Page 20 of Enemies to Lovers

Her hip knocks against my thigh. She’s warm, and I’m numb and too nervous to scoot away. Besides, I’m supposed to like this—and part of me does.

“Cats or dogs?” she repeats, resting her chin in her hand. “Which do you prefer?”

“To own or work with?”

She raises an eyebrow, her makeup glinting in the surrounding lights. “Is the answer different?”

A completely involuntary chuckle drops from my lips, and I shake my head at the ground. “Dogs.”

She flicks the edge of her glove, and it snaps against the cup in her hand. “Favorite color?”

“Red.”

“Pink for me.” She lets out a tinkling giggle that does something fiery to my gut. Must be the hot chocolate. “Favorite food?”

I spout off sub sandwiches while she says pizza, and then her eyes widen, and she changes her answer.

“Oh, I could go for a mean Firehouse sub right now.”

My mouth waters. “That’s my favorite place.”

“What’s your go-to off the menu?” She’s getting closer, leaning toward me so naturally. It’s a miracle I haven’t fallen off my seat. I value my personal space, but I suppose I don’t mind her invading it a little. Not when I’ve spent most of my life sharing my headspace with her.

“Hook and Ladder,” I tell her, setting my leg on my knee and my hot chocolate on top of that. The bouncing has stopped. “I’m a sucker for Monterey jack.”

“I’m a sucker for all cheese.”

She gets a laugh out of me, and the tension in my spine eases. We’ve known each other for years, yet the small talk is what I don’t know about her. I know how she pushes her lips out when she’s concentrating, and I know she doodles after every test. She prefers mints to gum, and she offers it to anyone who sits next to her.

Her smile is wide and blissful—easy, like she wears it so often. I’m used to that smile. It normally irks me beyond measure. Not sure what I’m feeling now, but it’s not irksome—which concerns me.

“Cats or dogs?” I ask after a beat when I’m lost in my own head.

“To work with or own?” she teases.

“Is the answer different?” I mimic, and she knocks her shoulder against my arm.

“It is, actually.” She lets out a long sigh. “I thought I was a dog owner, but after having Brewster, clearly I am not.”

“He giving you a hard time?”

“Understatement.” She takes a sip, her gloved hands clutching the cup. I wonder if she wants me to hold them again—warm them up.

My fingers twitch around my own cup, but they stay where they’re at. “It’s only been a couple of days, no?”

“I know. But still… I guess I pictured my first pup to be all cuddles and playful and in love with me instantly…” She rumbles her lips and tosses hand out. “Brewster only loves that lobster. And the stairs.”

I cover my laugh with a cough, which she doesn’t buy at all, swatting me in the shoulder.

“It’s not funny!”

“Sorry.” I’m not. “It’s just… It’s unlike you.”

“Meaning?”

It’s nice to see her struggle… No way in hell am I saying that. I’m supposed to be winning her over, getting her on my side or whatever shit Ransom said. So I go for another truth that isn’t so blunt.

“You’re perfect.”

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