Vibes & Feels: Falling for your enemy never felt so good. (Unlikely Pairings Book 2)

by Sarah Skye

  “You’re my assistant, huh?”

  “I figured it would be the only way I’d get to stay and watch you.”

  “You like to watch? Perv,” she teases as she rifles through the makeup on the table.

  “It would be cool to see you work.” I take a breath, bracing myself for what I’m about to say next. “And I like hanging out with you.”

  Saying those seven words shouldn’t feel like falling off a cliff. But it does. There’s just something so raw about stripping things down to the basics, about admitting to someone—especially someone who not that long ago hated my guts—that I genuinely like them. It’s a step further than what I said the other day when we were at Gram’s friend’s house and I told her how much fun I had with her at pub trivia. When she admitted then that she had a good time with me too, it made me feel like this thing between us could be something more than just flirting and teasing; it made me feel like she actually might like me the same way I like her.

  Her hands are still for the briefest second before she looks up at me, eyebrow quirked. “Interesting.”

  “Admit it. You like hanging out with me, too,” I tease.

  She stares at herself in the mirror as she swipes on foundation. I stand there and sweat. I defaulted to my typical slightly smug sense of humor, hoping that bit of familiarity would loosen her up.

  Please admit that you like me, that you like teasing me, that you like occupying the same random space as me, literally whatever. I’ll take anything you want to give me, Morgan.

  She grabs a lipstick and dabs it across her plump bottom lip. Christ. The things I would do to trade places with that lipstick.

  A beat later, she locks eyes with me in the mirror. “I do like hanging out with you. And I’m glad you’re here.”

  She says it with the most playful smile. I could pass out thanks to the relief and her cuteness. Instead, I grin and let her finish getting ready in peace. Skimming the news on my phone saves me from coming off like a gawking creep.

  And then she’s on set and I can’t help but stare at what a goddamn star she is. She takes direction from Brenna and the photographer like a pro. Whatever pose or expression she’s mastering for the shot she holds as the two instruct her. I don’t know how she does it. I’d flip my shit if someone told me to hold a plank while slowly turning my torso up so the light hits the lines in my stomach just right, all the while keeping an easy smile on my face. But Morgan does it all. She glides through each move like it’s second nature.

  She’s energetic and strong and fierce and so beautiful.

  When she turns around, my gaze fixes on her ass. Damn, does it look divine in those hot pink yoga pants. I know I shouldn’t be staring, but it’s near impossible to peel my eyes away.

  Just then she twists her head over to me. Shit. I’m so busted.

  I try to smile and shrug, but I’m sure I look like a perv. But then she does the craziest thing. She winks at me before hitting her next pose, and I almost choke.

  Holy shit. She just might be into this.

  A couple hours later, I help her pack up and walk out of the building in the direction of where she’s parked.

  “You were amazing,” I say as I look over at her.

  She beams down at the ground. “Thanks.”

  “I mean it. You’re so talented and skilled. If two people were yelling at me to stick my chest out while I was propping myself up in some weird, unnatural position against a brick wall, I’d tell them to fuck off.”

  She bursts out laughing. We stop at her car. “It’s a balancing act. You get used to it.”

  “Don’t downplay it. Not many people could do what you do.”

  She tilts her head at me right as the corner of her mouth makes that delicious quirk. “A glowing compliment from Marco Woodruff? Color me shocked.”

  “You’re the easiest person in the world to compliment.”

  The apples of her cheeks flush ruby red. Her chest rises as she looks up at me. It’s a silent moment of staring at each other before I realize just how heavy my breath is.

  “So, um, is Nina having fun on her big day out?”

  She nods quickly. “Yeah, she’s having a blast with her friends. I think she’s getting annoyed with how often I’m texting her to check-in.”

  “Nah, she understands. You love her.”

  “She says she’s craving your banana pudding. She’s probably going to ask you to make her some when you go back over there.”

  “Already planning on it.”

  “Well, plan on her also talking your ear off about the hot streak she was on when they played poker. That’s all she could talk about when I called her earlier.”

