Page 37 of Undeniably Enemies

“Shitty lay. Or lazy.”

“Whatever. I’m so tired of the game. And I’m tired of chasing men who do not want to be chased. I’m done with that.We’re owning this. We should go out as hot fucking bitches and own it.”

I force myself to curl up until I’m sitting. “What? Like now? You ordered pizza.”

“Wren, you’re twenty-five, and I’m thirty-one. Why are we spending our Friday night ordering pizza and talking about a random text guy who won’t tell you who he is and a movie star who isn’t hot for my bod?”

She has a point.

“Just us two, or do we want backup?”

“Katy I know is home with Willow and Bennett, so she’s out. Sorel is pregnant and home with Mason. Tins is in London with he who shall not be named. Kenna is in DC, and Estlin is with Owen. Unless we’re bringing pork to this party, it’s just us. Or we could get some other cousins who we don’t hang out with often to join.”

“Yeah, but then we’d have to talk to them and catch up.”

She points at me. “Good call on that.” She scoots to the end of the couch. “Do you think it’s bad that we don’t hang out with people who we don’t consider family?”

“We’re Fritzes, Keegan. As fucked up and entitled as it sounds, no. Our family has been followed, stalked, photographed, and spread across tabloids, and I think all of us have at least at one point had someone try to date us for our money and connections. Plus, there’s what happened to me.”

We both grimace.

“It’s what makes dating so damn hard,” she whines with a heavy groan. “It’s why we’re here ordering pizza on a Friday night. I mean, I hardly know how to meet guys anymore let alone trust them. They ask my name, and the moment I say it, it’s over. Red hair, Keegan. They know I’m Keegan Fritz.”

“My name is Wren. I have the same problem. Plus, I don’t trust guys enough to go home with them anymore.” Any sex I’ve had in the last two-plus years has been in public, as messedup as that sounds. Bar bathrooms or coat closets. That’s what happens when your safety is stolen from you, and you trust no one.

That and the number four becomes your safety blanket.

“Fuck this and fuck them. Let’s get dressed up and go out. If we meet someone, we meet someone, and we do it on our terms, not theirs. If we don’t, then at least we look hot and had some fabulous drinks we didn’t have to mix ourselves.”

“Let’s do it. But I have to borrow clothes.” Clothes that likely won’t fit me because Keegan has some serious curves that I’ll never have unless I visit a plastic surgeon. I have the physical resemblance of a green bean—long, thin, and straight—whereas she’s, well, I can’t think of a vegetable that looks like an hourglass, but that’s her.

She’s Jessica Rabbit, and I’m… Rapunzel.

Cute, blonde hair quirkiness, and all.

“I have a dress that’ll fit you,” she says as if reading my mind. “It was Katy’s from when she temporarily lived here. Come on. Let’s get fucking hot.”

An hour later, the pizza is in the fridge, and we’re fucking hot just as she demanded as we walk through the doors of a swanky bar-slash-restaurant in the Seaport District. The walls are exposed brick, and the lights are dim gold Edison bulbs hanging from Art Deco light fixtures. It’s a speakeasy with good drinks and food, a big bar, and lots of men still wearing their financial district attire.

Yawn. So not my type, but whatever. A guy in a dark corner or bathroom doesn’t need to be my type, and I sure as hell don’t care about his portfolio.

“Evenin’, ladies,” the pretty bartender shouts to us to be heard over the Celtics game that’s on the TV and the loud sounds of the bar. She drops two napkins on the bar top. “Are we having dinner or just drinks?”

“Both,” we answer together, and she hands us some menus.

“This is so much better,” Keegan states as she peruses the menu.

“It is,” I agree. “I’m already feeling better.”

Today in the ER wasn’t bad. Daffy is a good teacher and lets me do more than just shadow her. Plus, I barely saw Jack, and word has it that he’s out the second half of next week. The less I have to see of him, the better. I can’t stand the man, and yet he’s like a car crash to me. I can’t look away.

I may hate him, but my attraction to him hasn’t waned. I wasn’t lying when I told him he’s scary hot. And in scrubs? I have no idea how his patients and the other nurses and doctors don’t jump him in those because the jerk wears them better than these guys wear their bespoke duds.

But he’s still Jack. He’s still a bastard with a mouth that makes me want to rake his eyes out.

“What are you having?”

I study the menu, scrolling down the drinks first. “I think that cherry bomb Manhattan.” I bounce over to the food. “And one of every appetizer.”

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