Enemy Dearest Read online

  He shifts, jaw set as if he’s attempting to stifle what he truly wants to say.

  “Okay, I think we’re good now.” Adriana emerges after an endless moment and hands August his new phone. “Should just take a minute to load.”

  “Your number?” I ask again, fingers hovering over the keypad with the slightest tremble.

  He hasn’t taken his attention off of me for one second.

  “Your brother is Gannon, right?” Adriana asks after he finally tells me his digits.

  August arches a brow. “Maybe.”

  “He went to school with my cousin. I think they used to hang out back in the day,” she says. To some people around here, running around with a Monreaux gives you bragging rights. “They got busted at a party out at the gravel pit off Highway 50.”

  “That doesn’t sound anything like my brother,” he says, monotone.

  “Well maybe not now.” Adriana’s overfilled lips curl. “But back in the day, I hear he was quite the wild child.”

  August sniffs, gaze still trained on me. “Depends on your definition of wild.”

  “What’s he up to these days, anyway?” Adriana continues, oblivious to the fact that he isn’t interested in shooting the breeze about his older brother. “I see him riding around town in that electric sports car of his. The matte black one with the gunmetal-gray wheels.”

  I know the one. I’ve seen it dozens of times. But the windows have always been too dark to see who was seated behind the steering wheel.

  Now I know.

  “It’s a piece of shit,” he says, emotionless. “Pretty to look at. Nothing under the hood worth writing home about.”

  Damn. Bad blood?

  I’d always heard Monreaux were thick as thieves, but I’d never considered they’d have an ounce of inner turmoil. Perhaps they’re competitive with one another? Most brothers are.

  Adriana and I exchange looks, and she gives an awkward chuckle. “Um, okay. So … your total today is thirteen hundred dollars and fifty-two cents.”

  He slides a black card across the counter, equidistant between Adriana and myself. We both reach at the same time, hands colliding.

  “Sorry, go ahead,” I say to her. If ever there was a time to pray for a customer rush, it’s now. But the store is dead. It’s just the three of us now. The assistant manager is hiding in the back somewhere, as per usual.

  She swipes the card, tapping her fingers to the beat of the pop song playing from ceiling speakers while we wait. “I heard your brother used to throw the most bomb parties at your house. My cousin has, like, the craziest stories.” The register spits out a receipt and Adriana hands him a pen. “I think he said this one time, you brother—”

  “—my brother’s parties sucked,” he says. “All those rumors you’ve heard, he probably started those himself. No one fucking likes Gannon.”

  Adriana bites her lip. “Damn. Okay.”

  “Speaking of parties, I’m having one this weekend. Friday.” He signs his receipt, his silvery gaze flicking to mine. “You two should stop by.”

  My heart slams to my feet.

  I’m not sure what his end game is here, but I have no desire to be part of it. Last night was a mistake. The kind of thing you do when you’re young and dumb and delirious from a mild case of heat stroke.

  My “no thanks” intersects with Adriana’s “oh-my-god-yes.”

  She elbows me.

  “I’m sorry,” August says, turning to me. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

  “I can’t. But thank you,” I say.

  His head cocks, eyes narrowing into an incredulous squint. “You can’t? Or you don’t want to?”

  “Sher, come on. It’ll be fun,” Adriana says. “Just tell your parents you’re staying at my place.”

  August studies me.

  “Seriously, it’s not a big deal. And you don’t even have to drink or anything … I’ve always wanted to see the Monreaux mansion … could be pretty epic …” Adriana continues to try to sell me on something I refuse to buy. If working with her the past six months has taught me anything, it’s that she’s relentless when it comes to getting what she wants. It’s why she’s our top salesperson. She could convince the most discerning soul that the sky is glittering olive green, and they wouldn’t bat a lash when she’s done. “It would be a dream come true for me.”

  August smirks.

  I’m glad he finds this entertaining.

  “I will literally die if you don’t go, Sher,” Adriana continues. Half joking. Half not.

