Evening With the Enemy: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (#MatchMade Book 1)

by Emma Tharp

  Savannah nods her approval. "The perfect place for the two of you. I suggest jeans, boots, and a sexy top."

  "All right. I'll be ready." At least I hope I will. For my friend’s sake, I'm going to at least try to make this work. I only have to go on three dates. No matter how painful it might be. It’s a once and done deal. That’s what I have to keep telling myself.

  Eight

  Oliver

  I close my laptop and crack my knuckles. Most of the afternoon I’ve been researching a few new destinations for possible upcoming trips. As soon as the three dates are up, I can be on the move again. I’m itching to explore a new location that’ll get my creative juices flowing. Maybe it’ll be a new mountain to climb or caves to explore. I get off on finding hidden gems to share with my readers.

  "Hey." Dylan opens the door and peeks his head around. He's wearing a crooked, apologetic smile. He should be.

  "Come in. Are you ready to say you're sorry for leaving me here alone yesterday with Brantley?"

  He scurries into my office and takes a seat. "Yeah, about that. I thought you were having a conversation about something that didn't have anything to do with me."

  I know he has a point, but I have to give him a hard time anyway. "Couldn't you tell that I needed rescue?"

  "I knew you had it under control. But shouldn't you get ready? Your date is tonight."

  I lean back and link my fingers behind my head. I'm trying to give off a casual air even though that's not how I feel. The truth is I can't get Lily and this date off my mind. It's been almost impossible since we set up the date two days ago. I’m stressed because of these inexplicable nerves. "No. I'm good."

  "Are you going to get her flowers?" His tone is a little flustered, with a judgmental edge.

  "No. We're going to a sports bar."

  "Oh my God! You're taking her to a sports bar?" he asks, surprised.

  Dylan cracks me up. He suggested that I take her to a fancy restaurant. I should've warned him then that I don't do romance. "Yes, I love sports. And the game is on."

  "Well, tell me you’re picking her up," he blurts out.

  I sit up and grab my phone off the desk. "I don't know. I'll text her."

  "You're not calling her?" He sounds vaguely insulted.

  "It's fine. I'm sure she's busy. She can respond when she's free."

  The three dots appear on my screen, letting me know she's texting me back. "She wants to meet there."

  Dylan nods and runs a hand through his shaggy hair. "Are you nervous?"

  "I wasn't until you started getting involved," I tell him and mean it. The more I speak to him, the more ill-equipped I feel to date. “Now get out of here, I have work to do before the date tonight.” I shoo him out and am immediately relieved when he leaves.

  The kid is ramping up my nerves and I don’t need any help with that.

  Two hours later, after finishing up with work, I make the short drive downtown. I walk into the sports bar and scan the place. Lily isn’t here yet. Surprise, surprise. She's probably going to be late.

  I have a seat at the bar closest to the TV with the hockey game on and order my usual, Crown and Coke.

  I take off my suit jacket, hang it on the back of my stool, and roll up my sleeves. I didn't even go home first to change. Why bother? This date probably won't even last an hour. But it doesn’t matter how long we’re here. Still counts as a date.

  "Is this seat taken?" A woman with short dirty blonde hair and ruby-red lips taps the seat next to me while she bats her eyes.

  "Yes. I'm expecting someone." My tone is flat and impatient. I hope she gets the hint.

  The smile on her face falters and she looks completely affronted. She composes herself quickly, shrugs, and says, "A girl's gotta try." Then she saunters away.

  The bartender delivers my drink and I take a few swallows. Checking my watch, I see that it’s seven o'clock. Grabbing a handful of pretzels, I pop them in my mouth.

  Just then there’s a tap on my shoulder. I hope it's not Miss Red Lips again. Why would someone want to get blown off twice by the same person?

  When I turn, Lily is standing there in skinny jeans, sexy boots that go up to her knees—fuck, I like those—and a formfitting white V-neck top that shows off just a hint of her cleavage. It's hard not to cock my head and stare at her. I had no idea she had such a nice body hidden under her conservative work suits.

