Subscribing to the Enemy: An Enemies to Lovers YA Sweet Romance

by Jen Brady

  But that wasn’t the thing I wished I could most change about myself, and a fresh sheet of shame washed over me just thinking about it.

  I could lie to him the way I lied to everyone else and even, most days, myself. It would be so easy to say the one thing I’d choose to change about myself was my temper. It would be totally believable, given how much trouble my temper had gotten me into my whole life.

  But I didn’t want to lie to him. I hadn’t made all these grand declarations to Rick about popularity being meaningless compared to self-worth. He was the only person I didn’t have to live up to all that with, and it was, quite frankly, a relief most days. I’d posed for so long as this formidable force to be reckoned with, challenging everyone to find even a tiny chink in my armor—one that most people were under the delusion didn’t exist—that it was hard to let my guard down when I needed to.

  Rick was the one person I didn’t want to pretend with, the one person I didn’t feel the need to pretend with. The one person I’d probably end up admitting the shameful truth to if I agreed to play the what-would-you-change-about-yourself game honestly.

  So there was no way I was playing it.

  “Okay, so if you won’t tell me, let me guess.”

  He wasn’t going to let me off the hook so easily. If only he knew . . . .

  “Fine,” I agreed. “But you’ll never guess it.”

  The cute dimple in his left cheek taunted me. “Then we’ll assume it’s not your tendency to fly off the handle at the tiniest provocation.”

  I put my hand over my heart and grinned back at him. “And ruin my natural charm?” My voice dripped with pretend offense that I hoped would distract him from the question at hand. “Never.”

  He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead in mock relief. “Good, because I wouldn’t know what to do if we got through a session without you freaking out at me about something.”

  “Speaking of work . . .” I flicked my wrist, pretending to crack a whip. “Back to it!”

  I brought the video to the spot we’d been working on last time and was about to congratulate myself for sidestepping the topic when he slid closer to me. My heart flipped into my throat at his nearness.

  “Is it your shoddy backup practices?”

  I had no idea what that meant. I gave him a weird look. “What?”

  “The thing you’d most like to change about yourself. Is it your lack of attention to backing up important files?” His eyes gleamed with teasing. “Because I kind of like that about you. We’d never have gotten to know each other if you hadn’t been forced to work with me.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and met the challenge in his eyes. “I’m not going to tell you, so you can stop pestering me.”

  Understanding danced in his eyes. He snapped his fingers. “That’s it!”

  “What is?”

  “You won’t tell me what you’d change because there isn’t anything.”

  “Ha! Hardly!” I could list about five million candidates for things I should change about myself, just ask Ted or any of my sisters.

  But he thought he’d cracked it. His grin grew and he stood up, pointing at me. “That’s it!” He sounded so triumphant, as if he’d solved the Da Vinci Code or discovered gravity. “The great Joanna March doesn’t have a flaw, so there’s nothing to wish she could change about herself.”

  Anger flared inside me. Is that what he thought of me? That I was so self-centered, so conceited, that I didn’t think I had anything to work on?

  “That’s the stupidest thing anybody’s ever said,” I shot back.

  “Then what is it?” he challenged.

  “I don’t want to tell you.”

  “Because there’s nothing. Your genius needs no improvement.”

  My breath started coming in heaves. He knew what a mess I was, what a hot-headed, clumsy, outspoken, social disaster of an ugly mess I was, and he stood there mocking me, adding conceit to my list of flaws. If there was one thing I wasn’t, it was conceited, and to hear him claim otherwise was like poking my insides with hot coals.

  “Perfection indeed.” He grinned down at me, and I jumped to my feet. “If only the rest of us mere mortals—”

  “I’d want to be as pretty as my sisters!”

  Christopher Columbus. I’d said it out loud, thrown the private thought out into the universe. And in front of Rick.

  If I’d been looking away, there was no way I would have been able to meet his eyes. I would have avoided them for the rest of our working session, and maybe for the rest of my life. But I’d been glaring right at him when I’d blurted my secret out, and now I found myself frozen, my gaze locked in his.

