Page 7 of Enemies in Earnest

Just like the line I’d just crossed. Apparently. My body goes haywire when he’s around. And I’m stuck in this vortex of not being able to think straight, hating the way my libido responds to his attention—regardless of the attention—and also wanting to knock myself upside the head. Especially because of the incident. Most certainly because of his piggish behavior. What kind of man encourages women to flip open their bathing suit tops to flash passersby? And what kind of woman still finds that man ridiculously attractive even after he yelledCome to Papaand doused them all with a Super Soaker water gun?

“You look like you’ve been sucking on a lemon for the last half hour.” Asher pulled me from my ruminations.

While the rest of the discussions surrounding the next week’s festivities, he and I had also been working on thenew and improvedHemingway Day tribute. All of our resident writers would partake. We asked them to both share their favorite Hemingway tomes, as well as provide meditation on its symbolism and meaning to them personally. The kind of stuff that literary types loved. Asher had made a good point. People who travel down here to be near Hemingway did so because they were voracious consumers of literature. They wanted to be immersed in it. And that included engaging in discourse with other readers and writers.

Once the day was completed, all of the writers and our guests would read the passage fromThe Old Man and the Seatogether while I placed the wreath. Pure poetry. While I never expected Asher to both accept the task and buy into my celebration, working with him so far had been a dream.

“I feel bad.” I admitted. “I was trying to be funny and banter-y. People in these parts take pot shots at the universities all day. I went to Oxford though! It’s not the same over there! I don’t know what the rules are for insulting each other’s schools.”

I could feel my core temperature dialing up to the firesof Mordor. My panic was a freight train bearing down on me with broken brakes and a bridge that sported a gaping hole in the middle of the tracks. Asher’s cool hand on my own helped pull me back from the edge of total panic. The cold bottle of water he placed in my hand provided even more relief.

“Have you ever thought of asking him to dinner and just hashing this out? Not just the incident but all this sexual tension that crackles every time the two of you are within ten feet of one another.”

He was out of his gourd. Suremylibido produced enough energy for the both of us. But him? I felt nothing but an arctic chill.

“While his mom is chatting it up with Lady Frost and Wanelda Albright, why not go find Edwin and ask him to dinner. Give himparlay. Agree to lay down your figurative weapons and meet to broker negotiations of a truce.”

A truce. That was a great idea. Maybe if the two of us could just sit down and talk we’d realize all of this petty back and forth was beneath us.

The dinner rush was in its early stages. Groups stood in the waiting area while the planning committee vacated their tables and the waitstaff turned them. Where the bar had been a sleepy old gin joint a few hours ago, it now pulsed with a rush of people. I had no idea where Edwin had gone. I spotted his cousin and fiancee out on the patio, taking pictures of them with the afternoon hazy sun behind them. His mom still chatted with the rest of the planning committee, though they’d moved over to a corner so as not to hog any of the tables. Every time I caught a Gators t-shirt out of the corner of my eye, I thought it was him but Jesus, the whole word apparently went to the University of Florida.

I’d given up and turned to head back to the bar to make sure my team had accurate coverage when I smacked right into the sappy, smiley gator on the very t-shirt I’d been looking for. A tidal wave of details smacked into me simultaneously. First, Edwin’s chest washard. Working on a boat heaving those anchor lines made whatever body he hid under that shirt deliciously chiseled. Second, someone who worked on a boat slinging one-liners for tourists should smell like exhaust or seaweed. Not the perfect combination of dryer sheets and an ocean breeze. I wanted to bury my face in his scent. Third, his strong arms felt like heaven wrapped around my body. Strong arms that continued to hold me long after I bounced off that chiseled marble he called a chest.

“Sorry,” I blurted, as I realized who stood in front of me.

“Shit. Ugh. Sorry.” I continued to fumble after realizingwhoit was and because I saidshitand I didn’t want him to think I thought he was a piece of shit.

He didn’t let go. Just looked at me, his eyes rapidly moving back and forth to catch my gaze. The man could be a world class poker player. Not a single emotion flitted across that face as we stood there.

“I was looking for you actually.” I cleared my throat and stepped back in an attempt to create some distance.

That weird zinging thing started happening again. I felt the electric current that hummed between us from my fingertips all the way up and down my spinal cord. Even the hair on my arms and on the back of my neck rose in response to whatever gathered strength like a tidal wave.

“Me? What could you possibly insult now? You’ve insulted my intellect, my common sense, my ability to run a successful business, and the ability to make friends. The only thing you haven’t insulted is my manhood, and I promise you, little seedling, any insulting commentary could easily be proven wrong in a second flat.”

It took more than a second for that tiny detail and its implication to disperse to all of the thinking parts of my brain. And even then, I had zero response. What could I possibly say? Congrats? Prove it? Because I was not opposed to him proving it to be honest. The guy walked around in board shorts, Hawaiian shirts and flip flops. A wardrobe like that didn’t give much away.

“… it’s actually kind of ironic.”

I missed something. That's what I got thinking about what kind of banana was swinging in the mesh hammock of his board shorts. Of course, looking at him probably was also a mistake. Because rather than look pissed, flummoxed, or any negative emotion, those cerulean colored orbs looked wild. As if he hadn’t eaten for months and someone set a steak down in front of him. He looked like an apex predator circling his prey.

“What is?”

I shouldn’t have taken the bait. No matter the timbre of his voice, or the quirky smile on his lips, or how fantastic he smelled…it was a trick. A shiny lure to bait me into chomping down on his hook.

He stood too close. The nearness of his body to mine had already set my body on overdrive and that was before he took another step. He eviscerated my personal space. Backed me clear up against the wall that led to the bathroom, and then took another half step. I could feel the suggestion of his stubble against my cheek as he leaned in to whisper in my ear. My body, a whirring, uncontrollable tornado of sensation couldn’t figure out if it wanted to be agitated that he invaded my personal space or delighted with the way his presence teased at my nervous system.

“The way you hide behind your pretentious, erudite trivialities but have missed the giant billboard that shouts from the rafters that you and I areexactlythe same, Sweet Acacia.”

I know words like pretentious were not compliments. His words though, regardless of the barb that was wrapped in them, were delivered in a lullaby soft voice that had me leaning into his mouth to luxuriate in the way his voice vibrated straight down my spinal cord. I wanted to push back. To tell him what a jackass he was, or at minimum, get some space between the two of us. I was hanging limp on his hook, slowly being reeled in toward the eminent death of my pride. My brain could have been a naval landing strip with as many flags it waved, yet my body was drunk on the heady, sexual promise of his voice.

“And how is that?”

That was not what I intended to say. And it definitely was supposed to be delivered with enough heat to get him to back off and call uncle. Instead, he advanced the final few inches so he pressed up against my body fully. At least, that’s what I thought he’d done. The moment he did my core temperature raised so high I practically felt my ovaries popping out eggs like gumballs.

“You can hide behind your fancy Hemingway bar and quote his prose.”

His fingers felt like clouds against my forehead. I wouldn’t have thought someone with such rough hands could be so tender. Every wisp of hair he cleared from my face coiled the desire that flamed hot in my belly even tighter.

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