Page 36 of Enemies Don't

Lucky me.

12

I Hate Love Songs

Collin

Add seeing a baby come out of a woman’s body to the list of things I hadn’t planned on today. Truthfully, it was the highlight of my time on the clock. Not in a weird way, but because it had a happy ending. The rest of the day was a slog. I’m dead on my feet and not altogether looking forward to spending time with a woman who hates me.

I futz with the collar of my shirt in the mirror in my front entryway. I texted Noli, letting her know I’d pick her up at her apartment at eight thirty. It’s a late date, but we both worked a full shift today. More than once I thought about canceling, but I can’t. Not when my dad is breathing down my neck about making sure I play up my relationship.

I had a two-minute-long voicemail from him when I left the station today. According to him, all the data we’re seeing from campaign polls and public interest surveys is that I’m in a run for my money against the incumbent sheriff, Lloyd McDermit. Happily married, family man Lloyd.

My dad, of course, suggested posting a photo on social media of Noli and me on Valentine’s Day. “What better way to remind the public that you’re in a committed relationship yourself,” he had said.

“A fake committed relationship,” I’d muttered to my dashboard.

I’m pretty sure the only thing Noli would commit to where I’m concerned is having me roasted over a flame like I’m some sort of rotisserie chicken.

I sigh and let my arms fall to my side. Noli has gone and iced me out for the past month. Ever since that night at Romeo’s, when she was too proud to even let me explain what happened with Katherine and our friends. Yes, I told them we’d be there, but I didn’t intend for them to take over the night. I would have gladly driven Noli home and hung out with her if she would have let me, but she pushed me away. Like she always does.

Long story short, I’m not sure how I’ll go about getting a picture for social media when Noli will hardly look at me these days.

I stare myself down in the mirror, my dad’s final words from the call still ringing in my ears:Do what needs to be done. It’s the Rattler way.

“Here goes nothing.” I palm my keys and head out the door.

Noli is standing on the icy driveway.

“Oh, hey.” I shuffle my feet to a stop. “Sorry to keep you waiting. You could have stayed inside your apartment.”

“It’s fine.” Noli glances to my car. “Can we go now? I’m tired and freezing, and I want to get this over with.”

I nod. “Right. Sure.”

We get situated, and I start driving us across town. Every radio station I flip to is playing romantic ballads. It is the Hallmark holiday, after all. Judging by the way Noli is shifting in her seat, the song selection is making her as uncomfortable as it’s making me.

“I hate love songs,” Noli murmurs.

“Why’s that?” Out of the corner of my eye, I study her. Her skin looks soft in the glow of the streetlights, but it’s pulled taut over the hard set of her jaw. I haven’t seen Noli laugh much since meeting her, and I can’t help but wonder how a smile—a real one—would transform her face. I’d bet it would be nothing short of mesmerizing.

Her hair is down, hanging loose around her shoulders and skimming off the fabric of her winter jacket. She shoves a strandbehind her ears and catches me staring. Her eyes widen a fraction, and she faces the front of the car before answering me.

“They’re contrived. They do nothing for anyone but raise their expectations to unrealistic levels.”

“You’ve thought long and hard about this, clearly.”

In my periphery, I see her shrug. “Forgive me for not really believing in love.”

I shake my head. “Deep down, everyone believes in love.”

“Not me.”

I pull into the parking lot of the bowling alley. I really did try to take Noli to heart when she said nothing romantic for our dates. I figured a bowling alley that smells like socks and stale smoke was about as unromantic as she could ask for.

I put the car in park and swivel in my seat. I don’t know why I want to argue this with her. Heck,Idon’t really believe in love, either. But something makes me want to prove her wrong.

“You’re telling me you don’t want to end up with someone? Someone real,” I add because, well, it bears clarification.

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