Enemy Down

by Cathryn Fox

  Just then, Brad Kennedy lifts his head and looks right at me. I nod, and he jumps up, comes over and takes the seat across from me, his big body crowding Maize in her chair. His gaze turns to her and he smiles.

  “Hey,” he says.

  She returns his smile. “Hi.”

  Goddammit, I do not like the way he’s looking at her, or the way she’s looking at him. He’s not part of the Wolf Pack, at Wolf House, but if he was, and had won Maize, would she have slept with him? I really don’t like the idea of that, even though she can sleep with whoever she wants.

  My insides take that moment to burn, and it’s all I can do not to pick him up by the scruff and shove him out of our booth.

  I said I wasn’t going to try to get her to like me; that it was best to keep things the way they are and let her hate me. But maybe I’m revising that plan.

  7

  Maize

  I can’t understand the scowl on Christian’s face or why he’s staring at Brad like he wants to take him to the ground—with his fist, not a football. They must have some private feud that I don’t know about, or Christian really doesn’t like being seen with me. We are, after all, two towns over for breakfast. Perhaps I’m an embarrassment. But as soon as that thought goes through my mind, another one shuts it down. Christian didn’t have to break his rules and bid on me. He didn’t have to give Kaitlyn that coveted card. He did it because he felt responsible, and I guess that’s kind of nice, and shows he’s a man who owns up to his mistakes. He might not have owned up to the one in high school, but we’re not teenagers anymore. Maybe he’s no longer a jerk. Maybe he’s grown up a lot, and I’m a girl who just assumes every rich kid is mean. Am I being too harsh? Should I give him a second chance at friendship?

  Nancy comes back with our coffees and sets them down. “I didn’t realize you were having a third,” she says as she focuses in on Brad.

  Brad nudges me, his elbow sharp against my side. “Ooh, a three-way,” he says with a bark of laughter, and neither Nancy nor Christian seem impressed.

  “He was just leaving,” Christian tells her through clenched teeth. Brad abruptly stops laughing. His glance goes to Christian, and if he was a smart man—if he could read a room— he’d get up and get out while he still could.

  He pushes from his chair and steps back. With his head down, he says, “Yeah, I’ll see you later, man.”

  Once he’s gone, Christian physically relaxes and reaches for his mug of coffee. “Thanks Nancy, and if he gives you any trouble, let me know.”

  She gives a laugh, and a wink. “Son, I’ve been doing this a long time. That boy knows better than to give this old lady any trouble.” She’s still laughing as she saunters off.

  I lean across the table conspiratorially, wanting to lighten Christian’s mood. “Do you think she does something to the food?” I ask.

  “Like spit in it or something?”

  “Yes.”

  A quiver goes through him. “Jesus, that’s disgusting.”

  I shrug. “I know, but I had this friend from back home who worked in the industry and the stories she told.” I give a low, slow whistle. “Just don’t ever be mean to a server and never send your food back.”

  He laughs out loud, and my girly parts flutter. As I revel in the sound, I wonder why I wanted to make him laugh. “Duly noted.” He rips into a sugar packet and dumps it into his coffee, while I add a splash of milk to mine. “Where is home, Maize?” His laughter falls and his voice turns serious.

  I shift, suddenly a little uncomfortable. “I lived in Cumberland, but I was on a scholarship at Sweetwater.” He nods, and takes a sip, like he’s absorbing all that. “What about you?”

  “I moved to Sweetwater in high school, as you know. We used to live in D.C. Dad’s a Supreme Court judge but maybe you know that.”

  I nod. “Why did you move to So Cal?”

  “It’s where my parents are from and Dad worked so much. Mom wanted to be closer to family.”

  “That’s nice, I think. Do you have any siblings?”

  I don’t miss the tightening of his fingers around his mug as he fiddles with it. “No, just me. I’m not really close to my parents, but I have a cousin I’m close to and I’m really close to my grandmother on my father’s side.”