  His eyes softened from playful and challenging to surprised, then turned confused, then . . . something I couldn’t figure out. Was he disappointed in me for being so petty? Surprised I’d admitted it? Disillusioned that I wasn’t the person I’d portrayed to the world, the person he thought I was? Disappointed that the girl under my confident, strong, single woman ready-to-slay-anything-that-stood-in-my-way-without-the-help-of-a-guy mantra was a hot mess?

  “But . . . .”

  “If you tell anybody I said that, I’ll deny it, and there’s no way anyone would believe it, so this stays between us. But, yes, if I could change one thing about myself, I’d want to be as pretty as my sisters.”

  “But you don’t care about things like that,” he sputtered, his expression still baffled.

  “Says who?”

  “You! You talk about it on your videos all the time. How you don’t want to date in high school, how women can do anything without men, how this time should be for more than prom dates and social circles.”

  “Right. Because if I don’t want—”

  My mouth went dry and my heart thudded in my chest as the realization pierced through my heart and made its way to my brain. I sat down so hard that my teeth slammed together.

  Rick slowly sank down onto the couch next to me. “If you don’t want what?”

  It was still swirling around in my mind, which is probably why I didn’t clam up. I was too stunned with myself to censor the thought from escaping. “If I don’t want a boyfriend, then it won’t matter that I’m not pretty like my sisters. It won’t matter if no guy ever wants me if I don’t want him.”

  “But Laurence—”

  I closed my eyes and bit back a rude retort. “For the millionth time, Ted and I aren’t together, and we never will be. He’s like my brother, like an honorary member of our family. I don’t know why everyone has this wish that we’re secretly together. The fans ’ship us constantly for some reason I’ve never understood.”

  “It is quite a mismatch.”

  I didn’t know what I’d expected him to say in response to my statement that Ted and I weren’t romantically involved, but it sure wasn’t that. The piercing in my heart intensified. He was right, of course, but hearing him confirm what I’d always suspected still hurt.

  Ted was hot. I might think of him as a brother, but that didn’t mean I was blind. I could see he was good-looking without being attracted to him romantically, the same way I knew Megan was beautiful and Mya straddled the line between cute kid and gorgeous girl. Even Bethany was pretty in her own natural way, without the makeup and fashion Megs and Mya obsessed over.

  And then there was me. Plain at best, awkward, without a fashionable bone in my body. Why would anybody think I was a good match for Ted, who got the *swoon* comments?

  “It’s a personality mismatch, too,” Rick went on, twisting my heart while simultaneously wounding my pride.

  I stood up and turned so he wouldn’t see the devastation in my eyes.

  How could I have fallen for this guy? In his eyes, I wouldn’t even be that friend who “has a great personality.” I was the ugly duckling who was equally ugly inside. Because Ted was charming and funny, whereas I was a loose cannon, a spazzoid who spoke my mind and couldn’t even go to a junior high dance without getting cupcake frosting all
over my butt (again, long story).

  I didn’t have to worry about my feelings intensifying for Rick and what it all meant because he’d never in a million years feel anything for me.

  “I never understood why people want you to end up together.” Rick didn’t know when to stop twisting the knife through my heart.

  I swallowed hard, blinked back tears, and turned to face him.

  “I think it’s the Cinderella thing.” My voice sounded weak and pathetic in my own ears. I had to buck up, to at least pretend this conversation didn’t bother me. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Poor ragamuffin girl with soot in her hair going nowhere in life manages to catch the eye of the rich, handsome, charming prince.”

  “What?” Rick’s eyes widened, and he looked horrified. He stood up and took a step toward me. “That’s not what I meant at all.”

