Page 12 of Enemies in Earnest

Pleasurable sensation officially quashed.

ChapterNine

Acacia Ashley jealous?That was unexpected. And flustered that I called her out? An even more delicious development for the evening.

“Jealous? Please. Over what?”

She took a sip from her drink. It was a valiant attempt. Except I saw the way her hand shook. There was no way she was nearly as unaffected as she pretended to be. The way she licked her top lip four times? It was as if she forgot she’d already done that action and wanted to make sure just in case to moisten it again.

“Acacia, it’s all a show. You know, so they have a good time. Hopefully they’ll come back to me the next time they’re in town. I give them what they want. And if a bunch of ladies are on a girl’s trip where they want to be wild and crazy, who am I to stand in their way?”

Not that I cared two shits about my street cred or what people thought about me, but playing the role of the carefree, unattached,matureman I believed is what had people booking and rebooking. It was selling a fantasy. The cool guy who knew all the places to party, or the flirt who was never without a compliment or a fresh drink, the fishing expert or whatever it was my patrons needed to be. I was it. Whatever it took to make them happy and give me a good rating.

The waiter finally brought around a gin and tonic for me. From which I took two generous gulps and pushed through with an admission that surely had me dangling upside down by the short and curlies.

“When no one is looking, you drop cocktail shrimp on the floor for Six-Toed Joe.”

The moment the sentence was out of my mouth, the pressing weight of indecision threatened to silence me. But I’d been silent for so long. That little tête-à-tête of ours drew on for too long over a misunderstanding.

“Call the Food Safety Commission—I gave my cat some table food.” Acacia announced to the nonexistent audience of fellow diners that weren’t paying us any attention.

“Every Wednesday, you wear your hair down.” I press on, not giving any piece of fate a chance to stop the avalanche I started. “I haven’t been able to figure out what the significance of Wednesday is. Whenever you wear those cute overalls, you always pair it with some esotericonly funny to a fewliterary t-shirts. But they’re always covered up by the flap of the overalls, which also has always befuddled me. You buy the t-shirts because they tickle your intellect, but you make people work for a glimpse at them. Though I guess that is kind of how you are in real life, too.”

I chanced a deeper look at her. Despite feeling as if my time is about to run out, I want Acacia to know how much Iknowher. Or how much I want to get to know her, if she’ll let me.

“And you named abarTemperance. As in abstinence from alcohol. So was it also a funny pun? Did you choose it because it’s ironic?”

Statues shift more than Acacia had at that moment. It was as if someone poured concrete into her and she’d frozen mid thought. Usually, she was a spitfire of sassy eyebrow quirks or burning judgment in her eyes. And yet, there was nothing. A total blank slate.

Time punctuated its own passing with the jolting, grating lyrics ofTwelve Days of Christmasfrom some gaggle of assholes that wanted to firmly believe it was, in fact, a countdown to Christmas and not the middle of July. Acacia and I hung in the silence of my admissions fromtwelve lords a leapin’all the way totwo turtle dovesbefore she finally snapped back to the present from wherever she’d retreated to.

“I don’t understand.”

That was the only thing she said. Her mouth opened and closed as if no air was able to pass through. If not for the heavy sighs punctuating the moment, I would have thought she was choking on her syrupy sweet drink.

“What don’t you understand, Sweet Acacia?”

My fingers itched to reach across the table and play with one of those curly tendrils that kissed her collarbones. To gather her hand in mine and run my lips across her knuckles. Any kind of connection that would show my earnest hope that we could be more than adversaries.

It wasn’t fear that held me back. Or even a chance at her rebuff. It was the way her eyelids creased, and her lips puckered. As if she’d drunk vinegar straight from the bottle.

Maybe I’d misread the situation wrong after all. Perhaps she truly found me distasteful, and I’d misread our situation entirely. An apology had begun to form on my lips when she clarified.

“You hate me,” she blurted, her eyebrows raising in apparent surprise at her own statement.

“Never.” I tried to hide my laugh behind a swig from my drink. “Do I have fun needling you? Absolutely. But I’ve never hated you.”

She cocked her head in my direction, confusion still refusing to be evacuated from her features.

“And I hated you.”

“Ouch.” My unaffected chuckle feels fake even to my ears. She’d said as much all night long, yet in the abstract it didn’t feel the same as her openly admitting to it. “Hate is a very strong word for someone who kissed me like she wished we weren’t in public.”

Watching her blush was my new addiction. That tongue of hers achieved Ninja status when it came to landing cuts and barbs. But the second I even hinted at thesuggestionof something flirtatious, she was a blushing virgin.

Oh.

Shit.

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