Kittenfish: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy

by Brenda Lowder

  Finally, something to get excited about. “That could be fun.”

  Kya claps, the light suddenly back in her eyes. “It will be! It’s going to be a blast. In fact, leave the ticket buying to me—it will be an early birthday present. Chloe and I will even pick you guys up so you and Brandon can have the back seat.” She gives me an eyebrow wiggle, and I laugh.

  “Sounds amazing.”

  “Oh, it will be. I promise.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  It isn’t difficult to convince Brandon to join me on another double date with Kya and Chloe. It turns out he really liked hanging out with them at Adrenaline Altitude and chatting with Chloe at the diner afterward. And free Cirque du Soleil tickets? It’s everyone’s magical phrase, apparently.

  The doorbell rings, and I open to a freshly showered and shaven Brandon. He’s wearing khaki pants and a Polo shirt and beaming like a kid about to go to the circus. Which is mostly accurate.

  He steps forward and hugs me, and I catch the pleasant scent of cotton, soap, and fabric softener. Very Brandon.

  “Come on in.” I hold the door open and usher him inside to await our promised ride from Kya and Chloe.

  “This is really nice,” he says, looking around.

  “Thanks.”

  He strolls to the window and looks out. “I was wondering when I’d get to see your apartment.”

  A dribble of guilt drops into my stomach. If Brandon were truly my boyfriend, he would’ve seen my apartment before now.

  Oh, and I wouldn’t have been sleeping with Tarek.

  No matter. That brief insanity of magnetic physical attraction is over. I’m now free to commit myself fully to the solid relationship Brandon and I are forging.

  I put my hand on his back, and he turns around with a smile. “It’s nice to be alone together, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” I tell him.

  He leans down and brushes my lips softly with his. There aren’t any fireworks, but then again, there aren’t any fireworks in a healthy, stable relationship, right? You only get that wild abandon, toe-curling feeling when the relationship is wrong. So very wrong. Like Tarek wrong.

  Like sneaking romance novels in seventh grade and getting ridiculed for it. Tarek has never let The Duchess of Desire go, though I have to admit to myself that the nickname bothers me less than it used to. My philosophy is sound, though. Passion only gets you in trouble. Calm, responsible commitment is the formula for a lifetime of happiness.

  I stand on my tiptoes and kiss Brandon, deepening the kiss and trying for a little more spark when the doorbell rings again.

  It’s Kya and Chloe, right on time for our date to Cirque du Soleil.

  “You guys didn’t have to come up for us,” I tell them as I usher them in. “You could’ve texted, and we’d have been right down.”

  “S’okay,” Chloe says. “We did the stairs. We need the exercise.” She sends a pointed look at Kya who is wheezing with the effort of climbing three flights.

  Kya gives us a wave in greeting and collapses on my sofa, still struggling to catch her breath. “I’ll be ready in a second,” she manages to get out between gulps for air.

  Chloe sits in my comfy chair and settles in, putting her feet up. “Oh, she’s gonna be a moment. She’s been more and more out of shape since we hooked up—it’s all that pizza.” She whispers this last part as an aside, at high volume. “But I told her she’s got to get her butt back in gear ’cause I’m not hiking Nepal by myself.”

  I sit down next to Kya. “You’re going hiking in Nepal?”

  Kya nods, and Chloe says, “We sure are. So she’s got to get all that back in shape.” She waves a hand at Kya who is now flat-out lying on the couch, most likely having to recover from even the thought of hiking in Nepal.

  “Well, let’s go,” I say, hopping up. “I can’t wait to see the show.”

  Suddenly Kya is up, standing by my side. “I can’t wait!” she gasps. “It’s going to be an unforgettable night.”

  ∞∞∞

  “Kya, this isn’t the way to Atlantic Station.”

  “Oh?” She signals to turn right, and I wait for the familiar landmarks to appear. They don’t.

  “You’re going the wrong way. Turn around.”

  Kya leans forward and squints at her GPS. “No, this is the right way.”

  I knew I should have ridden up front and made Chloe sit in the back with Brandon. Kya isn’t the best navigator in the world—and she could get lost even while using her GPS.