  “It’s okay.” I waved my hand, trying to pretend like it didn’t matter. “I’m fully aware—”

  “No.” He moved closer to me, so close his arm brushed mine as he reached down and took my hand and intertwined our fingers. My stupid body still reacted to him, goosebumps erupting all over my arms at his touch, even though he’d been a jerk. “It’s the story of how an egotistical hotshot who thinks punking people is hilarious somehow snags a strong, feisty, insanely talented girl who’s going to set this world on fire someday.”

  I stared at him, trying to process what he’d just said. It made no sense. I must have heard him wrong.

  “Did you just say . . . ?”

  He hooked an arm around my waist and pulled me to him. He dropped my hand and combed his fingers through my hair, brushing it behind my ear.

  He swallowed, his jaw working. “You are all those things and beautiful.”

  Our barely one-inch height difference meant I looked directly into his eyes. We were so close, our hips and stomachs pressed together, my hands resting on his chest, our faces a heartbeat away.

  My brain and body were locked in a fierce battle. My body wanted to close the gap between us and kiss him, but my brain screamed my own mantra over and over: Guys were just distractions to be avoided.

  It seemed the two pieces of me had reached a stalemate, but then my heart stepped in to break the tie—he’d said he thought I was beautiful . . . and strong . . . and feisty and talented. I didn’t have to wear my desire to be single like a badge of honor to combat the fear that no guy would ever find me attractive when an amazing one already did.

  I closed the distance and pressed my lips to his. If I was going to behave completely unJoanna-like, I was at least going to get to kiss him. He froze at first, then responded, tightening his arms around me and pulling me harder against him. His lips sprang to life, kissing me back.

  Did he really think those things about me? That I was feisty (in a good way) and strong and talented? And . . . beautiful? And whatever that part about setting the world on fire was?

  Beautiful was Megan and her perfect hair and makeup, second-hand clothes she’d rigged to look like they’d come off the pages of Vogue. Beautiful was Mya’s petite frame, bouncy golden curls, and perfect, porcelain face. Beautiful was Bethany’s sweet, reluctant smile, understanding eyes, and the goodness inside her that poured outward.

  Beautiful wasn’t me.

  But the way Rick held me and moved his lips over mine said otherwise. He threaded his fingers through my hair to cradle the back of my head and skimmed his other hand back and forth across my lower back.

  Chills and tingles erupted throughout my entire body. I pressed my hands up his chest and shoulders to his neck and played with the back of his messy hair. He parted my lips farther with his, deepening the kiss, making my head spin.

  Christopher Columbus, were college boys good kissers! Even college boys who were only college boys because they’d skipped second grade and gotten a bunch of retro credits.

  He kept kissing me, expertly playing with my lips in ways that made butterflies flitter all around my chest and tummy. I tried to match him kiss for kiss, and I could feel his heart pounding as hard as mine was.

  I started to feel flushed and out of breath. I pulled away from him and fanned my face with my hands. His face looked similarly flushed and his chest heaved up and down.

  “Whew! It’s getting pretty hot in here.”

  He nodded, a dazed look on his face. “Yeah.”

  I pulled my hoodie over my head and deposited it on the floor. The cool air on my arms helped clear my head. This is exactly why I always wore a light shirt under hoodies. You never knew when you’d need to shed that top layer.

  “We should probably stop,” Rick said as he slipped his flannel off, wadded it up, and tossed it on the couch.

  His faded red shirt hugged his broad shoulders and biceps. I couldn’t help staring as I shook my head. “Nope.” I reached out to grab the front of his shirt and pull him to me again.

  He didn’t protest, and we immediately tangled up in each other again. His lips landed on the corner of my mouth, his facial hair scratching my cheek. He kissed my chin, then worked his way down my jaw, sending eruptions of tingles across my skin as the rest of me melted into him.

  If I’d known this was what having a boyfriend was like, I never would have argued so vehemently against it.

  He’d obviously had girlfriends before because he was an expert at knowing exactly how to ply my lips with his.

  Was I even doing this right?

  I froze, suddenly hyper-aware of everything I was doing. My hand placement, the way I stood, the strand of hair that had somehow stuck to my cheek.

