs to set in the fridge for at least an hour before I can slice it.

I place it in there and grab a cookie off the cooling rack.

Me: Don’t do this. I can’t want you, and you can’t want me.

Jack: Talking about this with you makes me think and want things I shouldn’t. I know this.

I take a bite of my cookie, and wow, is that good. I groan and shove the rest in my mouth before I put the extras away. I need to stop this. My relationships with men already aren’t the healthiest, and there is nothing good that can come from this. I clean up my kitchen and head into my room. I’m exhaustedafter this weekend and the start of this week and want nothing more than to climb into bed, use one of my BOBs, and fall into a blissful and heavy sleep.

Stupid Jack ruining more things for me.

Stupid men who text you and tell you they’re thinking about you. What am I doing? I cannot get my heart broken by him again.

Me: You shouldn’t text me anymore.

He replies instantly as if he were waiting for my response.

Jack: I agree. But unfortunately, beautiful Wren, I bought romance books and texted you just to get you to respond and talk to me. Even when I knew I shouldn’t. When it comes to you, I don’t seem to know how to do the right thing.

I pause and stare down at my screen. Why do assholes always have to say the perfect thing? It’s like they know just how to get us right in the soft center of our most vulnerable parts, and after they’ve melted us just right, they stomp in our fucking puddle and splatter our shit everywhere. I’m tired of it. I’m angry at Jack for being perfect. For being the guy I would want and also for being the guy I can never have.

Where are all the decent men? Do they even exist anymore, or is everything a game to them? I brush my teeth and get ready for bed, but I’m unsatisfied. In several ways at the moment, but I’m miffed, and I already know it’ll bother me enough to keep me up if I let it go at that.

I’m tired of men always seeming to have the upper hand.

He can’t stop thinking about me, huh? Good. Let’s add a little fire to it. Without overthinking it, I get undressed until I’mnaked and slip into bed. The sheets are silky and cool and feel so good against my already-heated skin.

Biting my lip, I lift the sheets and snap a quick pic. You can’t see much of anything. It’s dark in my room and dark under the blanket. It’s a suggestion. A tease. A black-on-black silhouette of my body, but with that, if I enlarge it and squint, I can just make out the hard peak of my nipple.

As a Fritz, sending a nude selfie is a total no-no. People put our pictures on social media, and they obsess over our family. Especially here in Boston, though occasionally the madness turns national or even global the way it did with Stone and Tinsley, as well as Sorel and Mason.

But still, my face isn’t in this, and like I said, you can’t see much. And it’s Jack. He may be an asshole, but I know he’d never do anything to hurt me in that way.

Before I can second-guess myself, I send him the picture.

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The picture goes through, and I smile.

Me: Sweet dreams.

Jack: Christ, you’re torturing me. Jesus hell, you are so fucking beautiful. It’s not fair to make me hard like this.

Me: No one ever said I played fair.

I click on the picture and unsend the photo now that I know he’s seen it. I won’t let him keep it. The picture pops like a bubble bursting on my screen, and it’s gone. Like it never existed. That’s how he’ll be to me.

It was my fuck you to the universe. To all men.

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