  Clearing my throat, I look her in the eye. "You're here."

  She pulls out the bar stool and takes her seat. "You said seven. It's seven."

  "Aren't women normally late for dates?"

  Lily shakes her head and pushes her hair behind her ear. "Not me."

  "I see." I like it. There’s nothing more annoying than someone showing up late for anything. It’s disrespectful to make others wait for you. "What would you like to drink?"

  "I'll have a pint, please." She’s a beer drinker. I like that, too.

  I flag the bartender and place her order. "Are you up for playing pool or darts?"

  She nods and smirks. "Sure. Either one sounds good."

  She’s agreeable, too. She must be messing with me.

  The bartender stops by and drops off Lily's pint.

  She picks it up and takes her first frothy sip, licking the foam off her full upper lip.

  I can think of so many things I’d love to do with that mouth.

  Immediately, I see Dylan's scornful face telling me to knock it off. I need to behave myself. "It looks like there's a dartboard free."

  "Great." She grabs her glass and we make our way to a small table in the corner.

  I take money out of my wallet and feed it into the dartboard, pull the darts out, and walk over to Lily. Handing them to her, I say, "If you'd like any pointers, I can show you how to position yourself."

  She takes them from my hand with a sparkle in her pretty, blue eyes. They’re so bright, even in the dim light of the bar, I can’t help but notice them.

  Lily moves to the line and adjusts herself so her right side is toward the board with her right foot on the line. She stands at a ninety-degree angle, and points the dart straight ahead. Ultra-focused, her spine remains straight as she releases the dart and it flies to the board, hitting dead center. She claps her hands together and starts doing a cute little victory dance around. “Bullseye!”

  “You’ve played before?”

  She gives me a devilish grin before taking her next shot. It comes close, but doesn’t land dead center again. “I did go to college.”

  She’s really very cute. Funny how I never noticed it before. “Where’d you go?”

  “UNC Chapel Hill. Graduated magna cum laude.”

  “Impressive,” I say. That’s quite the accomplishment.

  “Thank you.” Lily takes her last shot, but I don’t even pay attention to where the dart lands. I can’t take my eyes off her perfect curves. It makes me cringe internally. These thoughts are not helpful. I need to stay focused on my goal—to get to the next date.

  “Are you from North Carolina?” It’s funny that we’ve worked together in Charlotte for years and I don’t know anything about her.

  She wanders over to me and hands me the darts. The way her eyes hold mine unnerves me. “Nope. I’m from Columbus. What about you?”

  “I’m from here. Almost all of my family still lives locally, but I went to school in Providence.”

  She tilts her head. “You went to Brown?”

  Many people don’t pick that up. I say Providence because most of the time, it keeps me from having to explain that I went to an Ivy League school. Sure, my grades were good, but the real reason I was able to go was because money wasn’t an object in my family and my aunt and uncle are alumni. “How’d you guess Brown? There’s more than one university in Providence.”

  “I took a guess.”

  “Well, yes, I did go to Brown. You seem surprised,” I say.

  “A little.”

  I don’t take it personally. We know n
othing about each other. I have a drink of my crown and coke and line up to take my first shot. “Good. I like surprising you.” I shoot and hit the twenty.

  She cocks a brow. “I’m impressed, too.”

  Warmth spreads through my chest hearing those words. That never happens. It makes me want to know more about her. “So, your column.”

  She crinkles her nose and gives me a playful grin. “Are you sure you want to go there?”

  Hopefully I’m not making a mistake here, but I can’t help myself. “I know I tease you about it, but do you really enjoy it?” Because to me it seems like a bunch of fluffy nonsense.

  “I think I need another beer.” She lifts her empty glass.

  “I could use a refill, too.”

  We navigate our way through the crowds of patrons back to the bar. There’s a small spot to stand where Lily leans up against the bar. “To answer your question, I love my column because I help people. It’s what gets me out of bed in the morning.” She actually glows when she talks about it. She’s not just passionate about her work, but also intelligent, graduating magna cum laude.

