Page 26 of Hired By the Enemy
We don’t talk about the fact we got hot and heavy with each other last night.
Instead, Matthew and I get up and go to breakfast, acting like nothing has changed between us.
But something has definitely changed.
At breakfast, I can’t help sneaking looks at him.
I don’t think I’ll ever look at Matthew’s mouth in the same way again. Knowing the way he kisses, the noises he makes when he comes.
I’m relieved when he has to head off to his meeting. I go back to the villa to throw on my board shorts, then head to the pool, where a few of the other partners are already lying on loungers.
Carl, Henrietta’s partner, looks up from his e-reader and gives me a grin as I plop onto the lounger next to him and start slathering sunscreen onto my skin.
“You and Matthew disappeared abruptly last night.” His voice is layered with innuendo.
“We were beat,” I say.
“Sure you were,” he agrees with a smirk.
I shove my sunglasses over my eyes and lie back in the sun. But the warm rays on my face and the gentle sound of the waves breaking on the shore in the distance don’t bring me peace.
Instead, I replay the events of last night. Dancing with Matthew. Kissing him. Then, back at the villa, where we got each other off so quickly, we probably set a world record.
The way his weight slumped on me after he’d come and how, in my post-orgasmic bliss, one part of me actually wanted to hold him for longer. Which goes to show exactly how much a good orgasm can mess with your mind.
This is Matthew. Matthew, who was my archenemy for so much of my life. Matthew, of the clever, sharp comments I spent so much time defending myself against.
As I lie there soaking up the sun, my mind isn’t on the warmth of the tropical sun. Instead, it slides to the cold of Christmas.
Our hometown of Bainfield has a festival every year to celebrate the holidays. Matthew’s mom runs it, and one year, she came up with the idea of getting people to create wishing stars to hang on the large Christmas tree in the center of the town square.
I remember laboring over my star in sixth grade, coloring it in carefully because I still believed in the power of wishes.
I wasn’t stupid enough to wish for my parents to get back together or for a happy, perfect family like Matthew’s. Instead, I kept my Christmas wish simple. I wanted a dog, preferably a golden retriever.
I wrote out my wish in my neatest handwriting.
It wasn’t until the Christmas festival, when I’d seenMatthew and his friends gathered around one of the stars laughing, that I discovered his latest prank.
Matthew had somehow got hold of my Christmas star and changed it so the wish for Liam Jamieson read:A dog’s brain because anything is better than nothing.
He’d gotten into big trouble with Ms. Beauton for that one.
The next year, I’d plastered the Christmas tree with a whole lot of “wishes” from Matthew O’Conner, including fashion sense, a social life, and working out how not to be a know-it-all while he’d retaliated with a whole lot of “Liam” wishes that mainly centered around finding me a brain.
Every year, we’d continued making nasty wishing stars for each other, our own Christmas tradition that definitely wasn’t as wholesome as Christmas cookies.
The last time I’d bothered to check, in junior year of high school, there’d been another round of “Liam” wishes on the tree.I wish my brain could become as developed as my biceps.I wish I’d realize that the size of my truck doesn’t compensate for other inadequacies.
“Excuse me, sir, would you like something to drink or eat?”
My eyes fly open.
That’s right. I’m not a teenager gingerly approaching a Christmas tree to see what insults Matthew has conjured up for me this year.
I’m an adult, lazing by the pool in a tropical resort, with a waiter asking me if I want anything.
And Matthew is paying the tab. Let’s not forget that fact. Matthew is literally paying for me to be here.