  “No, no. You’re too far south,” I tell her. “You’re going to have to go back.” This is a little much, even for her.

  “Too late,” she says. “We’re here.”

  I look out the window, searching for the colorful tents and lights, but we’re in a dark parking lot surrounded by trees. The single brick building in front of us sports Roman columns.

  The four of us get out of the car. I pause with my hand on the door, reluctant to leave its safety. “Kya, this isn’t Cirque du Soleil.”

  She smiles at me. “Oh, no! It’s not. I said we were going to a show. A show like Cirque du Soleil.”

  I don’t know exactly what she’s up to, but I have a bad feeling about this. Kya is a little too pleased with herself. She’s bouncy and shiny and reminding me of Blaire. Oh, I am in for it now. But what is “it,” exactly, that I’m in for?

  “Marissa!” A gleeful Blaire gallops down the stairs to give me a hug. Troy follows along, sending me a half wave, and looking at Blaire with a besotted expression, more smitten than ever.

  “Blaire! What are you doing here?”

  She stops short. “What? Kya didn’t tell you we were coming?”

  “No.”

  “Typical Kya. Here. Check out my ring.” Blaire hoists her hand for my inspection, and I admire the beautiful round-cut diamond solitaire, which is less ostentatious than I would have expected from Blaire.

  After I’ve shown adequate admiration, I say, “How did Kya lure you guys here?”

  “She promised me tickets to a spectacular show.”

  “I guess that’s one thing everyone’s on the same page about.”

  Blaire and I link arms. Brandon, Troy, Kya, and Chloe follow.

  When we get to the shallow concrete steps, a tall man in a well-tailored dark gray suit and expensive shoes steps out from the theater doors.

  Tarek.

  My heart accelerates wildly, beating hard against my rib cage. My body is suddenly aflame everywhere, perhaps most inconveniently in my face, which has nowhere to hide. I want to absorb him with my eyes, but I also desperately want him not to see me at all.

  Kya hugs him, and he hugs her back until his eyes shift past her and he stiffens, dropping his hold on Kya and staring at me too long.

  “Oh, hey, Tarek,” I say in a casual attempt to deflect attention from his odd reaction at seeing me. “Kya didn’t mention you were coming.”

  At Tarek’s name, Brandon looks up from his conversation with Troy.

  Eventually a wry smile touches Tarek’s lips as he regards our assembly. “Funny. She didn’t tell me any of you were coming.”

  “Weird,” Kya says too loudly and smacks herself in the forehead. “I must have forgotten.” She and Chloe hustle inside. The rest of us follow.

  Brandon quickly abandons Troy and hurries forward to take my arm. He gives Tarek a pointed look as we pass. Tarek’s eyes shine with amusement at Brandon’s possessiveness. A thread of guilt winds itself around me. It’s Brandon on my arm but Tarek I’ve slept with. Twice. But that wasn’t real, of course. And I shouldn’t start thinking it was. Tarek said himself that love doesn’t exist. He has no feelings. Tarek is an illusion, and it’s time I started building something real with Brandon.

  Inside, the lobby of the theater is luxe. Wood panels give it a solid, historical feel, and pendulum lights bring a warm glow closer to us. Before we can follow Kya and Chloe up the plush burgundy stairs, we’re stopped by the ticket taker.

&n
bsp; “Sorry,” I say to the balding man in the loose-fitting jacket holding his hand out. “My friend has our tickets.” He turns and looks at Kya’s and Chloe’s retreating forms with obvious doubt that we’re together.

  “Hey, Kya! Tickets?” I call to her.

  She turns around and comes back down the stairs and hands each of us our own ticket.

  I give mine to the man, and he tears it in two and returns the stub to me with a shrug.

  Blaire jostles forward. “What are we seeing anyway?” I glance at my ticket remnant at the same time the balding man says, “Dial M for Murder.”

  “Dial M for Murder?” I say with my mouth hanging open. “How the hell is that like Cirque du Soleil?”

  “I don’t know, but we’d better get in there. The play’s about to start,” Brandon says, and he’s right. The lights are flickering up and down, indicating the audience members should be seated.