  “You don’t want that on your conscience, do you … Sher?” August interjects. My name on his tongue is velvet smooth, sending shivers down my arm.

  Ripping a piece of paper from a nearby note pad, August scribbles five numbers. “Party starts at nine. Here’s the gate code for the night.”

  “Awesome.” Adriana folds the note and places it in her back pocket like it’s the most precious thing in the world. “We’ll definitely see you then …”

  August gives me a lingering glance before showing himself out, and the moment he’s gone, I exhale the longest, hardest breath.

  “Okay, what’s up with you?” Adriana asks when we’re alone. “Why are you acting so weird?”

  “I was up late last night.” I grab a bottle of Windex and a roll of paper towels and wipe the already flawless display case behind us. “Just … tired.”

  “Too tired to realize we just got invited to the freaking Monreaux mansion?” If her brows were any higher they’d be in her hairline. “Do you realize how huge that is? And how epic that night will be? I mean, I’ve only heard stories, but, like … all you can drink booze, weed, hot guys, good music, a pool … it’s the perfect summer party.”

  I toss a used paper towel in the trash. “Yeah, but that’s not really my thing.”

  “Which is exactly why you should go.”

  “Feel free to go without me. Seriously. Go and have a good time. You can tell me all about it at work next weekend.”

  Lifting a hand to her hip, she exhales. “Okay, fine. I know it’s not your scene, but will you at least go for me? This is literally a once-in-a-lifetime invite, and I want to have the time of my life. I want to get stupid wasted. And if I don’t know anyone … I need a safety buddy. Or something.”

  “A safety buddy?” I laugh.

  “Just, someone to make sure no one slips me a roofie or whatever. Just follow me around like a shadow and make sure I don’t do anything I’m going to regret the next day.”

  “No offense, but that sounds like a terrible time to me.”

  “Okay, then just go with me, and we’ll grab a couple drinks, sit by the pool, and stare at all the hot people doing stupid shit.” She shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Just to be able to say we’ve been there, even if it’s for an hour, would be amazing. It’s literally on my bucket list.”

  “No it’s not.”

  “It is now.”

  I chuckle, shaking my head and returning the Windex to the cabinet beneath the register. “Can I think about it?”

  “No because I know you, and this is your way of buying time and hoping I drop it or forget about it or let it go,” she speaks so fast I can hardly keep up. “But that’s not going to happen.”

  “What about your friend … what’s her name? Molly? Can she go with you?”

  “Molly’s in Indiana this week visiting her grandma or some shit like that. And before you bring up anyone else, Christa’s working Friday night, Harper’s going to be with her boyfriend like she is every second of every freaking day, and Lydia and I are no longer on speaking terms as of last Thursday. Sorry, chica, but you’re my only option.”

  “Adriana.” I tuck my chin. “Please don’t put this on me.”

  She clasps her hands. “I will get on my knees and beg if that’s what it takes. I’ll take any weekend shift you want. I’ll pay you. I will give you my next paycheck in full.”

  “I don’t want your money. And I need my shifts.”


  “Then what’s the issue? Are you worried about what you’re going to wear? Just come to my place and we’ll get ready together. We can walk there, and I’ll have my sister pick us up when she gets off work.”

  “Your sister who bartends?”

  “Yeah.”

  I lift a brow. “Doesn’t she work until three AM?”

  “Fine. I’ll see if my cousin can come get us. And if she can’t, I’ll get us an Uber. Is that better? Then we can leave any time you want.”

  “Adriana …”

  She places her hands on my arms and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Please, Sher. Please. One hour of your life, that’s all I ask for. I’ll never ask you for anything else so long as I live. Promise.”

  The front door swings open, bells jingling, and a boisterous family of four barges in, ending our conversation.

  “Please?” she mouths to me as she walks toward the customers.

  She won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. At the end of the day, I’m fighting a battle I won’t win. As soon as we close up shop today, she’ll start blowing up my phone. She’s a little bit psychotic at times, but I also kind of love her. In the short time we’ve worked together, she’s become one of my closest friends.