  “That’s really nice. My grandparents are gone, and no cousins to speak of.”

  “You’re an only child too, I take it.”

  “That’s right.”

  He slaps his palms on the table, “Well, that settles it then,” he says teasingly. “We can never marry.”

  I laugh. “Not that I’m ever getting married, but I get what you’re saying, only child syndrome. We’re both too independent, ambitious, and obsessive. We’d kill each other.”

  He leans into me, his smile gone as his tongue brushes his bottom lips. “Obsessive. That’s a good word.”

  Holy. Crap. What is going on with him right now? My brain might not know; I’ve not had a whole lot of experience with guys, but my body is reacting all on its own—nature completely taking its course.

  “Are you saying you’re obsessive?” I ask, and wish my voice wasn’t so damn shaky.

  “I guess we’ll see.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Over the rim of his cup, he asks, “You want to be a lawyer, huh? Here in California?”

  Alrighty then, way to change the subject. I shrug. “I don’t know where. My mom is here so I don’t want to be too far from her. We’re close.”

  I take a sip of the strong coffee and decide it needs sugar. I reach for the bowl with the sugar packets at the exact same time he does, and just like in the movies, our hands brush. I always thought that move was so darn corny, so contrived, and their reaction from a simple hand touch was totally over the top. You know what I think now, as my heart beats a little faster and I come alive deep between my legs.

  I was wrong.

  God, how can an innocent, barely-there touch awaken me, set off fireworks between us?

  “Sorry about that,” he says, and I note the way the blue in his eyes seems to darken. “Go ahead.”

  I put my hands on my lap, as my traitorous body continues to tingle. “No, you go.”

  He gestures with a nod. “It’s okay, you go.”

  I give a fast shake of my head. “No, you.”

  As if we both want to put a stop to this stupid back and forth banter, not to mention the sudden burst of electricity between us—although I could be the only one feeling it—we both reach for it again, touch hands, and boom, my ovaries clench so hard, I’m worried I might have just climaxed. We both snatch our hands back.

  “We are both so stubborn.” He laughs and sits back. “I think I’m going to drink this with just one sugar.”

  “Yeah, I don’t need any sugar either.” I snort. “Now that I’m not running every day, who needs the extra calories, right?”

  “You’re perfect,” he whispers, his voice low, and filled with such sincerity that a weird little thrill goes through me, but I push it down. He’s just being nice. I’ve seen the cheerleaders he goes out with—or rather fucks—as he so bluntly put it, and I appreciate his honesty. Why lead a girl on only to dump her and leave her broken?

  “I’m not perfect,” I tell him. Wait, am I fishing for a compliment? I stifle a groan, because I think I might be.

  “You’re an athlete. You need to eat, whether you’re currently running or not.” I look down and he slides his hand across the table, this time his rough fingers purposely caress mine, a scrape of a touch that makes me forget I don’t like this guy. My gaze flies to his. “You’ll run again, Maize.”

  He looks so sad, the need to soothe his worries compels me to say, “I love running, and I’m grateful that I’m good at it, but it’s just a means to an end.”

  Someone clears their throat and we both turn to see Nancy standing there. Jeez, how long has she been standing there, and how did we not even know?

  She has a knowing grin o
n her face as we push back to give her the room to set our food down. I almost open my mouth to tell her it’s not what she thinks, then change my mind. What’s the point? I can’t afford to eat at a quaint place like this, and won’t ever see her again.

  She leans forward. “If you two need anything else, just shout.”

  We both mumble our thanks, and I stare at the beautiful display of eggs benedicts and home fries. “Yeah, I don’t think I’m going to be able to replicate this, Christian. You might have bid on the wrong girl.”

  “No, I didn’t.” My gaze goes to his, but he’s busy stabbing one of his home fries. With the way he’s focused on his food, I’m not even sure he realizes what he said.

