Page 9 of Hired By the Enemy
I have to stop a smile of triumph coming over my face at that memory. I’d snuck into the locker rooms and had been quite liberal in sprinkling itching powder throughout Liam’s football uniform, with a large concentration in the crotch.
“I don’t believe they ever found the culprit of that stunt,” I say innocently.
Liam’s eyes narrow. Because we both know exactly who laughed the hardest at the sight of Liam almost dancing with torment during the game. I didn’t usually attend high school football games, but I made an exception for that one.
“We lost a game we should have won because of you and lost ourselves home-field advantage for the semifinals.
“It’s not my fault if you weren’t good enough at throwing a ball with a minor distraction of itching.”
Liam’s face darkens. His expression gives me flashbacks to when we were between eight and ten and wedgies and friction burns featured heavily in our interactions. I was a similar size and weight as Liam then, so I gave as good as I got.
While I’m not worried about Liam resorting to violence now, I still decide it might be a wise time to retreat to the bathroom.
Once inside, I rake my hand through my hair.
My pulse thuds in a familiar pattern. Interacting with Liam has always put my body at full attention, all my nerves primed in a fight-or-flight reaction.
I just need to get through this evening and the night, and then Liam will be back on a plane and this ordeal will be over.
When I emerge from the bathroom fully dressed, I can’t help my sharp intake of breath at the sight of Liam dressed in chinos and a dark-green button-down shirt. Why does my nemesis have to be so impossibly gorgeous?
“Ready?” I ask brusquely.
“As I’ll ever be,” he replies.
We go to walk through the door at the same time, then stop, hesitating.
Liam makes a dramatic ushering motion with his hands.
“Age before beauty,” he says.
“No, you go first,” I say.
It’s only after Liam’s partway through the door that I mutter the age-old insult, “Brawn before brains.”
Liam turns back to glare at me.
We walk in silence down the sandy path toward the restaurant and bar, keeping as far from each other as physically possible. The resort is laid out so the bar and restaurant are right by the ocean, and the sun is painting the sky reds and crimsons in a spectacular goodnight. The tranquil feeling such a beautiful setting should inspire in me fails to launch.
Through the glass window, I can see the other dozen members of our party are already milling around the bar, sipping on cocktails and chatting happily.
My stomach clenches at the thought of the evening of pretending that awaits.
Liam pauses in the doorway so I almost run into him.
“You realize you’re going to have to pretend you want me in close proximity,” he says in a low voice.
I quirk an eyebrow. “You want to touch me?”
“About as much as I want to catch rabies.” His voice is breathy in my ear like he’s whispering sweet nothings. “But this is all pretend, remember?”
“Oh, trust me, I’m never forgetting that fact,” I say behind a fake smile. “Fine. Just don’t get too close.”
“Are you worried I’ll bite?” he asks.
“No, I’m worried I will,” I reply.
He makes a noise that almost sounds like a choked-back laugh before he closes the distance between us, shuffling his body against mine.
