Page 18 of Enemies to Lovers

She nods, not wanting to engage with anything other than what she’s come in here to talk to me about. I can guess what it is, too.

‘Babe,’ she starts, coming to rest on the arm of the sofa. ‘You need to fix what happened this morning. Youcan feel that way about Jamie all you want – and god knows, I get why – but he heard, and nobody else might be able to tell he’s upset, but I can tell. And he’s my friend as well as Laurie’s. You overstepped. I hate to say it, but you did. Even in spite of everything.’

I nod. ‘I know,’ I say. ‘I feel shitty about it.’

‘Good,’ she replies. ‘Because you should.’

Bang-bang – she’s not messing about. Shots have been fired. Kate’s not letting me off the hook. Not that I deserve to be, but … I don’t know. Maybe I hoped she’d tell me I’m not the monster I acted like, and that Jamie is infuriating enough to justify it? Anyway. No such luck.

‘I’ll take it into consideration,’ I say, ‘After a shower.’

Kate nods, slowly. ‘Okay.’

‘Okay.’

She cocks her head at me. ‘I can’t make you feel better about this unless you apologise, you know.’

‘I know!’ I say, rolling my eyes dramatically. There’s a feeling in the pit of my stomach, letting me know that she’s right and I have let myself down. But apologise? To Jamie? That turns my stomach even more. ‘I will, I promise.’

She leaves to go back outside and I walk upstairs, heading toourroom. I still can’t believe all his stuff is here, like we cohabit peacefully. Jamie has made his bed with hospital-precision corners, the sheet and blanket tight over his mattress. He’s folded some clothes and arranged a few bits on his bedside table: a book, somelip balm, a coiled-up phone charger. It’s like he’s being overly tidy to prove the point that I’m not. I can’t help but notice the corner of something sticking out under his pillow, too: a brown leather notebook. I’ll bet it’s a log of the women he’s slept with, all over the world. Jamie Kramer – he who prides himself on breaking hearts.

I hop in the shower and, as I’m soaping my hair and washing my body, I turn over in my mind the idea ofgetting to know Jamie better. He did a horrid thing, but that only keeps hurting me if I let it, doesn’t it? I can’t quite imagine becoming best buddies, but something cordial couldpossiblybe achieved. I think. Holding on to all this anger surely isn’t good for me. And he’s only a heartbreaker if he wins – if I act nonplussed, like properly and actually, I’ll bet that will annoy him even more.

By the sink Jamie has got a neat leather toiletry bag, with toothpaste for sensitive teeth, roll-on deodorant (not spray) and interdental brushes for extra dental hygiene. All these little hints, I think, drying myself off, as to who he really is. If I did want some exposure therapy, this would be a good place to start. Like, oh, he’s just a man. A man who gets body odour and needs to look after his teeth like the rest of us. There’s nothingspecialabout him …

Already I feel a bit differently. I mean, it’s easier when he’s not actually in front of me, of course. But in theory, yeah – I can see how learning more about Jamiecould actually make him less of a threat to me, less able to annoy me. After all, I know everything there is to know about my family and I’m able to be annoyed by them without it being all-consuming – Alex has no filter when it comes to his bodily omissions, but I still think he’s the kindest man I know; and Laurie is a pedant with a stick up his arse sometimes, but he’s the one to call when somebody has been rude and you want another person on your side. Jamie needs to be in the same category as my brothers. I text Hope.

Me

Honestly, been thinking this over and the theory tracks. Getting to know him better? I think it will work!

I pad out of the en-suite in my towel, right as Jamie rounds the corner to the room. He’s still wet from the pool, a beach towel slung low around his hips like he’s simply too cool to dress properly. The man needs a Ken doll, complete with Ken wardrobe, so he can practise what a fully dressed man looks like. We’re in the narrow corridor where the entrance to the room breaks off into the bathroom and a built-in cupboard, so unless he backs up and out, I’m hemmed in by Jamie and his show of abs.

He doesn’t move.

I shift the cotton of my towel. I’m suddenly aware that underneath this simple slip of fabric I am very,verynaked. I hold it in place tightly, just in case. Seeing my boobs during a volleyball match is one thing, but a full strip-show at the bathroom door would be quite another. Plus, as if he deserves to see my boobs again.

I wait for him to leave immediately, get what he needs and then leave or ask to use the bathroom, soIcan leave.

He does none of those things.

Okay. This is awkward.

I feel his eyes trailing across my collarbones and up my neck, judging me, as he does. His gaze thick and unrelenting, like he’s determined to intimidate me.

Exposure therapy, I think to myself.Exposure therapy!

I dare to make eye-contact and smile. I am met with a blank stare, as per usual. I suppose he must be waiting for his apology. Fair enough.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘About before. I didn’t mean what I said to Kate.’

Jamie narrows his eyes, and I feel about two inches tall.

‘So why did you say it?’ he asks. It’s a simple enough question, but hell, is it loaded.

‘I don’t know.’

My voice is small, like a school kid getting reprimanded by the head teacher. I look down at my toes, ashamed. Jamie closes the gap between us by stepping forward – just a couple of low-key enemies in towels. This is definitely an invasion of my personal space.

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