  I reach for my fork, and begin to eat, digging into my eggs benny first. A moan catches in my throat, and I briefly close my eyes. When my eyes open again, I find him staring at me. The intensity in his eyes as he gazes at my mouth dries my mouth and turns me inside out. I set my fork down.

  “Christian?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you okay?”

  His brow furrows, and he glances down like he’s fighting some internal war. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m just glad you’re enjoying your meal.”

  “It’s delicious. Thank you for bringing me here.”

  “See, not so bad, huh?” He winks, and I get what he’s asking. Not so bad that I’m his ‘sugar baby.’

  “It’s still early in the game,” I say and we both chuckle, things a little lighter between us.

  We talk about classes as we finish our meal, and when we’re done, he helps me to my feet, my boot feeling extra heavy this morning. He walks slow, like he knows I might be in agony, then opens the Jeep door for me. His brow is furrowed as he circles the vehicle and climbs in.

  “Do you have to wear it twenty-four-seven?”

  “Not really. I’m just the kind of girl who thinks if you’re going to do it, then overdo it, moderation is for pussies.”

  He sits there staring at me for what feels like a full minute, then he bursts out laughing. I laugh with him and he shakes his head. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

  “What?”

  “I think there is a whole side of Maize Malone that no one sees,” he says and grins at me as he backs out of the parking lot.

  I take in the hard, handsome angles of his face, as I consider that. Maybe he’s right. All I know is I’ve been so focused on succeeding in life, I’ve not stopped to think about who I really am, other than an ambitious girl from the wrong side of the tracks with something to prove. That’s not a bad thing, but is that the only thing?

  “What are your plans for the day?” he asks.

  “To cook you breakfast, then homework.”

  He smiles. “Let’s go get your books.”

  “What for? I can do homework at my place.”

  “From the sounds of it, your place isn’t even safe. You’ll be staying with me.”

  I grip the rail above the door, and turn to him. “I’m not staying with you.”

  “Yeah, you are.”

  “Christian, you can’t tell me what to do. I have a room in a house, and that’s where I’ll be staying.”

  Okay, this is ridiculous. As my brain says one thing, my ‘eggs Benedict Arnold’ body is screaming something completely different.

  Ignoring me, he pulls onto the freeway, and jacks the music. Like hell he’s going to drown me out. I turn the radio down and glare at him and all he does is cast me a quick glance and raises his brow.

  “Don’t like that song?”

  “I am not staying with you.”

  “Until the repairs are done on your house and it’s safe, you’re staying with me.”

  “I told you the landlord is a deadbeat. He won’t even answer my calls.”

  “Which is why I’m going to pay him a visit, once you tell me his name.”

  Frustration seeps through my blood. “You can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  I open my mouth, but can’t think of a good reason so I say, “You don’t need to involve yourself in my business.”

  His head turns slowly, and those blue eyes lock on mine. I swear, being the sole focus of this guy’s attention is as disturbing as it is exciting. My breath stalls in my lungs, and my head spins a little when he says, “A little too late for that now, isn’t it?”

  8

  Christian

  Instead of answering, she just stares straight ahead and I quietly pat myself on the shoulder, figuring I’ve won this argument. She’s mine, not in every sense of the word, but enough for me to be protective. Now that I know the truth about her, and about what happened that night in high school, I plan to take care of her—because goddammit, this girl needs a fucking break.

  I go quiet for a long time, giving her time to process her thoughts and I don’t want to press my luck. After a long time, we both turn to each other and speak at the same time. We laugh, and I say, “You first, and don’t argue, I mean it.”

  “I was just wondering if other girls stay at the house with… whoever bid on them.”

  It’s always a choice—which I’m not really giving her—and, worried she might be able to twist this on me, I say, “They usually want to.”

  She nods. “Because it’s…nice.”

  “They’re treated well, Maize.”

  She fiddles with the strap on her purse. “But your place is noisy, right? Will I be able to get any sleep? I don’t do well without a decent night’s sleep.”