  I smile at the thought of Nina dominating at cards.

  “I’m pumped to hear all about it.”

  “And to destroy your neck by sleeping on her couch again, right?”

  I wink at her. “Of course.”

  She lightly shoves my arm as she chuckles, and for a bit, we just stand there together. She bites her lip, glancing down at her sneakers as she shuffles her feet. I get the feeling she doesn’t want us to go our separate ways just yet. Good. Neither do I.

  The rumbling that emanates from her bare stomach gives me the perfect idea.

  “You’re hungry.”

  “I don’t eat before a shoot.”

  “Let me feed you.” I wince at how cringe as fuck that sounds. I tug a hand through my hair and let out a flustered laugh. “I mean, I was gonna run home and cook something. Come with me.”

  I brace myself for a bevy of reactions. Everything from an eye roll to her wrinkling her nose and saying, “hell no.”

  But then she bites her lip and smiles up at me. “Okay.”

  12

  MORGAN

  What are you doing? What are you doing? What in the holy hell are you doing, Morgan?

  I’m following Marco into his building, that’s what. I have driven to his apartment, let him carry my bags, and agreed to let him make me food. In his home.

  Marco Woodruff.

  Lily is going to kill me.

  And yet here I go, watching his broad shoulders as he inserts the key in the lock and pushes the door open. No matter how many ways I mentally beat myself up, I’m here. And the wildest part of it is, my intuition keeps nodding her head, like despite all the no’s I can list for making this choice, it’s still right.

  It’s still what I want.

  I wasn’t at all sure I wanted him shadowing me to the photoshoot. I have no clue what he was doing in the warehouse district on Friday afternoon, or if that’s always where he goes on his Friday outings, or what. But once I was in front of the camera, knowing he was there was like some kind of fuel for my creative fire. Like knowing I had a one-man audience gave my poses another level of confidence and daring.

  Like the idea he was watching me was appealing somehow.

  Appealing. Oh please. Call it what it was: hot.

  I swallow the lump of anxiety in my throat and push down the flutter in my chest as I step into his apartment. It’s perfectly decorated in a Scandinavian minimalist vibe, complete with strategically-placed textiles and plants to create a true hygge feeling.

  “How much did you pay the decorator?”

  “I don’t know. A lot, I think. Why?” He spins around in a circle, arms stretched as wide as his smile. “You like?”

  “It’s well done,” I admit, because, “I’d totally roll around naked on that faux-fur rug” isn’t about to come out of my mouth, now or ever. “Figures you’d have a decorator.”

  He clucks at me. “Come on, Morgan. We’ve been playing this game long enough. I’m not even going to feign insult here. Of course I did.”

  Why is it so damn easy to laugh with him?

  “So, are you going to give me the tour?” I ask when an awkward silence falls.

  “Hmm? Oh, sure. So, this is the living room.”

  I walk around, appreciating the black and white photographs on the wall and the s
imple upright piano in the corner. “Do you play?”

  “I can but don’t.”

  “Play something. I dare you.”

  He sighs, crosses the room, and taps out “Jingle Bells” with one finger. I groan and shake my head, then reach down and play the opening bars of “Yesterday” by the Beatles.

  “Ugh, fine,” he huffs, leans over the keys, and takes over the tune.

  I purse my lips when he finishes. “Not bad, not bad.”

  “Ten years of lessons, recitals, and wishing to play guitar instead.”

  Instead of answering, I spin around and stroll through the room to the short hallway. “Can I use your restroom? I’d like to wash off some of this makeup.”

  Marco walks past me, so I follow. He beats me to the bathroom and already has a gray washcloth and towel in his hand when I step inside. I accept them with thanks, and he shuts the door behind him. I’m slightly worried about the amount of foundation I’m about to cake on this thing, but then I figure he probably has all his laundry done anyway and dive in. When I’m done, I grab some moisturizer from my bag and then reapply my eyeliner and lipgloss. As I pop my lips, the shelf behind me catches my attention in the mirror. On it are mouthwash, toothpaste, hair gel, and…

  A giant black lightning bolt.

