Kittenfish: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy

by Brenda Lowder

  The waitress arrives to take our orders. Tarek doesn’t even flirt with her, though Kya does without any success. I ask for the basket of chicken tenders and fries, and Brandon orders a salad, which makes me think I should’ve ordered the salad. It’s too late now, though, and I forget about trying to appear more health-conscious than I am. I’d rather eat chicken tenders and fries than be smug and hungry.

  My problems start before the movie does. I have to shut my eyes during the previews because apparently the Coming Attractions trailers in front of Suburban Killing Spree 7 are as terrifying as the movie itself, but I’m not counting them in my cowardice tally. Everyone’s terrified of previews.

  And actually the first five minutes of the movie are fine—the lull of suburban life and traffic gridlock before the killing spree starts.

  At that point I squeeze my eyes shut, but I still shake with fear for all the horrors I hear. I scrunch down in my seat and cover my ears with my hands. It doesn’t completely block out the screams, but they’re muffled. After a few minutes of this, when I’m worrying if squeezing my eyes shut this hard for more than an hour and a half is going to cause permanent crow’s feet, Brandon angles toward me, puts up the armrest between us, and maneuvers me until I’m leaning against him. His arm around me is comforting, and I snuggle into his chest, suddenly feeling like tonight isn’t a complete loss. When I remember to check on what Tarek and Giselle are doing, a quick side-glance shows me they’re both watching the screen—not even talking to each other—so at least they’re not going to get into any trouble that way.

  I snuggle back into Brandon’s chest, enjoying the solid, present feel of him. The screams and torture sounds onscreen don’t bother me as much now, safe against him. I chance a look up at him, and he’s gazing down at me, a slight smile playing on his lips. I smile back, lean up, and kiss him.

  Slow warmth starts at my lips and spreads through my body. The pressure of his lips on mine has an almost soporific effect. I’m so relaxed and at peace I could fall asleep. Almost. Apparently, though, our kiss is having the opposite effect on him because his energy revs up. He pulls me closer and manages to get both his arms around me despite the limited space. He deepens the kiss, and we start making out for real. I’m happy to have something to do besides watch the film. A quiet, low moan escapes his lips, a kind of appreciative mmm…and I wonder if Brandon’s enjoying this a little more than I am. I don’t have a chance to dissect that thought, though, because a deluge of icy Coke sluices over us.

  Brandon and I spring apart, sputtering.

  “What the hell?” he yells. People all around us immediately shush him. I’m freezing, sticky, and half in shock. The Coke is in our hair and down the fronts of both our shirts, collecting in my bra, and pooling into our soaked laps. How was this configuration of saturation even possible? It was like someone had purposely taken a whole large drink and poured it right between us. A completely ludicrous thought. Right?

  “Oops,” Tarek says, bending to swipe his now empty forty-four ounce Coke cup from the floor. “Got away from me there.”

  “Son of a bitch!” Brandon says and gets shushed again.

  Tarek laughs. “Sorry, Dog-boy. It was an accident.”

  Brandon lunges toward Tarek over me, but I put both my hands on his arms, effectively restraining him, and stand up.

  “Let’s just go,” I tell him.

  We stumble out of the aisle past Kya since there’s no way we’re going the other way near Tarek. Kya gets up and follows us. I worry briefly about Giselle, but I’m squishing Coke inside my shoes with every step so I decide to leave even if she blows the scene without me there.

  “What happened?” Kya asks when we get to the lobby.

  “Tarek spilled his drink on us,” I tell her.

  “Poured his drink on us, is more like it,” Brandon spits out.

  “Now why would I do that?” Tarek strides into the hallway, Giselle a half step behind him.

  Brandon turns around and throws a punch at him, which Tarek dodges. “Whoa, there!”

  I grab Brandon’s arm and make him face me. “It’s okay,” I tell him, looking straight in his eyes. “We’re okay.” I squeeze his hand.

  Tarek says loudly, “It was a complete accident.” He peers around at our mostly angry faces and appears mystified that anyone would accuse him of ill intent. “Why would I want to do something to ruin everyone’s fun?” He focuses on me when he says this and there’s a gleam in his eyes I don’t like.

  Giselle sidles up to Kya. “What are you drinking, dear?”

  Kya looks at the plastic cup in her hand like she’d forgotten she was holding it. “Diet Coke.”

  Giselle takes it from her, removes the lid and straw, and throws the contents in Tarek’s face.

  “There,” she says. “Now you’re even.”

  Brandon laughs.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tarek Oliver

  Giselle, I really enjoyed our date to the movies. Despite the Diet Coke in my face. I have a lot of admiration for a woman who can be a peacemaker.

  Also someone as fiery as you is hot as hell.

  Giselle Bisset

  Thank you, Tarek. I enjoyed it too. Sorry I couldn’t stay and chat after that. I’m sure you understand I had to help Marissa home. I worried about her feelings.

  Tarek Oliver

  Of course. You’re such a good friend to her.