  If she’s in my bed, and willing to do what I want, chances are she won’t be getting any sleep, but it’s best I don’t tell her that. “Good point. The parties are on the weekends, and we can make alternate plans then, unless of course you want to go to one.”

  She gives a hard shake of her head. “No thanks…” She looks down. “Unless you want me to go to one.”

  “I don’t,” I say quickly. I’m not sure what’s going on with me, but ever since that douchebag Brad sat down beside her—since she mentioned this Ryan guy—it made me want to take her somewhere private, keep her all to myself. Which is strange, considering sex is off the table. I can’t touch her. I won’t. Thor was right, I did ruin her, and I’m not going to make things worse by taking her to my bed. Christ, I wouldn’t doubt it if she was a virgin. She kept to herself at Sweetwater, and I haven’t seen her with a guy since we started college.

  She shifts to face me and rubs her knee, right where her boot ends. “What were you going to say?”

  “Pack a bag when we get to your place.””

  She crinkles her nose. “Christian—”

  “Just until the landlord gets your place fixed, okay?”

  She shifts, and I sense her struggle. She’s a girl who does everything on her own, and I don’t know why, maybe because I hurt her, I don’t want to see her struggle anymore—maybe it’s because I like her. Nevertheless, I want to help her out, show her it’s okay to put herself in someone’s hands once in a while.

  As long as those hands are mine, of course.

  “I’m not sleeping with you.”

  “I didn’t ask you to.”

  Her shoulders sag a bit. “Right. Fine then. If the landlord doesn’t start repairs in a week, then I move back home.”

  I laugh. “I knew if I gave you time to think about it, you’d figure out a way to take back control.”

  “I like being in control.”

  “You don’t have to tell me that.”

  We drive a little longer, and I pull into her driveway. She reaches for the handle. “I’ll be right back.”

  “I’m coming in to help you.”

  “No,” she blurts out, and puts her hand on my arm. “I need to talk to my roommates. Kaitlyn knows, but the others will wonder what I’m doing with someone like you and it’s hard to explain.”

  “Someone like me?”

  She angles her head. “Come on, Christian, you’re smarter than that. You don’t need me to spell it out.”

&
nbsp; “You’re right, I get it. But we’re not so different, Maize.”

  “If that’s what you think, then you’ve never been on my side of the fence, Christian.”

  She leaves the vehicle, and I tap the steering wheel. She’s right. I was born with a silver spoon, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what it’s like to be bullied or picked on. Back in D.C. I was a skinny kid who often got pushed to the ground. My dad was a US senator but that meant nothing. The other kids also came from well-established families, with parents more important than mine. Kids from all classes target and bully anyone who is different.

  I listen to the radio as I wait for her, finding it hard to sit tight. It’s in my nature to help, and while she doesn’t want it, that’s not going to stop me once she’s living with me. A curtain moves in the living room window, and I spot a couple of girls who don’t look familiar peeking out. Maize grabs the curtain and yanks it shut and I can’t help but laugh. I also can’t help but wonder what she’s saying about me, or the names she’s calling me.

  She finally comes out with a big bag, and a backpack. I jump from the Jeep, take them from her, and toss them into the back. Inside the vehicle, I turn to her. “Everything okay?”

  “Fine,” she says and hands me a manila envelope.

  “What’s this.”

  “My rental agreement. Good luck getting anything done.”

  I nod and lean over her to put it into my glovebox. My arm lands on her legs, and her sweet scent washes over me. My dick instantly hardens and I marshal him into submission.

  Not going there, buddy.

  “Sorry about that,” I tell her. “Just don’t want to lose this.”

  I shove the envelope into the box for safekeeping, with plans to personally visit the address on the agreement. Her landlord might be able to bully five college girls, but let’s see how he fares against me and half my team. It also doesn’t hurt that my dad is a Supreme Court judge.

  We drive back to my frat house, and instead of parking in my spot, I go around to the back door. I park and I’m about to get out, when she asks, “Why are we parked around back?”