Page 29 of Enemies to Lovers

There are several notifications on my Instagram, but I close it and pull up Canvas and download the pdf of the syllabus. No distractions. All work. I did my research on Dr. Goff, getting in touch with the intern who got the coveted placement last year. She told me he was absolutely turned off by any social sites, even in tab form, that were up while class was in session. So bye-bye to the six tabs I keep open.

A flash of dark blue catches the corner of my eye, and I hate that I already know who it is just by the damn smell. My jaw clicks, and I keep my gaze on the syllabus, reading—but not really reading—over the topic set up for today’s lecture.

“Hi.”

His voice is strong, determined. Looks like he’s in stage five, too.

“Hi,” I clip. I fail to not check out his forearm. He’s set his laptop in the spot next to mine, but he’s still standing, looming over me. I keep my spine straight.

“I can explain now,” he says. I’m so grateful the growl I have stored in the back of my throat rumbles down instead of out.

“No thanks.”

He pulls the chair out, and I huff. I will not look at him. He probably looks insanely handsome, as always, and I’ll smack the beard off him.

But I’m not in stage four. No violence. I took it all out on my pillow.

“When we were told about the internship, I freaked out a bit. I told my family, and—”

“Youwhat?” Damn it, there goes my gaze, directly to his. And I’m right; he’s as sexy as ever. His hair is trimmed—still too long, but it doesn’t cover his eyes. Worry and sorrow rests there in those irises, and a pull of concern lines his forehead.

He’s sans beard. My fingers twitch, longing to feel just how smooth he is.

My brain rewires, and I forget I asked him a question and ask another one. “Did you shave because I said I liked your beard?”

The wrinkle in his brow smooths, and he runs a hand over his chin. “Uh…”

“Don’t think so little of my self-control. I don’t find you attractive in the least anymore.” I turn to my laptop so he doesn’t spot the lie. I can find a butthole physically attractive, but in the end, they are still a butthole.

“That's not…” He sighs. “My family gets together every Sunday. That’s binge night.”

I don’t say anything, pretending I don’t care.

No, I don’t care. I don’t.

“And Ransom suggested I ask you out. Get to know you. Then—”

“Ask if I’ll give up the internship.” I tilt my head, piercing him with my most bored glare. “I know, Miles.”

“But you don’t know why I did it.”

“Because you think I’m stupid.”

He jerks back, his hand skidding across the top of his laptop. “What?”

“I’m a stupid girl with a crush, and I’d fall all over you, give up my career for a little kiss, hmm?” I stare at him dead-on. “I’m not that girl. Sorry it didn’t work out for you.”

His lips purse, and the worry I saw quickly morphs into something quite opposite, almost aggressive. “I don’t think you’re stupid. Never did.”

“Sure.”

“It’s the opposite, actually. I don’t have a chance against you. I never have.”

“You can stop with the sweet talking.”

“Do I sound like I’m sweet talking?” he snaps, and I raise a brow, refusing to recoil. He checks the room before lowering his voice, leaning in. “You get every damn thing you want, Val. Check our history. I wasn’t lying when I told you I thought you were perfect.”

“I’m not perfect.”

---