  Maybe one hour wouldn’t kill me …

  Lord knows she’d do anything for me.

  I leave for college in six weeks. I’ve spent the last eighteen years trapped in the rusted cage my parents built for me the second I came into this world. If last night taught me anything, it’s that freedom has a strange kick to it. Kind of like stepping into a foreign land for the first time. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at the same time.

  My stomach furls at the thought of lying to my parents, but they can’t keep me trapped inside their protective bubble forever.

  Besides, I’m a responsible adult.

  I can handle myself at a party.

  Sucking in a long breath, I hold it. And then I let it go before settling on my decision. As soon as Adriana’s finished, I’ll share the good news … if one can call it that.

  It’s one hour of one night of my life—what could possibly go wrong?

  Chapter Four

  Sheridan

  * * *

  Adriana has a power grip on my wrist as she leads me through a maze of beautiful people, people who clearly aren’t from Meredith Hills because no one I’ve ever seen looks like this.

  Outfits strategized to reveal taut, ripped bodies.

  Glittery makeup accented by fluttery lashes.

  Sun-bronzed, flawless complexions.

  Shirtless guys with eight-pack abs worthy of big city billboards.

  I’m a pale church mouse in comparison.

  My little sunflower dress with the nineties scoop neck and t-shirt beneath was definitely the wrong choice for this party, but we’re here and it’s too late for regrets. Bless Adriana’s heart for not saying anything, although she probably knew it wouldn’t be in her best interest to give me any kind of reservations about coming here tonight.

  A guy who looks questionably twenty-one(ish) stands behind a fully stocked bar next to the cabana, mixing drinks and popping caps off beer bottles as he nods in time with the lounge exotica playing from hidden speakers around the pool.

  The pool itself is glowing, the lights changing from turquoise to lavender to brilliant white and back. Everywhere I turn, people are making out—or more. Snapping pictures. Laughing. Chasing one another around the grounds.

  While I was here less than a week ago, everything looks different all lit up and full of life.

  Tonight, it’s a whole new frontier.

  A group of three guys with football player builds toss back shots of Lord knows what, one of them eyeing me up and down before his unfocused gaze lands on Adriana’s backside.

  “Come on,” she leads me closer to the bar. “My sister says the best thing you can do at a party is walk in, look like you’re making eye contact with someone in the far back corner, then walk like you’re on a mission. Worst thing you can do is stand around looking all shy and awkward.” We’re almost to the dancing bartender. “We belong here just as much as anyone else.”

  “Two rum and cokes, please,” Adriana orders our drinks a second later, shouting over the pulsating music.

  I wasn’t going to drink tonight, but I think maybe one could help take the tension out of my shoulders and wipe the amateur doe-eyed look from my face. Aside from making sure Adriana stays out of trouble, it wouldn’t kill me to actually enjoy myself tonight.

  “Et voila.” She hands me a clear plastic cup filled with fizzy brown soda and two skinny straws. “Cheers!”

  I tap my drink against hers before taking a sip, and then I wrestle the bitter wince off my face. My brain expected to taste sugary cola despite knowing damn well there’d be rum mixed in.

  “It’s good, right?” Adriana shouts over the music before downing a generous gulp.

  I don’t know about good …

  It’s strong, for sure.

  “Mm hm.” I take a baby-sized sip. Rum doesn’t taste how I thought it would. Then again, I don’t know how I thought it would taste. Four liberal sips later, and it doesn’t taste like much of anything anymore.

  “Let’s find somewhere to sit.” Adriana takes my hand and pulls me toward a couple of empty lounge chairs. “I want to people watch.”

  I take another drink, my body growing warmer by the second, and I scan my surroundings. Between the lissome girls and chiseled guys, I’ve yet to spot a sign of August. As the host, I expected him to be making his rounds, handing out cold beers, and generally acting as the center of the universe.