  I roll my eyes. He’s such a kiss-ass. Until he gets what he wants.

  Giselle Bisset

  She’s been a good friend to me. In fact, she’s pretty spectacular.

  Tarek Oliver

  Couldn’t agree more. She makes everything fun.

  Gag. What a show he puts on for her. Although I guess I’m glad he’s falling for her enough to care about ingratiating himself with kind comments about me.

  Giselle Bisset

  Really? Marissa told me how you’ve picked on her for years. And I’ve seen you guys—you fight worse than real brothers and sisters.

  Tarek Oliver

  You only fight if you care.

  Despite appearances, I admire Marissa greatly. I consider her one of my deepest, truest friends, though also my toughest critic.

  Is he copying this from some teenager’s blog? Please. I don’t care enough to be your critic, Tarek. Your only importance to anyone is in your own head.

  And there’s no way he’s being serious about any of this. He’s only saying nice things about me because he knows Giselle and I are close. Complimenting me is an indirect compliment to her.

  I swallow and type what the mythical Giselle would.

  Giselle Bisset

  It’s nice to hear that you appreciate her as much as I do.

  Tarek Oliver

  I really do. We should talk more about the things we both appreciate. Maybe we can get together again soon.

  Giselle Bisset

  I’d like that.

  Tarek Oliver

  You would?

  Ha! I can practically hear his surprise across the wires and wirelesses of the interweb.

  Giselle Bisset

  I’d love to.

  Tarek Oliver

  When?

  Giselle Bisset

  As soon as I get back from Berlin.

  Now I swear I can hear the sad trombone playing wah-wah over Tarek’s head as he types. I can’t help a little giggle.

  Tarek Oliver

  Wow. How long will you be in Berlin?

  Giselle Bisset

  Three weeks. I leave tonight.

  The wheels in Tarek’s mind are probably turning with thoughts of Giselle and her foreign boyfriend, their long-distance relationship troubles getting ironed out during three weeks of hot reunion sex.

  Tarek Oliver

  Maybe we can get together when you get back.

  Giselle Bisset

  Definitely. And maybe you’ll still write me when I’m there.

  Now I can feel Tarek’s smile behind his next words, c
an see it clearly in my mind.

  Tarek Oliver

  Count on it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tarek Oliver

  Hey, Giselle. You make it to Berlin okay? How was your flight?

  Giselle Bisset

  Great, thanks. I watched a lot of movies on the plane, and I made it here in one piece. It feels like home.

  ∞∞∞

  Just got back from work Tuesday night and there’s a knock on my door. I open it to find Tarek there, holding a small box.

  I frown. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hello to you too.” He pushes past me into the living room, glances around, and then pivots to face me, thrusting the box in my direction. “Here.”

  “What is it?” I ask, clasping my hands together and refusing to take it.

  He waves it at me with a vague expression on his face. “It’s for you. Open it.”

  “Did Kya send it for me?”

  “No.”

  He steps closer and presses the small package into my hand. I’m startled as his fingers graze mine. I open the plain brown-paper-covered box. When I see what’s inside, my heart puts beating on pause.

  It’s a battery pack. An expensive rechargeable battery pack for my camera.

  A lump forms at the back of my throat as I feel the weight of it in my hand.

  “This is for me?”

  He looks down, embarrassed. “Yeah. It’s…whatever.” He shrugs. “I just thought you could use it with all those pictures you’re taking. A little internet research said that this comes in really useful.”

  I bob my head and open the top of the packaging. I peek at the battery pack inside. “It does.”

  “And I wanted to say sorry…for the Coke that got away from me.”

  I meet his eyes. I’m braver than he is at the moment. “It’s amazing, thank you.” I flip the box over, read the specs on the back.

  A doubt snags on my thoughts. “Are you sure you didn’t mean this for Giselle?”

  A ghost of a smile haunts his face. “I’m sure, Duchess.”

  I’m adrift. “I’ll take it, then.”

  Tarek smirks. “Yes, you will.”

  Infuriating and kind. He drives me crazy. I push him out of my apartment, slam the door on him, and then yell, “Thank you!” through it.

  He laughs, but I ignore him. I also ignore the twinge of guilt that plucks my ribs.

  I’ve got pictures to take.

  ∞∞∞

  The first week of Giselle’s Berlin trip passes quickly. I keep her Facebook conversations with Tarek breezy and non-specific, and his prompt replies and overreaching questions reveal he longs for more attention. Brandon and I go to a movie on Saturday night, and we almost kiss at the door. It’s that old romantic story—he closes his eyes, leans in to kiss me, I duck, and he kisses air, opening his eyes to find I’m two feet closer to the ground than I was before he closed them.

  He was very understanding, though, and held a hand out to help me up, all the time reassuring me that no, he didn’t hate me, and yes, he’d try again later if I wanted him to. Is PTSD for a broken engagement and a forty-four-ounce-Coke bath a thing?

  A week later I’m still weighing whether I want him to kiss me again.

