Page 23 of Enemies

“The newest craze is 2CB?—”

“Is that what was in my bag?”

My gaze narrows. “I don’t know.”

“It’s a headache. Not withdrawal.” She nods toward her notebook computer on the kitchen table before dumping the contents of her mug into the sink. “Been bent over that for twelve-plus-hour days since I was a teenager.”

“So, what, two years, then?”

The comment earns me side-eye as she puts a kettle on and fixes something else on the counter obscured behind her body. “I’m twenty-four. I’ve been doing this ten years.”

I cross to her and press a thumb into the muscle where her shoulder joins her neck inside the wide strap of her bra, and she sucks in a breath. “What are you doing?”

Rae tries to twist away, but I don’t let her. “It’s a trigger point. Breathe.”

“You are a sadist.”

“Give me thirty seconds. If it’s not better, you can call me whatever you want.”

For once, she does what I say.

The muscle starts to give under my hands, and I rub a small, deliberate circle that makes her hiss.

I let my curiosity get the better of me. “So, you started at fourteen. High school dropout?”

“Got my GED at sixteen and finished early so I could work on music.”

Determined.

“Plus, I don’t sleep much.“

I switch to the other side of her neck and dig in there. This time, she doesn’t jerk away.

“You looked as if you were sleeping fine this morning.”

She rips herself out of my hands, bracing against the sink and turning to level me with accusing eyes. “You were in my room?!”

“I returned your sweater. You’re lucky it suffered a kinder fate than my jacket.”

“And you stuck around to watch me.”

“You talk in your sleep. Not my fault you were saying my name.”

I’m expecting her to snap back at me, maybe even hit me, but her expression is shocked.

“I didn’t.” The whisper drags along my skin, and fuck if I can’t help thinking how she’d sound whispering other things.

“You did,” I promise.

Her throat works as she swallows.

A timer goes off, and she slips out from where I have her against the sink.

The knee-jerk disappointment makes me grimace.

I have no interest in her, not as a woman. But the rejection is still painful.

I turn to find her pouring coffee into a mug. She holds it out. “Real coffee. I bought it in town.”

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