Page 25 of My Pucking Enemy
“Don’ttouch me.”
I hold up my hands, heart racing harder than it ever has during a game. “I won’t, I’m sorry. Just—please wait? I didn’t look at a thing in there. I ordered that before I really knew you, Wren. You have to believe me—”
“Why not call them? Call it off?” she asks, breathless, eyes blazing with fury.
I open my mouth to tell her that I forgot, but to anyone that knows me, that will sound fake. My whole personality is remembering, being organized, being the onetoremember. Even if this one time, forgetting is the genuine truth.
For the past few weeks, I’ve been so caught up in Wren, so caught up in our meetings and seeing her in the stands at games, that I genuinely forgot about the private detective.
When I say nothing, she shakes her head and turns to leave again. Keeping my promise not to touch her, I walk fast, getting in front of her, stepping right into her angry path.
Selfishly, I want her to stay. Because I like spending time with her. Because, for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’ve met someone with a brain that works like mine.
“Move, Luca.”
“Listen—I swearon my lifethat I didn’t look at that stuff,” I say, gesturing toward the folder. “But-but, I can make a trade.”
She raises an eyebrow. “A trade?”
“I’ll…tell you something about me. So even if I did look in the folder—which I didn’t—we would be even. A hostage trade. I tell you my biggest secret, since I would, hypothetically, know so many of yours.”
“That is not a good analogy.”
“I know,” I let out a breath, look into her eyes. “I’m kind of scrambling right now, Beaumont.”
“What could youpossiblytell me that would amount to this?” she asks, waving the folder. “This is every bad thing that’s ever happened to me. Every shitty thing I’veeverdone.”
I bite my lip, swallow, jaw working as I look down at the pavement. “I’ve done shitty things too, Wren.”
“Yeah, right, Mr. Perfect. What, are you going to tell me about the time you forgot to make an annual donation? Or when you could only adopt three shelter dogs, instead of four?”
If I weren’t so panicked, I’d laugh at her perception of me, and how far it is from the truth. “I’m getting a divorce.”
She laughs now, shakes her head. “Yeah, I know.”
Panic flashes through me. “You know? How do you know? Who told you?”
“Nobody told me,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Your wife comes to nothing. You never talk to her. You flirt with…other people, and I get the feeling you’re not the kind of man who would do that.”
My face is hot, and her cheeks are red. I haven’t flirted with anyone since Mandy and I split. Unless Wren is talking about…her. I haven’t flirted with her, have I?
Happily, my brain supplies memories of my hand on her waist when I pass her by, leaning a little closer than I have to. Challenging her to foosball at the Friendsgiving, showing her how to swing her bat at the team outing to the batting cages.
When Wren starts to walk past me again, I jump into her way, sucking in a breath. I look to the sky, not believing that I’m about to do this. The cold bites at my cheeks, and with every passing second, I’m aware of the threat that someone else might pull into the lot, might walk up and interrupt this so Wren can walk away from me.
And I can’t let that happen.
I’m about to tell my biggest secret to a woman who, up until a month ago, I wouldn’t have trusted to know my first name.
“Luca—”
“Wren,” I say, forcing the words out before I chicken out and lose her. “The divorce isn’t the secret. At least, it’s not the biggest one.”
She stares at me, as though disbelieving that I could possibly have anything salacious to tell her. When I open my mouth again, I know that I’m proving her wrong.
“My biggest secret is that I never loved Mandy in the first place.”
Wren