  On second thought, the man doesn’t smile, and I’d hardly call him outgoing host material. He’s probably hooking up with a pair of pretty best friends in some back room upstairs. I’m quite positive girls throw themselves at him, especially during an occasion such as this. You can’t top those kind of bragging rights—it’d be like going to a party at the Playboy Mansion in the sixties and hooking up with Hugh Hefner himself.

  “Hi.” A shaggy-haired guy in a backwards baseball cap takes a seat across from us, his attention fixed on Adriana. “I’m Isaac.”

  He takes a pull from a green beer bottle.

  “Adriana.” She smiles, blinking her mascara-coated lashes before waving toward me. “That’s Sheridan.”

  “You’re new here,” he says, solely speaking to her.

  She leans back, shrugging a shoulder and dropping a wink. “How kind of you to take notice …”

  “Think I’d remember seeing a face like yours around here.” He takes another drink.

  I stifle a laugh. This guy has no game and Adri is picking up every morsel he’s dropping. But at least he’s cute. I’ll give him that. He looks like a twenty-year-old frat boy, but in a good way.

  “Are you from Meredith Hills?” he asks.

  She nods. “Born and raised. You?”

  I scan the backyard for August again. All week I tried to imagine what our first interaction tonight would be like. Every time I drew blanks. The two times I’ve interacted with the man, he’s been nothing short of aloof and unreadable. If I’m not mistaken, I think he’s angry about the trespassing last weekend. But if he was truly that upset about it, why would he invite me here? He literally said “you two should come” when he invited us to his party. You two. Not just Adriana. Both of us.

  My mind spins, dizzy with thoughts. Or maybe it’s the rum and Coke. Adriana moves to Isaac’s chair, completely engrossed in whatever he’s prattling on about. I mind my own business because he reminds me of the kind of guy who’s charming when he needs to be. Perfect hair. Laser-focused attention. Witty and charismatic. Too good to be true. But I won’t rain on Adri’s parade. She came here to have a good time. Who am I to stop her?

  That said, I’m officially the third wheel.

  Not that I mind, but it feels wrong to sit here and twiddle my thumbs while the two of them look at each other with stars in the
ir eyes and perma-smiles on their faces.

  “Adri, you want another?” I rise and shake my empty cup.

  She gives me a nod while listening intently to her frat boy, and I make a beeline for the bar. When I arrive, I’m third in line behind a girl ordering four mixed drinks for her and her besties and a guy who appears to be text-fighting with someone. A quick glance over my shoulder assures me Adriana’s still doing fine without my babysitting services.

  “Next,” the bartender calls when it’s my turn. I order two more rum and Cokes before spotting an overflowing tip jar on the ledge. Shit. Digging in my bag, I fish out two perfect singles and pray they’re enough. He doesn’t seem to pay attention one way or another. Too busy stepping to the beat as he pours and mixes. And when he’s finished, he places our drinks on the counter and waves the next person up.

  Drinks in hand, I turn to head back to Adriana—only to walk straight into some guy in a gray t-shirt and torn jeans.

  The drinks spill down both of us—ice and all—before settling in a pool at our feet.

  “Oh, lord. I’m so sorry.” I clap my hand over my mouth, eyes flicking to his.

  And then my stomach drops.

  August.

  He stands frozen. People around us begin to take notice, pointing, nudging. I’m sure he’s used to being the center of attention, but not like this.

  “I didn’t see you,” I say. To my left, someone trots toward the cabinet by the cabana to retrieve towels. The same towels August handed me last weekend when I emerged from his pool with nothing but my birthday suit on.

  The kind attendee returns with two towels, but it only takes a second for me to ascertain that no amount of dabbing is going to salvage my dress or the giant cola stain running down the front.

  Several yards away, Adriana and Isaac are in a world of their own. Still enraptured. We haven’t even been here a half hour and she’s just met a cute guy, there’s no way I’d make her leave now.

  “Come with me,” August says, nodding toward the house.

  “What?”

  “Come with me,” he repeats, though it wasn’t that I didn’t hear him the first time. I’m just confused.