  I whirl around and stare at the thing. What on earth? “Marco?”

  “Huh?” he calls from the other side of the door, so I peek out to find him standing in the hall.

  “Um, I have a question.” He cocks his head. My lips twitch as I ask, “Is this a sex toy on your shelf?”

  Dark brown eyes go huge. “What?” he practically gasps.

  I dissolve into giggles and pull the door open wider to point to the black bolt. “That. What the hell is that thing?”

  He shoves a hand through his hair and exhales hard. “You’re right, Morgan. It’s a giant vibrator. I like to keep it handy for when I’m brushing my teeth and feel in the mood.”

  “I meant for your ladies!” I’m gasping with laughter.

  “Well you guessed wrong, didn’t you? Guys can be into vibrators too.”

  I howl as tears roll down my face. I can barely say the words: “Of course you are.”

  He bumps me out of the way with his hip and grabs the bolt. The top flips off to reveal an atomizer. He spritzes it, and that intoxicating scent that had me salivating the other day fills the air. It’s not as delicious as when I smelled it on his skin, but still. Oh, my.

  “Smartass,” he says, not the least bit angry. “I’m deeply concerned about your filthy mind that vibrator is the first thing you thought of.”

  My cheeks are hot, and it’s not from the giggles. “Shut up, it seemed like a you thing to do.”

  “Did it?” he wonders.

  “I bet you have a box of sex toys here somewhere.”

  The side of his mouth curls in a wolfish smirk, and, oh, fuck, my insides clench. “You really want to know?”

  His voice is low, daring in a new kind of way. I purse my lips, unsure how else to answer. Unsure how I want to answer, even.

  Marco’s smile widens to show his teeth, easier than that devilish smirk. “I think it would be in extremely poor taste to reuse sex toys, don’t you?”

  “That… is a fair point.”

  “So, no, no toybox around, sorry. That won’t be on the tour.”

  We’re standing a few inches apart in this small bathroom, talking about lovers and sex toys. I have no idea what to say next.

  But Marco blinks. “You’re hungry. Let’s get some food.”

  I exhale a ton of tension and follow him back down the hall to the living room. “Right, thanks. Sounds good.”

  “Make yourself comfortable,” he says, pointing at the black leather sofa.

  I plop down on the rug instead and run my fingers through the silky fabric. Marco laughs and mutters an, “okay,” as he turns and goes for the kitchen.

  But he comes out a minute later frowning.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask and scramble back to my feet.

  “Uh, you know how I’ve been living with Nina for three weeks?”

  “Duh.”

  But it dawns on me before he can say it.

  “You don’t have any food.”

  “I don’t have any food,” he says in unison. He groans and rubs his face. “Well, not anything that still classifies as food except an unopened jar of jam and some suspicious pickles. Sorry I fucked this up. Dammit.”

  “Hey, it’s no worries. Of course you don’t have food. I’m fine. I’ll just grab something.”

  “Or I can take you out.”

  My heart kicks my ribs in a way that it really shouldn’t. In a way that feels a lot like excitement. “Excuse me?”

  His dark eyes lock on me in that way that makes me unable to look anywhere else. “You’ve been on a string of shitty dates lately. I’ve been on no dates in over a year. There’s no food in this house. What if we, I don’t know… went out?”

  “On a date?”

  It’s a pause that lasts less than a second, but that’s all it takes for the answer to be clear. But then Marco rolls his eyes. “As friends of course. Nina didn’t leave me with a twenty, but come on. It won’t kill you—we discovered that much last week. We can go get some food, have a little fun, and then you can head home. I’ll go back to Nina’s in time to meet her tonight. What do you think?”

  I swallow hard. “As friends.”

  “Did you have something else in mind?”

  “No!”

  His brow quirks in an unspoken question: “Who are you trying to convince?”

  Well, maybe that’s just the question rattling in my head.

  I thread my hands into my hair and tug. “Am I a terrible friend to Lily and Harmony if I say yes?”