  “Okay. What’s the dumbest thing anyone has ever written in and asked you?”

  The bartender stops by and we order another round.

  She laughs out loud before she even answers the question. “This one is really stupid, but I had a guy write in curious if it was okay to use super glue on his penis.”

  “What the hell?”

  “Yeah. I can’t imagine. I have my theories, like maybe he wanted to make sure his condoms stay on so there’s no chance of his hookups getting pregnant, but I don’t really know. I never answered the guy. One of the tragedies of my job is that I can’t help everyone.”

  We both laugh. I watch Lily as she holds her stomach, giggling. She’s really cute and nowhere near as annoying as I once thought.

  We take our drinks back to the table and she continues to tell me stories about her column. Some are unbelievable, others are touching. And part of me is ashamed for making fun of her so much about it.

  I’m actually having a good time.

  “What are you doing on Sunday?” I ask her.

  She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, thinking. I have to look away. “Watching football.”

  “Are you going to the game?” I ask.

  “No. On TV.”

  “I’ve got tickets. Come with me.” She’s going to love my seats.

  Her brows raise and it’s clear I’ve surprised her again. Why does it make me so damn happy? I hold my breath waiting for her answer.

  “I’d like that,” she says.

  Me, too. Me, too.

  Nine

  Lily

  "I have never been to a fancy tailgate like this before," I tell Oliver as I suck the drawn butter off my fingers and wipe it off my chin. Steak kabobs and crab legs. Who’s ever had that at a tailgate? The most elaborate I’d ever been to before today was when the host remembered to bring ketchup and mustard for the hot dogs.

  Oliver's chocolate-brown eyes shine as he runs a finger over my cheek and then puts that same finger in his mouth. "You missed a spot.” He laughs. "This is great, isn't it?"

  I can't help the group of butterflies that flap their wings around in my belly, watching Oliver suck on his buttery finger.

  It's hard to believe that when I was getting ready for my first date with Oliver only two days ago, I was dreading it. But by the time he dropped me off at my door that night, I couldn't wait for our next date.

  Something happened on our first date that made me see Oliver in a different light. He was easy to talk to and we had a really good time. I was more than pleasantly surprised. I was shocked.

  When the date ended, he took me home because I had three drinks and didn’t think it was a good idea to drive. He walked me to my door, and said good night. He didn't even try anything on me. With all the rumors floating around the office about Oliver being a player, I figured at the very least he would try to kiss me, but he didn't. During our date, there was chemistry. I didn't miss the way his eyes scanned my body, and the way he watched me every time I shot a dart. I expected him to treat me like he always does, like I am a subordinate, like I’m somehow less than, but the Oliver that showed up for our date was a completely different man. He was kind, considerate, and showed a real interest in getting to know me.

  Oliver VanDoren is a looker, too. It would be easy to get caught up in his handsome face, perfectly chiseled jaw peppered with just the right amount of facial scruff, and those gorgeous brown eyes, but I'm keeping my guard up because from years of experience, I don't think that leopards change their spots.

  Could it be possible that I have a crush on Oliver? It's ridiculous and impossible, yet something about him makes me feel alive, excited, and happy. I really need to give it a rest though. It's our second date. We only have one left.

  "Yes, I’m having a great time,” I say. We got to the football tailgate about an hour ago. I've already had two bottles of high-end craft beer and a few crab legs. Very buttery, drippy crab legs.

  Oliver has introduced me to a handful of people who all seem extremely welcoming, albeit slightly shocked to see Oliver here with a woman.

  “Those guys over there.” He points to a small group of men I haven’t met yet, standing by a cornhole game.

  “Yeah.”

  “We all grew up in the same neighborhood.”

  I nod. “That’s great that you all still get together.”

  "It is. What about you? Do you keep in touch with old friends?"