  Wait . . . I cared about my hair? Who was I? The next thing you knew, I’d be critiquing my nose in front of the mirror like Mya.

  I couldn’t do this. We had to stop. This wasn’t part of the deal.

  I pulled my face away from his and pushed his chest.

  “I don’t want a boyfriend.”

  He stared at me, doing a great impression of a deer caught in the headlights of oncoming traffic. Or a guy caught in the middle of a Joanna March social faux pas.

  Just when I thought my face couldn’t flush any hotter, I had to go and blurt out something stupid. We’d just kissed for the first time, and I’d jumped to calling him my boyfriend. He was going to make a break for it and not look back.

  And this is exactly why dating in high school is a waste of time. I break my own rule one time and I get burned. I closed my eyes to hide the tears that threatened—and because I couldn’t bear to watch him go.

  Rick shifted, but instead of making a break for it, he cupped my face in both of his hands and drew me closer again, pressing his lips to my forehead. I opened my eyes as he drew back, his hands still gently holding my face.

  He gave me a small, lopsided smile that made it impossible not to focus on his lips. “We don’t need a label if you’re not ready.” He brushed his thumb back and forth on my cheek, and my heart hammered even harder at his touch. “And you don’t have to . . . .” His gaze dropped to my lips and then went back to my eyes. Was he going to kiss me again? It looked like he was going to kiss me again. I needed him to kiss me again.

  “I don’t have to what?” I barely got out more than a whisper.

  “You don’t have to be someone you’ve convinced people you are.” He moved his face even closer to mine. Our lips couldn’t get any closer without touching. “You’re allowed to change your mind,” he amended, the words causing his lips to brush mine.

  I pressed my lips to his and let him lead the rest as my head swam in bliss.

  22

  RICK

  I HAD THE INSIDER SCOOP the YouTuber gossip vlogs would kill for: JoJo+Teddy weren’t an item.

  A girl didn’t kiss a guy the way Joanna was kissing me if she were in love with someone else.

  Their entire fanbase was going to lose their minds when they found out. And I intended for them to find out because I wasn’t letting this girl get away. Granted, she drove me crazy most days, but lately, it had been
a different kind of crazy. IRL Joanna was everything I’d fallen for on-screen minus the annoying parts that were just for show plus so much more than I’d ever expected to find in a girl.

  We finally pulled apart to catch our breaths. I ran my hands up and down the sides of her soft, form-fitting shirt and fixed her with a suspicious stare.

  “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

  “Nope, never. Ask Mya. She thinks it’s a tragedy someone can get to the second semester of their junior year without going on a date or being kissed.”

  “I didn’t go out on a date until junior year homecoming, so you’re not that far behind me dating-timeline-wise.”

  She dropped her gaze and bit her bottom lip. I swear she did that because she knew what it did to me.

  “Is it weird that I’m in high school?”

  “No. Why would it be weird? I’m supposed to be in high school, too.”

  “But you’re not.”

  I ran my hands up her back, then down her arms, and took both her hands in mine. “It’s not weird for me. Is it weird for you?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  I squeezed her hands, trying to be reassuring. She couldn’t back away from us now. There was no way I’d ever get her out of my head after we’d kissed like that.

  She leaned in and brushed her lips against mine quickly. When she pulled back, she had an adorable smile on her face.

  “But I don’t care,” she finished. “I’ll take weird.”

  She let go of my hands and unplugged her laptop, moving to the couch. She looked up at me and patted the seat next to her. I sat down, sinking as close to her as I could get. For the rest of the afternoon, we worked, but there was a lot more touching and flirting than usual. And a lot of me playing with her hair and her rubbing her thumb back and forth over one of the rips in my jeans on my thigh.

  Finally, she closed her laptop, set it on the arm of the couch, and turned to face me. I cupped her cheek in my palm, then tangled my fingers in her hair.

  “I think maybe I should work on my own from now on,” I teased.

  A hurt look crossed her face. “You don’t want to work with me anymore?”