  Tarek pauses on the stairs until Brandon and I catch up with him, which must annoy Brandon because he turns to Tarek and says, “What? No date tonight?” in a superior tone.

  “Not yet,” Tarek drawls with a suggestive look at me that Brandon doesn’t miss. The heat rises in my cheeks.

  Brandon tightens his hold on my arm, and Tarek laughs, his deep chuckle following us up the stairs to the second floor.

  A college-aged usher greets us, hands us each a program, and asks to see our ticket stubs. He conducts Kya and Chloe through the archway on the right and a second usher, female and a little older, appears and takes Tarek through the archway on the left. He raises his eyebrows at me and smiles before disappearing into the interior. The first usher reappears and takes Blaire, Troy, and Brandon to the right but stops me when I begin to follow.

  “Ma’am, the other usher will be back in a moment to show you to your seat.”

  “But I’m with them.” I point at my retreating friends.

  He shakes his head. “You’re on the other side. Trust me. It’s easier to get to your seat that way.” He nods at the other archway through which the female usher is returning. She gestures to me, and I follow her to my seat.

  Which is right next to Tarek.

  I stand in the aisle at his side, looking down as he smirks up at me.

  “Part of your evil plan, I presume?” I put my hand on my hip.

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, but he doesn’t stop smirking.

  I look around for Brandon and spot him in the same row, sitting between Kya and Blaire. A family of four separates Tarek and me from the rest of our group.

  Brandon points at me and points at himself and says something I can’t hear.

  “What?” I ask him.

  He gets out his cell phone and waves it at me, then types. A few seconds later I hear the ding of my phone indicating a text.

  Ask Tarek to trade seats with me.

  I bend down and show Tarek Brandon’s text.

  “Tell him not on his life,” Tarek says too loudly.

  I type back, telling Brandon to ask Kya or Blaire to switch with me, and his reply comes back almost immediately.

  Already asked. None of them will move.

  “Come on, Tarek,” I say. “Will you please swap seats with Brandon?”

  If I didn’t know he was incapable of feeling, I’d think it was hurt I see in his eyes as he looks up at me. The look quickly disappears and is replaced by an amused expression.

  “What’ll you give me?” he asks in a voice laced with innuendo. “Even better, what can I give you?” He reaches out and touches the fabric of my skirt near the hem, rubbing it between his finger and thumb. I swat his hand away and the female usher reappears.

  “Ma’am, you need to take your seat.” She propels me past Tarek’s long legs to the empty seat beside him.

  When I still don’t sit, she scolds. “We really need you to sit down, ma’am, or you’ll have to leave. The play is starting.”

  I sit as ordered and stare blankly at the program on my lap. I feel the sharp prickle of tears start behind my eyes.

  Cirque du Soleil makes me happy. This is nothing like Cirque du Soleil.

  Why in the world would Kya make all of us come to Dial M for Murder on the pretense we’d be seeing Cirque du Soleil? Was she finally enacting her revenge on me? Weird revenge. Promising us a spectacular magic circus and instead delivering community theater.

  Tarek attempts to stretch his legs and shifts in his seat. Without looking at me, he places his hand atop mine and squeezes gently, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

  I hesitate, then squeeze his hand back before dropping it in order to open my program. He moves his hand to my leg, and a smoldering flame of desire licks up my thigh from where he touches me. I press closer to the divider between us, my breath accelerating. My elbow knocks on the corner of the armrest, jarring me, and I glance down at the program I’m holding.

  With sickening horror my eyes zero in on the one piece of pertinent information that has eluded me all evening at the same time the lights dim and the curtains part to reveal what I’ve just read in the program.

  Dial M for Murder, starring Lexy Hunter.

  Lexy Hunter.

  My Giselle.

  Chapter Thirty

  Tarek stares at Lexy, transfixed. I study his face, wishing I could cover his eyes and keep him from seeing what he’s seeing and figuring out what I know he will realize any second now.

  My lies. My betrayal.

  He deserves it, I remind myself and return my gaze to the action onstage.

  Until I steal another glance.

