Page 142 of Enemies

She shifts into the driver’s side, and I get in opposite her.

“How did you end up working for Harrison?”

Leni laughs as we pull out of the parking lot and slip into the glut of traffic. “That is a long-ass story.”

“Will you tell me?”

My visit to Miami had started on a high before taking a rough turn. That man in the alley reminded me of things I’ve tried to leave behind.

But Harrison wouldn’t let me run from myself or the memories.

He wrapped strong arms around me and refused to budge.

From the moment I woke up in that bed alone, I knew I wanted him with me. I hadn’t planned on sex and sure as hell didn’t plan on skipping the condom.

The fact that we did was one more wall coming down between us.

What happened physically was beyond anything I’ve experienced, though I’m not about to tell him.

It’s always felt like two steps forward and one step back with us, but lately, it’s only forward. I keep waiting for him to pull away, but every vulnerability, every moment, he moves into it. Occupies it as naturally as if he’s always been in my life and my heart.

I’m consumed by him, when he’s with me and when he’s not.

Leni reaches for the radio and turns it on. “You know, while we’re in Venice Beach, there’s this thrift store I love.”

I don’t feel much like shopping, but there’s nowhere I need to be.

Jagged Lovely, the thrift store, is large enough to hold maybe ten people. The woman inside greets us with a warm wave before returning to stock merchandise.

Leni makes a beeline for the dresses, and I tag along.

“You must need something,” she prompts without looking up.

“I have my brother’s wedding to go to in a couple of weeks.”

“And you don’t have a dress?” She grins. “You sure aren’t like the usual ones.”

“The usual what? Women Harrison hangs out with?”

She doesn’t answer, but her hand flips through the hangers with reverence. She stops on a soft aqua cocktail dress with a white lace overlay. It’s vintage and beautiful.

“What about this?”

“Um. Yeah, it might be long on you?—“

“I meant for you.”

I hold it up, surprised. It is beautiful. More delicate than something I’d normally choose.

“We have someone in house that does alterations,” the woman working calls over.

“Thanks.” I shove a hand through my hair. “I could try it on.”

“You do that.”

When I head toward the single changeroom stall in the back, I’m regretting the move. So much for Leni telling me about Harrison.

But as I strip out of my street clothes and start to tug the dress over my head, her voice drifts into the stall.

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