Page 17 of Enemies to Lovers

“Oh. No, she’s pretty easy, actually.” I pull onto the road and make my way to the freeway. “She’s just the only one on my list.”

She crosses her legs, her knee-high boots knocking against each other. The bottoms are covered in icemelt stains, and for some reason, that gets a grin out of me. Nice to think she’s out walking Brewster, letting him out in the snow. The guy’s been in a cage for way too long.

“How in the world did you get away with that?” she asks, and my attention flicks to her eyes before I notice the light has turned to green.

“Only having one person to buy for?” I lift a shoulder. “We draw names every year.”

“You and your siblings?”

“And a few others. The Sunday Binge crew.”

“Which means…?”

I spend the drive explaining my sibling tradition with her, and I’m proud to say I don’t touch my beard a single time.

“Well, that’s just about the cutest thing I’ve heard,” she says with a sigh, and I snort.

“Cute isn’t how I’d describe it,” I say, thinking about Ransom’s runny nose during the last one. “A lot of them end in arguments.”

“You guys fight a lot?”

“Sometimes when the bets don’t go the way we want.” I let out a laugh. “Imagine a couple of silverbacks trying to get their families to side with them.”

“Sounds fun. How do I get an invite?”

My heart stutters, and my voice cracks slightly. I reach for my beard, scratching. “Uh… it’s… you have to… be family.”

“Gotcha.”

I’m happy she doesn’t question it. There are a lot of people at Sunday Binge who aren’t blood related, but they get the invite, and she gets it. Considering I’m only doing this for a short while, I doubt I’ll ever see Val sitting next to me on the couch, making bets and winning every single one. Maybe my siblings would understand my frustration when they’re watching the fiftieth episode of…

“What would you pick?” I ask.

A small wrinkle appears between her brows. “Huh?”

“For your reality show. If you were there, I mean.”

She taps her chin with her finger poking from that crocheted glove. “Probably Cops.”

I jerk in my seat, and she laughs at my reaction.

“Is that a surprise to you?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Guess I expected…” My brain glitches, and I realize I don’t know what I expected. “Why Cops?”

“My dad and I used to watch it together. Good times.” She starts singing the Bad Boys theme song, messing up a lot of the words. Suddenly I have the urge to watch Cops.

I pull into the underground parking garage of the City Creek Center, taking a ticket and hoping I’ve got enough cash. I don’t know how long we’re gonna be. Shopping with Emerson takes thirty minutes tops while shopping with Sammie takes three hours, minimum. The way Val bounces in her seat as I find a spot makes me think it’s closer to the latter.

“You mind if we walk temple square after?” she asks, unbuckling. “I haven’t seen the lights inforever.”

“Me neither.” The Salt Lake temple’s been under construction, so the Christmas lights haven’t been up. This is the first year in about five, so I’m more than happy to oblige. They’ve got a killer hot chocolate stand, too. This stand can convert the most lactose intolerant person.

I don’t get the chance to open her door before she does it herself, but she doesn’t seem perturbed by it. She slides up next to me, her puffy coat knocking into mine.

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