Page 2 of Drunk Dialing My Enemy

But he’s ruining it by being all…nice.

“Just so you know, that leaking pipe you fixed was leakingagainthis morning,” I say. “So I fixed it myself this time and guess what? No more leak. I fixed it and you didn’t. Girl power! Ha!”

For some reason, this sounded a lot cooler in my head than it did aloud. I cringe.

“Katie, are you drunk?”

“Duct tape,” I continue.

“What?”

“I fixed it with duct tape,” I clarify. “Bet you’ve never even thought of that. Well, I did. Now you can’t raise my rent.”

“Katie, I won’t raise your rent for calling me when you need a repair done,” Darren says. “It’s the landlord’s job to maintain the property. You can call me whenever you need. Also, do not fix a pipe with duct tape. Or anything else for that matter.”

I roll my eyes.

Darren was never meant to be my landlord. When I set up my plus-sized clothing boutique, an old woman named Mrs. Hayes owned the building. But then she passed away, the building went up for auction, and before I could secure the financing to buy itmyself, Darren freaking Baker swept in and bought it with a pile of cash.

Now he owns the building and I make my rent checks out to him. And every time I need something to do with the building, I have to pick up the phone and call a man who once crushed my heart beneath his boot like it meant nothing.

“I only taped it until I can get a repairman to come out,” I say defensively.

“Iamthe repairman!”

“There it is!” I exclaim, bouncing up and down a little. “The growl! The Darren growl!”

“I do not growl.”

“You did it again.”

“Katie, are you drunk? Where are you?”

There he goes again, sounding all concerned about me.

Well, I’m not drunk. At least, I don’t think so. I had one shot of tequila at the start of tonight, which was hours ago. Since then, I’ve just been drinking strawberry lemonade while the rest of the girls drink alcohol.

I don’t mind being the sober friend – it’s good to have one among every group of girls, just to look out.

Except I don’t feel sober. Actually, I feel like I’m getting drunker by the minute.

“By the way,” I continue. “Just so you know? That kiss was super dumb. I don’t even think about it anymore.”

I cringe again at my own words. Why did I think that would sound cool?

Darren pauses before he answers. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and deep. It sends chills up my spine.

“If you don’t think about it anymore, why are you bringing it up?” he asks. “That was almost eight years ago.”

Was it really? Eight years?

I do the math, counting back to my sixteenth birthday. The day that Darren kissed me under the stars and my whole damn world turned upside down.

“Because I know you still think about it,” I tell him.

“You do?”

His voice is hardly a whisper, and I have to strain to hear him over the loud music playing over the speakers.

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