  He flinches hard, twice. Once for each of their names. When he speaks, his words are suddenly rough, guarded. “I don’t know. Maybe. Or maybe you’re a person who believes in change like you say you do. Maybe you just want to have one ‘date’—even a platonic one—that doesn’t make you cringe. Maybe you fucking deserve it after all you’ve gone through lately.

  “And maybe you know this isn’t about anyone but you and me. And, maybe Nina. Her too.” He offers a hesitant smile, and I’m done.

  “Let’s go find some trouble then.”

  13

  MARCO

  It doesn’t take long for us to find trouble. Morgan and I end up at a naked sushi restaurant called Mori Tori a few blocks from my place. As I sit next to her and pluck a piece of tuna maki from a tray resting on the washboard abs of the nude dude whom we’re dining off of, I can’t help the giddy feeling that courses through me. My dating skills are rusty as hell. And I can see how this would feel all sorts of wrong for Morgan, being on a ‘friend date’ with the reviled ex of her friends. But even so, this feels good. Damn good.

  And I think she feels the same way. She’s been non-stop laughing and smiling the entire meal.

  “You had to have brought dates here before,” she teases as she mixes wasabi into soy sauce with her chopsticks.

  “I hate to disappoint, but no. I’ve never been here.”

  She swipes a hunk of California roll from the small tray on the guy’s pec. “But this place seems so… you.”

  I cough on my sake and peer around the dimly lit space. A dozen or so naked models, both male and female, are lying on top of the dark mahogany tables. Banana leaves cover their X-rated body parts while trays of sushi and sashimi line their torsos. I’ve always thought body sushi, aka nyotaimori and nantaimori, was more artful and interesting than anything, but now I’m yet again tracking strongly into “Morgan thinks I’m a perv” territory.

  “I don’t even know how to take that. Insult or compliment?”

  Her head falls back as she laughs, and I swear to god it’s the most melodic sound I’ve ever heard.

  “You just have a vibe about you, that’s all. Like, you’re totally the kind of guy I would have pegged
as confident enough to bring a woman here so you could then eat off of another woman’s naked body.”

  My face heats even though I’m smiling. “Wow. That’s my vibe, huh?”

  “I didn’t mean it as an insult,” she says in a softer tone, as if she can sense my doubt. “I just mean that you always came off so brazen and confident. I admire it.”

  “I appreciate the confidence comment, but I assure you I have my insecurities. Like, I’d never have the guts to do what this guy does.” I point my chopsticks at the guy serving as our table, who I notice is eyeing Morgan. “I’m surprised you were open to coming here honestly.”

  She shrugs before taking a sip of sake. “It’s a Friday, every other restaurant in the vicinity was full, and I didn’t feel like waiting hours. I was starving.”

  “Yeah, but you seem far too progressive to want to dine off of naked people.”

  I mumble an apology to the sushi table guy, who barely blinks. He’s not the least bit offended.

  “If this were only naked women, no way in hell would I have been okay with this. But there’s equal-opportunity nudity here. I’m all for it.”

  I have to bite back the grin that tugs at my mouth. This day is turning into something else entirely. Between the sex toy talk at my place and the nude meal we’re indulging in, we’re veering dangerously close to off-the-rails territory. But the weird thing is, I’ve never felt so comfortable, so at ease on a date. I’ve never had one as good as this—and it’s not even technically a proper date because we’re here as friends.

  That thought deflates me just a bit. But then I glance up and see a gleam in her eyes as she gazes at me, the corner of her mouth hooked up in the most gorgeous half-smile I’ve ever seen. I thought I sensed it earlier at my place, but now it’s clear as crystal. And I know what it is.

  Trouble.

  The best kind of trouble. Trouble I wouldn’t mind getting into again and again, as long as it’s with Morgan.

  She scoots closer to me. “I’m having a really nice time.”

  “Same.” That single word broadcasts one-one hundredth of the excitement that I’m currently feeling, but it’s all I can say to keep my cool.