Page 83 of Undeniably Enemies

“With wine and cupcakes.”

I smile wryly. “Now you know why we’re friends. And he’s already met you and thinks you’re just as fabulous as you are, so cut the shit.” My hand pans toward the door across the hall. “He could be the love of your life.”

He gives me an unimpressed look. “The love of my life is built like Zeus and fucks like Hades.”

I start cracking up. Two glasses of wine will do that. “I think that’s the love of my life too.”

I get a smug grin. “Yes, it is, and I think we both know that perfectly describes the Adonis across the hall.”

I throw him a side-eye. “Stop fucking with shit that doesn’t need fucking with.”

He pauses. “You’re right. But he’s all alone in there. Bring the good doctor some cookies and see how it goes.”

“I’m not knocking on his door, and I sure as hell am not bringing him cookies.”

I get pursed lips. “This is the problem with your generation. All antisocial and shit.”

I snort. “Look who’s talking.”

“So you guys have drama? Since I know he’s your brother’s BFF, that should make you friendly by association. Why aren’t you?"

I shove him out the door. “Go groom. I have baking to finish, and I will not burn my cookies.”

A knowing look I choose to ignore covers his face, and I lock up, making sure the latch clicks four times before I return to my kitchen. My last batch of cookies comes out of the oven, and I set them on the rack to cool. The reason I bought this apartment was the kitchen. For a one-bedroom apartment in a brownstone in this part of town, the kitchen is huge, and after I redid it, it’s magic. My total happy place.

After what happened, both Owen and my parents tried to get me to buy a place in a large building with a doorman. My therapist at the time was on board with that too. I thought about it. I did. But large places creep me out more than small ones—too open, too many noises at night—and I didn’t want fear to control me more than I already allowed it to.

I followed my heart instead. I’ve always loved the old brownstones that line the streets of Back Bay, and that’s what I wanted. I’m no longer in therapy—I honestly didn’t want to talk about it anymore, and I think at this point, I’m as healed as I’m going to get. Yes, I count when things feel a little too much, and yes, some of that has turned into a slight amount of OCD, but it’s not unmanageable, and numbers are soothing to me.

Hell, my therapist was the one who suggested I start with number facts as a coping technique. The rest will just take time. Besides, the bastard is dead, and I love my apartment, and I love having Tyson upstairs. Even if Jack now lives across the hall.

Just as I get back to my cream cheese filling, my phone pings with a text.

Jack: I know I shouldn’t be texting you, but I wanted to make sure you’re okay. I just heard one of the idiots sexually assaulted you.

I read it again and debate if I want to text him back. I’ve spent far too much of my time thinking about him since Saturday. I was afraid this would happen, and while I’m avoiding him and going about my days, I can’t help but spend my nights thinking about him. Wanting him to creep across the hall and back into my bed.

Me: I’m fine. Lucky for me, the guy was pretty cute. We’re going out this weekend.

Jack: Do not test me right now. He’s lucky I didn’t know about it before he was discharged.

I smirk. I shouldn’t love how overprotective he is of me, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t.

Me: I really am fine.

Jack: You can still file a report.

Me: I could, but I bitched him out pretty good and told him if he ever touched a woman again without her consent, I’d find him and break his fingers one by one. He got it. I hope.

Jack: Does it have you rethinking the ER?

Me: You can’t get rid of me that easily. But nice try.

Jack: I think I’ve already learned that the hard way, Cinderella.

I set my phone down as I finish off my wine and turn off the mixer before I overwhip the cream cheese filling. I prop my hip against my counter and swipe my finger into the frosting before I pop it in my mouth. It’s perfect. Smooth, sweet, and creamy.

Jack: How do I stop wanting you all the time? We said it would end Saturday, but I fucking want you again right now, and I can’t make it go away.

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