Page 28 of Enemies to Lovers

Of course she is. I shift, my gaze falling to Brewster, who fills the silence between us with muffled growls as he chews on the lobster. The squid Val won him lies untouched on the other side of the couch.

“And you thought you’d take advantage. ‘Oh, Val has a thing for me? I’ll just seduce the internship out of her.’ You and your brother probably had a real good laugh about it.” Her voice cracks, and I meet her gaze. She doesn’t turn away, searching my eyes, probably wishing she’s wrong.

I hate that she’s not.

She swallows hard, swiping at her eye before another tear gets too far down her face. “Get out.”

“Val—”

“Get. Out.”

I take a step toward her, and she steps back. What can I say? My brother’s an idiot? I’m an idiot for listening to him? What started as a ploy turned into something I wasn’t expecting. That I really want to kiss her, that I’m not playing anymore—at least, I don’t think I am.

“I’m sorry.” My voice finally makes an appearance, and I go with that.

She pffts, and I don’t blame her. “You know… if you would’ve just said something to me, I probably would’ve been more understanding. I’ve known you for years, Miles. I’ve admired you, tried to impress you, hoped you’d give me the time of day.” She shakes her head, wisps of hair from her ponytail falling from the tie. “You say I’m good at theorizing, but I never predicted this.”

Her shoulders slump, and it hits me like a punch to the gut. I’ve seen her victorious—many, many times. Her round cheeks push up enough to nearly close her eyes. She owns every bit of the victory, celebrating, dancing, or simply standing tall. Her shoulders back and straight, proud.

I hated it. I’d grumble and groan and clench my teeth, jealousy tearing chunks out of every single one of my nerves.

Seeing her like this—disappointed, betrayed, defeated…

I’d give anything to see her victorious.

“I… I didn’t think…” There’s no end to that sentence. I didn’t think. Period.

She waits for me, swiping at her face more and more. I take a step toward her, and when she steps away again, I give up on trying to pull her into my arms. She doesn’t want my arms, and I can’t help but admire her resolve, even when I wish she’d give in.

“I want you to go,” she says. “There really isn’t anything you can say.”

I don’t have the words, anyway. I scratch my beard and hate that she notices. “I am sorry, Val.”

“Okay.”

Brewster stops chewing on the lobster, looking at the both of us. I want to pet him goodbye, but I don’t feel like I should. So I grab my coat, slip my shoes on, and head out.

I’d say I’m going to kill Ransom, but I know damn well it’s not his fault.

There are stages of grief. Five, I think. I learned them from an episode of The Simpsons. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.

I’m not sure I’m grieving. How can I grieve the loss of something I never really had? So I’ve come up with my own stages. Stages of betrayal and humiliation.

Stage one was crying. Lots of it. As soon as Miles left, I dissolved into a salty pool. I mourned over the loss of stupid dreams I should’ve left behind in high school—if not sooner. Brewster watched me from the top of the stairs, then ran up and down, up and down, that lobster hanging from his mouth. Then Logan came home, and the darn pup cuddled with my brother.

Stage two was overeating. I outdid Dad on Christmas day, which is unheard of. I devoured at least half the ham myself, plus three hefty helpings of cheesy potatoes, and I lost count on how many cookies. I had to undo the button on my pants and lay on Mom’s couch, groaning through A Muppet’s Christmas Carol.

Stage three was rough. Self-deprecation. A whole week of it.

I’m too fat. I’m too short. I’m too loud. I’m too obnoxious. I’m really stupid. Why did I think Miles would ever have a true interest in me? Over and over, repeating in my head. I pinched my love handles raw and contemplated cutting all my hair off and threw out all the ice cream in the freezer—much to Logan’s chagrin. Luckily, he came back with plenty of cookies n’ cream when I got past this stage.

Stage four was something like anger… but I’d call it fury. Just the thought of Miles set my teeth on edge. I pictured flames bursting from the top of my head, and I hated that he still took up so much space in my emotional well-being. I deleted his number from my phone, gagging at the little hearts I’d put next to his name. I had fake arguments with him; boy did I let him have it. By New Year’s Day, I was so yelled out, my throat was sore.

But I’m finally here. Stage five. And as I walk into Professor Clark’s class, I take a seat right up front and pull out my laptop.

Determination. That’s where I’m at, and that’s where I’ll stay. Miles thought I was stiff competition before, oh, just wait and see, boy. That internship is mine, and I’m not giving it up for all the flexing forearms in the world. My career is worth more than that.

I sit up straight, refusing to look at the door as people filter in. Miles will be here, no doubt, and he can mosey on past me and sit in his usual spot in the back. I used to turn to the side after every test or lecture, just to give myself a better view of him. Oh, naïve Past Val. I’d smack her if I was still in stage three, but I’ve matured.

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