Page 14 of Fighting

Poison Ivy, my adjustment to her contact, flashes on the screen, and my heart rate picks up.

“Sorry,” she says when I accept the call. “I’ve been busy with my parents. I thought it was my alarm.”

“No worries. I’m leaving the fire station. How ’bout I swing by to walk you home?”

“Fine.”

“Great, give me a couple of minutes, okay?”

When she doesn’t respond, I pull the phone away and realize the call has been disconnected. She’s back to normal, I see.

Even so, I smile. She can act as unaffected as she wants, but I’ve gotten under her skin.

The historic American colonial, with its large rectangular façade, is beautiful, if not a little worn. Its entrance is flanked by symmetrical lines of windows, the shutters of which are embellished with faded black horse-drawn carriages. The weathered storm door has a matching buggy emblem too. It’s frozen in time, looking well-maintained but at least as old as I am.

The part of my brain that’s always evaluating properties takes over, immediately working to assess the property value.

This house is at least two stories, maybe three if the windows at the top aren’t just dormers. Though it could also be a walkable attic. I’m examining the immaculate landscaping of the Rabins’ lot and the late summer blooms when the storm door slams.

“Why are you skulking around?” Nessa stomps down the brick walkway, full of fuck-off attitude.

There she is. My favorite firecracker. “I was just about to knock.” I flash a winning grin her way.

The huff she lets out reminds me of the loch ness monster. Hmm. I’ll stow that nickname away for later. Along with the sound comes a realization that I’d let her pull me under and drown me any day.

six

Nessa

“I’m not pretendingto date you.” Hands on my hips, I lift my chin.

“I’m going to convince you to date me.” He winks. The assholewinks. “Don’t worry about that part.”

Head tossed back, I groan. God, why won’t he just go away?

“Satan is determined,” he says. “Liam said Jim’s already collected political donations. So, while I’m no ‘esteemed billionaire’”—he uses air quotes, the humor softening me slightly—“I am real competition for him.”

That’s all it takes to go rigid again. Competition?

As if he can read my mind, he shrinks in on himself a little. “I mean when it comes to the land deal part.”

I hum and head for the sidewalk. “You’re really serious about that?”

With a nod, he matches my stride. “Growing up, I struggled with school. I’m sure you know that. But in New York, things just clicked. I get when and where to reinvest. So I’ve been careful with my money. And I figured that if I intervened when it comes to you, that might encourage him to keep his distance. You know? Because word is he’s hell-bent on talking to you too.”

A shiver racks through me. No thank you.

“What’s wrong?” He surveys me, his brows pulled low in concern.

I stop short and cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t want Caleb anywhere near me. I have nothing left to say to him. His family members are antisemitic turds. He cheated. All the time. Even while he tried to convince me to drop out of school and marry him. Like it was a tradeoff. I’d be extended the honor of being part of his family and allowed to enjoy the luxuries that come with the name—things I didn’t even want—and in return, he could have extra-curricular sex with whoever the fuck he wanted. Bringing up your wealth does no good if you’re trying to win me over. When I left Boston, he started to play games like this. It’s just a power move. He’ll get bored…”

I huff a breath to shut myself up. Shit. I said far more than I meant to. More than I’ve even told my friends.

“So,” he says, giving the respect of not responding to my rant, “I thought, why not keep up appearances? Stick with thestay away from my girlmessage? Men like him, who don’t listen to women, will listen to other men. It’s shitty, I know, but I can help.”

Peering up at me through thick dark lashes, with his hands in the pockets of his black jeans, he looks almost boyish. “Common enemies have made for stranger bedfellows, Ivy.”

That’s where he loses me. Scoffing, I pull up short. “Do not expect to get anywhere near a bed with me again, jackass.” Taking off again, I pick up my pace. “I. Am. Not. Dating. You. We’ll have to keep in touch to work on the Sunflower Fest. That’s it.”

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