  Tarek’s bemused, surprised expression has given way to skepticism and doubt. I can almost read his mind. Could Giselle possibly have had time to get cast in this play when she only got back from Germany a few days ago? Why would she lie about when she was coming back? And why did she never mention that she was an actress? She’s a photographer. Isn’t she?

  He turns his head toward me, and I resist cringing. Instead I straighten my shoulders and meet his eye with innocent interest and a half smile. He leans down and whispers in my ear, sending a shiver through me I feel to my toes.

  “Is that Giselle?”

  I nod. “It really looks like her. Weird, huh?”

  “That’s gotta be her.” He glances from the stage to me. “You didn’t know?”

  “I had absolutely no idea,” I say, for once not lying. The older woman behind us shushes me.

  He frowns and studies his program for a minute. His eyes stray back to the stage, and he watches Lexy.

  “Is it really Giselle? The program says her name is Lexy Hunter.”

  I shrug and offer him a baffled look. “It could be a stage name. But maybe it’s not her.” I make a show of squinting at the stage.

  “I think it’s really her,” he says in amazement.

  The woman behind us hisses, “Shhh!” and Tarek stops talking. After a minute he slouches in his seat and fidgets.

  I can tell his unanswered questions are driving him crazy but that he’s resolved not to do anything about them until intermission.

  Oh, no. Intermission.

  I flip through my program to see how long I’ve got to think up some plausible explanation for Giselle’s secret career and her early presence in our country.

  Score. There’s no intermission. It says it right here in the program. So I have until the end of the play to figure out what I’m going to say to Tarek.

  I’ve always hated Dial M for Murder. It’s depressing. But Lexy’s really good in it, and I can’t help but admire her performance.

  Looking across the family of four to my right, I try to catch Kya’s eye, but she’s studiously avoiding me. The little rat. She knew exactly what she was doing when she orchestrated tonight’s fiasco.

  I’m angry, and I’m hurt too. Just what does she think she’s accomplishing forcing all of us into this situation?

  She’s hurting my master plan, sure. But she’s going to hurt Tarek more. He
’s the one who loves Giselle. Almost loves her. Or would if he had some more time to get close to her. Really, he’s almost there.

  A dark, slimy feeling coats my insides. Is it unhappiness that my plan is being threatened? Or that it may have worked?

  The rest of the play is a blur. Every time Tarek shifts in his seat, I tense. I’m so alert to his every move that I end up breathing to the rhythm his own breath sets.

  He stands and applauds when Lexy takes a bow. If she notices us in the audience, she gives no sign. I keep trying to get Kya’s attention, but she continues to ignore me. I decide a quick exit might be preferable anyway. I take Tarek’s arm and begin to steer him out of our row, but suddenly Kya is right by my side, having apparently leapt over the departing family of four between us.

  “Well, let’s go backstage, people, and congratulate Giselle.” Kya accosts us with false jolliness.

  “Sure,” Tarek says, dazed. Blaire, Troy, and Brandon stand behind Kya. Brandon looks angrier than I’ve ever seen him.

  “Wait a minute,” Blaire says with a giddy smile. “Giselle? Was that Giselle onstage? The one I’ve heard so much about?”

  “Yes.” Kya’s eyes are on me. “But I don’t think we’ve heard enough. The program calls her Lexy Hunter. I wonder if it’s a misprint.”

  Unlike Lexy, Kya is a bad actress, and Blaire’s face fills with questions.

  “Let’s just go see her!” Kya enthuses. “She’s your friend, Marissa.”

  Even to my ears it sounds like I’d be a jerk not to go backstage and support my friend, but there’s no freaking way I’m doing that.

  “No, you guys, I’m not even sure that’s her. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s not. Giselle never mentioned anything about being an actress.”

  “Oh, it’s her,” Kya insists and puts her hands on my back, pushing me into Tarek. He steps backward and adjusts his cuffs as I mumble my apologies.

  “Kya!” I turn on her. “You can’t just push people.”

  “I’m sorry, Marissa. We’re all trying to get out, and you’re in the way.”

  I shoot her a scathing look and shake my head. Her eyes narrow. Oh, she knows exactly what she’s doing to me, and she’s determined to push this whole thing over Niagara Falls in a rickety barrel. My chances are suddenly not good for getting out alive.