The Enemy (It Happened in Charleston, #2)

by Sarah Adams

mark the words coming out of my red lips: Tonight, I will crush Ryan Henderson under my black stilettoed feet.

my heels pound the floor with the confident strides of a six-foot Amazonian on the catwalk rather than the five-foot-two Southern dumplin’ I am.

After twelve years, my archnemesis is once again standing in the same room as me, and I fully intend to squash him.

I hate that I was expecting Elmer Fudd, and instead, I’m getting Adonis.

Mistake number one was looking away from Ryan. Mistake number two was ever underestimating my greatest opponent.

Somewhere in the world, Taylor Swift is feeling a tingle down her spine because of this Bad Blood reenactment.

And just like that, I was eighteen again, faced with the woman who drives me insane—but mostly from how much I want her.

This old flame between us is still kindling, and I want to kiss her now more than ever.

And yeah, I’m grumpy. It has nothing to do with me looking over my shoulder and seeing Izod Man touching June’s shoulder. Just a coincidence.

Is it because I still get under her skin? That thought makes me smile. Because she still gets under mine.

She looks more like the girl I secretly crushed on in high school, and it’s making my stomach twist.

I like that I get to be the one to take care of her like this—also that I’m the one to make her come a little undone.

Something is there. I feel it. I just need to play her game and peel back the layers of her hate to find it.

The thing is, my pestering was never done out of spite. It was the only way I could get her to pay attention to me. And I wanted her attention on me.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t convince myself I made the right decision all those years ago.

All I know is that June says she hates me. But I don’t hate her. In fact, I think I’m just as crazy about her as I was back then.

I use all of my energy avoiding any mention of Ryan and how he’s ridiculously hot now, and successful, and brought me home safely, and made me coffee, and put aspirin beside my bed. Ugh, the jerk.

My Christmas cards from the past five years look like I’ve given up on the human race completely and married that Christmas tree instead. Douglas Fir makes a wonderful spouse.

I hate that I do this. I hate that I have body image issues that I can’t seem to get over. I can fake it in public, but when I’m alone, I can’t hold it back.

I feel horrible. The worst of the worst. What I thought was good-natured-teasing is making her full-on cry.

I can clearly see the hurt now. It’s hurt I didn’t put there, and I want to find out who did.

Last night, I fell asleep thinking of ways to make June smile. I just want one aimed at me. Just one and I’ll be happy. I’ve never been on the receiving end of one of her smiles, but I’m determined to get one by the end of this week.

I want someone who challenges me. Someone who makes me want to come home from the restaurant early at night. Someone who calls me out when I’m wrong.

She almost married someone else. I could have lost my chance with her forever. I should have come back sooner.

He’s gorgeous. Evil people shouldn’t be gorgeous. I, in comparison, have drool crusted on my mouth.

I jerk my hands out of his hold and head toward the kitchen, wishing I didn’t feel so annoying. I’ve never treated anyone like I treat Ryan. Even when I broke things off with Ben, I never acted snarky and disagreeable.

so I sort of just thought he forgot I was here. But when his eyes find me right away, I realize he never lost track of me once. He’s been just as aware of me as I am of him.

“Has it never occurred to you that the only reason I picked on you in high school is because I was crazy about you? Or that messing with you was the only way I could get you to look at me?”

“June, I’m not your enemy.”

“I never was.”

It’s ridiculously hard not to smile and give myself away as I watch her talk about her bakery.

every night when I fall into bed, the first thing I do is type @DarlinDonuts into the Instagram search bar and stare at whatever photo she’s posted that day, hoping to see a glimpse of her face in every reflection.

I couldn’t imagine there being a scenario where the real June measured up to the one I had created in my mind. Except, here she is. And she’s worlds better than the June of my fantasies.

As hard as I’m trying to play it cool, all of my actions are coming out aggressive and choppy. I’m a tightly wound rubber band, and I’m ready to snap.

June is striking back. She’s trying to get under my skin. You know why? Because she likes me.

My scheme isn’t even working. Ryan is not annoyed. He’s still smiling. He’s still staring at me. And he is still the most attractive man I’ve ever seen.

The truth is, I’m scared to death of Ryan Henderson. He’s my kryptonite. An arrow that shoots straight to my heart and never misses.

Every single time, my only motive was to make you jealous. But you never were.”

Is that why his mood crashed? My stomach flutters. He’s angry because I might be into someone else?

Ryan holds so much power in my life, and I’m scared to let him see it.

I will miss her more than I miss Oreos on a diet. She’s my girl. My person. When she’s gone, who will make crude jokes with me?

I’m so used to Ryan playing games with me; honesty is just not something I was expecting.

over the next hour, as we work side by side, rolling and cutting dough and flirting with flour like a cheesy Hallmark movie, I feel my heart physically crack a little. It’s both painful and healing at the same time.

I’ve realized that June likes to be 100% in control of every aspect of her life. Which is why I make it my life’s mission to uproot her finely tuned plans.

when I picture June sitting in that chair all by herself, I get the urge to drive straight to Home Depot and pick up another matching one to plop down right beside hers.

suddenly, I want to wrap a big parka jacket around her because I don’t want anyone else looking at her. Mine. Not sure when I became the jealous type, but here we are.

I have a feeling that everyone in June’s life lets her hide away, keep all her secrets pinned up inside so she can hurt privately. Not me.

She’s not going anywhere, and part of me wonders if she’s hanging on because she wants me to get the truth out of her.

“he cheated on me.” Those words act as a detonator in my mind. The name BEN flashes before my eyes, and suddenly, my target is set. I hate this guy.

“I could bash on that woman with you right now if that’s what you want. I could also list a hundred different ways I think you and your body are perfect. I could tell you that I check you out from head to toe every time you walk away from me, and that, last night, I had a dream about you that would definitely make you blush.” She chuckles against me. “But I think what you need is to hear that your ex was a self-serving ass. You’re beautiful, June. His words had nothing to do with you and everything to do with his teeny-tiny—”