  Another thing that seems to surprise me is how many things Oliver and I seem to have in common. This is probably the algorithm that Savannah was talking about. "Yes, I do." I don't elaborate and tell him I am now a partner at #MatchMade. He would probably think I have something to do with the two of us getting together, which is the exact opposite of the truth.

  "Have you had enough to eat?" he asks.

  I blink at him, wide-eyed. There's no way I could eat another bite. "Yes, I'm good."

  "We should probably make our way to the seats. I'd hate to miss kick off."

  "I'm game."

  We say our goodbyes to a few of his friends and make our way inside. We’re decked out in North Carolina jerseys and ready for this game. Oliver hands our tickets to the checker and we go up one flight of stairs. As I am about to turn and scale the second set of stairs, I look over my shoulder to Oliver calling my name and gesturing for me to follow him.

  My jaw goes slack. This is the club level. "Here?” I ask.

  "Yes, come with me."

  I follow him down a long corridor, still in disbelief.

  Oliver gently touches the small of my back as he opens the door of a box for me. It's probably wrong how great it feels with his hand on me, warm and protective. I shake the thought away as soon as we enter the room.

  The box is huge and must have at least twenty plush seats. There's a bar to the left, televisions to the right, and a private bathroom. The unobstructed view of the field straight ahead takes my breath away.

  As soon as we enter, a woman with dark brown hair, bearing a strong resemblance to Oliver, except maybe a few years older, walks up and throws her arms around him. "Oli, I'm glad you could make it."

  Oli, huh?

  Oliver hugs the woman and when he pulls away, turns his attention to me. "Iris, this is Lily, a friend from work."

  Iris shakes my hand and smiles warmly at me. "Nice to meet you. Let's introduce you to everyone else."

  All of a sudden, my belly starts to flutter with nerves. Who are these people?

  Oliver clears his throat loudly, drawing the attention of everyone—all eight of them in the box. The flutters get stronger.

  "Everyone, this is my friend, Lily. We work together. Lily, this is Mark, Eve…" I can barely hear everyone else's names through the whooshing in my ears. I get the sinking sensation that this is Oliver's family.

  Smiling, I wave and say hello to everyone. Then
I get on my tiptoes to whisper in Oliver's ear, "Who are these people?"

  He leans in and pushes my hair over my shoulder. The smell of warm black cherry and amber tickles my nose. "My parents, my sisters and brother, and their families."

  My cheeks burn. What does this mean? Sure, I like Oliver, but this seems very rushed. "It's only our second date and I’m meeting your family?"

  Oliver gets a huge smile on his lips. "Don't be silly. This is football." He gives me a playful squeeze on the shoulder. "There's no reason to be nervous."

  Just then, a gorgeous older woman, donned in dark jeans and a team jersey along with massive diamond earrings, who I am assuming is Oliver's mother, makes her way over to us with a dapper gentleman at her side.

  Holy hell, I'm going to meet his parents.

  "Oliver, you brought a friend. How lovely," the woman says, giving me a kind smile, but there's also an element of surprise in her eyes.

  "Yes, Mother. Lily likes football and North Carolina is her team." Oliver glances at me with so much pride in his eyes, it warms my heart. "This is Jacqueline, my mother, and Bill, my father."

  Bill reaches for my hand, giving it a firm shake. "Pleasure to meet you, dear. Our Oliver never brings female guests to the box."

  This perks my ears. It supports the rumors that he is a player—never bringing his conquests around his family—although I would have thought he'd have brought someone here as a way to get into their pants. What I also find interesting is that clearly, this is the family's luxury box. They aren't leasing it for the day. It sounds as if they've had it for years. I can’t imagine what something like this would cost.

  Oliver has never acted like he's wealthy. He wears nice clothes and drives a nice car, but nothing ostentatious. Sure, he's acted like an asshole before, but he never puts on airs.

  "I'm excited to be here. Thanks for having me," I say, my voice a little shaky.

  "We’re happy you’re here. Now grab a drink and a snack before the game starts." Jacqueline points toward the bar and the spread of food.