Page 16 of Best Frenemies

Mack shrugs, the laid-back, nothing-fazes-me bastard. “I guess they double-booked us or something. Technical glitch, I don’t know. I’m as clueless as you right now.”

“We have to call Kimmie. We have to sort this out right now.”

“Okay. Call Kimmie, then.”

“I can’t call Kimmie,” I say through gritted teeth. “I don’t have Kimmie’s number. You call Kimmie.”

His shoulders straighten and eyes narrow pointedly. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but I don’t have Kimmie’s number either.”

“You don’t?” I could have sworn he was friends with her outside of school. He’s freaking friends witheveryone, and now he doesn’t have a relationship with the one person I need him to?

“No.” He shakes his head. “Why do you seem so shocked by this?”

“Because you’re Mr. Popular. Your classroom is the fun zone, and you’re the head ringleader of the entertainment circus. You know everyone, and everyone knows you, and they all fawn all over you constantly.”

His amused smile is infuriating. “I think maybe you’ve done a little bit of judging when it comes to me that’s not fact-based.”

This is so not the time to get into all the things I’ve judged this guy for. It would take wayyy too long. This is the time to sort this out and get back to my relaxing vacation.

I snag my phone from the kitchen counter and send a text to someone who might actually be able to help me.

Me: Do you have Kimmie’s number?

Anna: Seeing as I accidentally groped her AND her husband in the same night at that teachers’ night out thing you missed…no. I deleted it for my own safety. Why?

Frackety frack frack!

Does Kimmie Ward even have a freaking phone? I mean, how does no one have her number?

I hesitate over the screen as I decide whether I want to open this can of worms with Anna via text, but I quickly choose to depose her on this debacle at a later time, you know, when I’m not standing in a towel with shampoo in my hair while my archnemesis looks on.

“Forget it,” I mutter to myself and click out of my messages and go straight for the confirmation email I received. “I’ll call RentBNB customer service.”

“Right now?” Mack questions lightly, his eyes widening at the sight of me.

“Right. Now.”

I’m cold and wet and soapy, but I’ll be damned if I do even one dang other thing before I get this sorted out.

Mack

I know it wasn’t great of me to pretend I don’t have Kimmie’s number, but sweet Katy and I have been on the wrong foot since the day I grew them in the womb—or at the very least, the day we started at Calhoun Elementary together five-plus years ago.

Even Cosmetology Star Dana is aware of our issues—it’s exactly why she put us together for Career Day planning.

I sigh as Katy paces the living room in her towel, silently wondering how a woman with shampoo in her hair and a scowl on her face and a giant rod that far up her ass could still manage to be this fucking beautiful.

She chats animatedly with the customer service line for RentBNB, and I try really hard not to notice how sexy her legs look beneath the white cotton material of her towel. She pauses briefly and turns to me, lifting a hand to her other ear. “You think maybe you want to get on the phone with customer service too?” she whisper-scolds, making me suck my lips into my mouth to keep from laughing.

As if both of us on the phone with customer service is going to do anything but cause more confusion.

“Nah.” I shrug. “Looks like you’ve got it covered.”

Glowering, she turns back to face the windows again and continues her politely toned tirade.

“Yes, I understand that it’s an automated system and that it’s never been double-booked like this before, but it’s double-booked now, and I’m currently looking at the other double-bookee standing across from me in the living room. Inconvenient, yes. But probably not as inconvenient as it was ten minutes ago when we were looking each other in the eye while I took a shower, wouldn’t you say?” She laughs. “Yes, that’s exactly what happened.” She pauses. Listens intently. Then adds, “Okay… So, what are we supposed to do now?”

I take another swig from my glass of wine and smile to myself when I realize she’sstillpacing the living room, in her towel, with shampoo still matted to her wet hair.

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