  As much as I want to be over Liam, I’m just not. The kiss Brandon and I had at the movies was nice, comforting, and a real relief from the terrifying action onscreen until the Coke waterfall. Brandon is kind, attentive, and handsome in a comfortable, non-threatening kind of way. He’s perfect for me. Solid boyfriend material. Solid husband material, really, with his steady job and strong familial ties. But kissing him intentionally, with the idea of starting a physical relationship together, makes my knees quake with nerves. I’m just not ready. Liam and I were together for three years. I’m not up to moving on yet. But I doubt Brandon will wait.

  I’m putting my cell away, having decided not to call Brandon, when Blaire shows up at my desk holding two file folders.

  “Can you handle these for me?” She slaps a stack of papers down in front of me that are, from what I can tell, her unfinished work for the week.

  I raise my eyebrows and give her a hard stare, holding up the top bundle. “Aren’t these due by five?”

  “Yes, but Troy and I are going to the supply closet to do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “It.”

  “Ew.”

  Blaire tilts her chin at me. “What are you, twelve?”

  “No, I’m just someone who comes to work to work, not to have sex standing up against a shelf of printer paper and Bic Stic pens.”

  She puts her hands on her hips and strums her fingers. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”

  I shake my head at her. She’s been sneaking out all week for odd little trysts with Troy. “What’s up with you?” I lean back and stare at her, waiting for her answer.

  She folds her arms, unfolds them, and then taps her glossy red fingernails on the top of my desk. When she speaks, her voice is a husky whisper.

  “I’ve told Troy I’ll only do it with him in public places. Not my house. Not his apartment. Not a hotel. Just out.” She gestures to the room around us. “In life. Random places.”

  “Why? Just why?” I gape at her with my eyes and mouth wide open. Ridiculous and reckless are the words that come to mind.

  She shrugs. “To surprise him. To keep him guessing. He doesn’t know whether to thank me or cry his eyes out, he’s so confused.”

  I know how he feels. “You’re going to get fired, Blaire,” I harsh-whisper at her.

  She purses her lips. “Let me worry about that. You just take care of those.” She nods at the stack of work that’s now in my hands. “I’ve already done all the tricky ones, anyway.”

  I wonder if she’s done them with the creative embellishments she used in the classified ad she ran for Brandon, but I don’t ask.

  “Okay.” I give in. I don’t have the time to argue with her if I’m going to get these in by five. And we both know I’m going to say yes.

  She beams at me. “You’re an ass-saver.” She runs off, the click-clack of her heels retreating with her.

  Blaire isn’t going to have an ass to save if she keeps blowing off work like this.

  I fly through the stack of her work as quickly as I can, do a less-than-stellar job of it, and manage to get all of today’s ads in by the deadline. I run out of Post-it notes, but decidedly do not go to the supply closet, just in case. Caught up on my own work, I’m happy enough to answer my phone when it rings at five.

  “You have to come with me on my date tonight.” Kya sounds like she’s being strangled on the other end of the call.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Trina asked me out. Tonight. You have to come.”

  “Why?”

  A big groan on her end. “Well, because it’s too much pressure! Because I don’t know what I’m doing. Because all of our future happiness rests on the success of this date, and I won’t let myself screw it up. You can’t let me screw this up. You have to help me. I’ll be so much more relaxed if you’re there. Ooh! I’ll be the non-crazy version of me if you’re there.”

  I sit back in my seat and drum my fingers on my desk. “You’re being weird about this girl. Things are good between you two—I’ve seen your calves! But you can’t go on an actual date alone? Kya, this is extreme introvertedness, even for you.”

  “Things were going well. And now the date-ing is happening for real. It’s higher stakes! I need support here. Please.” She sounds so lost. Of course I’m going to help her. Trina must be really special. Kya has never been this flustered over someone before. Between Blaire and Kya, what was with my friends suddenly finding their true loves? And being so weird about it.

  “I’ll call Brandon and see if he can join us.”

  She breathes a relieved sigh. “Thanks, Marissa. You’re the best.” She hangs up before I can respond.

  Brandon can’t make it. It’s opening night for h
is little sister’s high school production of Oklahoma. He and his mother are going to watch her singing it down the plains. I entertain a fleeting thought that maybe I should be disappointed he hadn’t invited me to his sister’s performance, but it’s probably too soon to want to meet the parents. Besides, we already have a date scheduled for later in the week, and I like that he’s so supportive of his family.

  When I call Kya back to tell her I can’t make it since Brandon is busy, she seems oddly unconcerned. “No, that’s fine. You can still come,” she tells me brightly.

  “I’m not going to be a third wheel on your date, Ky. That’s the opposite of helping.”

  “Oh, you won’t be a third wheel. Tarek’s coming.” She says it offhand, like I won’t notice she’s said Tarek if she doesn’t emphasize the word.

  I snort. “Well, I’m not going to be a fifth wheel, either, so if Tarek’s helping—”