Page 23 of Enemies to Lovers

‘You’re so …’ he starts, but doesn’t finish.

So much for feeling relaxed.

‘Look,’ I say, ‘I’ve said sorry for this morning, and I’ve resigned myself to the fact that you’re here. But every time I acknowledge you, speak to you – hell, even look at you directly – it’s like laser-beams shoot from your eyes and if you could evaporate me into dust, then you would. What do you want me to freaking welldo?’

He opens his mouth to reply, but then seems to think better of it.

‘No,’ I challenge him. ‘Go on.’

‘Well,’ he says, spreading his palms out in front of him, demonstrating that he comes in peace. Fat chance of that, though – nothing we do is in peace. ‘It’s just that laser-beams wouldn’t turn you to dust. They’d incinerate you, perhaps force you into flames. You’re mixing up your superpowers.’

He says it with such a straight face that he’s lost me.

‘You’re the weirdest fucking dude,’ I say. ‘Pick a side! Are we joking together or hating each other? Have you been diagnosed with a split-personality disorder that you’d like to catch me up on? Jesus, Jamie!’

‘Sorry,’ he says, like he’s touched a nerve. ‘You put me … on edge.’

It’s the most honest thing I think he’s ever said to me. It takes me aback.

‘Right,’ I say. ‘And what do you think you make me?’

‘Angry?’ he supplies.

I can’t help it – I laugh in spite of myself. It comes out high-pitched and gleeful, the way all laughter that stems from astonishment does. Jamie looks at me,pleased with himself. I shake my head and roll my eyes, issuing a big sigh.

‘Fuck me,’ I say. ‘You’re a rollercoaster. Do you know that?’

‘I feel like now isn’t the time to make jokes about taking me for a ride.’

I roll my eyes again. ‘No,’ I reply. ‘But your self-awareness has been noted.’

He nods, slightly. Then he presses on: ‘Rollercoasters aside … are you having a nice holiday?’

I inhale deeply, considering his question. ‘I am,’ I tell him. ‘Sun and sea – it’s a balm for anyone, I think.’

‘Absolutely,’ he says.

‘You?’ I ask.

‘Yeah,’ he nods.

And try as I might to search every last crevice of my brain for something to move the conversation on a bit, I come up with naught. I can see the cogs whirring behind Jamie’s eyes, too. Evidently there is nothing left to say. Nothing outwardly hostile, but also nothing that means anything, either. Maybe the exposure therapy has worked after all.

‘Good job here,’ I announce, stepping away from the sink before things get any more uncomfortable. ‘We made light work of it.’

‘We did,’ Jamie agrees.

And with that, I turn on my heel and go back outside.

7

I take the sofa, like I threatened myself with. There’sno wayI can listen to Jamie lightly snore, all bathed in moonlight like an angelic five-year-old hugging a teddy bear, even if things do feel somewhat neutralised. I toss and turn, though – a bag of coat hangers would be more comfortable than this lumpy old thing.

I need to go for a run.

There’s just enough light that I can make out the steps from the sitting area up to the bottom of the steps that wind up to the first floor, where everyone else’s room is, and to the second floor in the eaves, where my room is. Mine andJamie’s room. But I only need to sneak in and grab my stuff, then sneak out without waking him. I’m light of foot. I’m not worried.

The door is open, so I pad through on my tiptoes past the bathroom and round the corner to where our two single beds are and—

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