Dating the Enemy

by Nicole Williams

  Jimmy followed me out of the cab, but he wasn’t expecting me to break into a sprint the instant my feet touched the ground. “Hey!” Twenty pounds of camera equipment on my person. Rein it in, Seabiscuit!”

  “I’m going to give you the benefit and presume you’re referring to my speed, and not my size, when you compared me to a race horse.”

  “I like my balls where they are. Of course that’s how I meant it,” he hollered after me, breathing hard as the clink of camera equipment mixed with the thud of his footsteps.

  Once I’d made it a ways inside the park, I stopped, just long enough to scan the area for any sight of a familiar runner, no doubt shirtless. There were hundreds of people on a sunny Monday afternoon, more streaming into the park as the end of the workday neared. Picking him out in this crowd, on the off chance he was jogging through this part of the park during his hella long run was unlikely at best, impossible at worst.

  Still, the odds didn’t intimidate me.

  Jimmy caught up, panting like a dog that had been wandering the desert for days. “Any sight of him?”

  My eyes squinted more as I scanned the far distance. My head shook as I broke into another run, heading deeper into the park. Running was not my thing. Even less my thing in a skirt suit and kitten heels. Kicking off the pink pumps, I grabbed them up and kept moving forward. If Jimmy had decided to start filming, viewers were getting quite the show.

  As it was, heads were turning as I rushed by them; a panting, barefoot, red-faced woman in pink.

  Weaving through a string of cyclists, I caught sight of a bobbing head a ways in front of me. It was hard to tell for sure with the view I had, but it was my gut that confirmed it.

  “Brooks!” I belted out, my feet striking the pavement quicker than before.

  Jimmy muttered an expletive from behind, managing to catch up but looked like his eyes were about to explode out of his sockets from the effort.

  As I continued repeating his name, people were starting to notice what was going on. Beginning to recognize who the crazed woman was and who it was she was yelling for.

  Phones were being whipped out, and my name started to be shouted from the crowd. Some people were actually breaking into jogs to catch up, bikes whizzing up beside me. I didn’t need Jimmy’s camera after all; this was going to be uploaded to YouTube in a hundred different versions in mere minutes.

  “Brooks!” I shouted, my legs feeling dead and on fire all at once.

  That holler finally cut through, as the bobbing head up ahead rolled to a stop. I kept rushing forward, a cluster of people flanking me as I went, Jimmy positioned at my side with the camera soaking up every move.

  Brooks’s head slowly began to turn, his body with it. I nearly tripped when his eyes found mine. There it was. Everything I’d been looking for. What I’d been waiting for. It was all there, reflecting in his eyes as he watched me close the last bit of distance keeping us apart.

  I crashed into him instead of slowing down, but he didn’t stagger back, almost like he’d been expecting it. Bracing myself against him so I didn’t collapse, I looked up at him, forgetting about everything else going on around us.

  His face was damp with sweat, the ends of his hair dripping, and from the shadows under his eyes, he didn’t look like he’d slept in days. A rare shadow of a beard’s stubble was even covering his face.

  He’d never been more stunning to me than right then. Not fresh from the shower wandering his apartment in a towel. Not clean-shaven and donning his best-fitting suit. Not even that very first night, when I’d stayed awake a few extra minutes to admire the naked man tangled in the sheets beside me in bed.

  “Hannah.” His mouth twitched, ignoring the droves of onlookers circling in around us.

  My index finger lifted when he looked like he was about to say something else. I needed to get this out first.

  Unfortunately, my lungs were straining to breathe, let alone speak.

  When I started to lean over, Brooks kneeled in front of me. “Where’s your inhaler?”

  My head shook. This wasn’t an asthma attack. This was all the paths my life had taken me down converging into one . . . and it might have had something to do with the way I’d just sprinted the last ten minutes with no cardiovascular endurance whatsoever.

  Jimmy crouched beside us, always chasing that perfect angle, but he looked almost as concerned as Brooks that I was about to pass out. That wasn’t exactly the kind of blockbuster I’d promised Conrad.

  When I tried to speak again, and nothing but a weezy rush of air projected, Brooks’s jaw tensed. “You need to lay down and catch your breath.” His arm came around behind me, trying to steer me through the cluster of people toward a park bench.

  My feet stuck to the ground. “Brooks . . .” A word. Progress. Even though it sounded like I’d been sucking helium. Taking a deep breath, I tried again. I could do this. “I-liv-ju,” I puffed out, grumbling when my gibberish reached my ears. This was not the height of romantic proclamations, or anywhere on the scale for that matter.

  His eyes narrowed in focus. “What was that?” he asked, still trying to steer me toward the bench.

  My eyes closed in concentration as I focused on the words. The heat, the labored breathing, and the dozens of spectators socking in tighter around us was making this a formidable feat.

  “Eh . . .” I started, trying to articulate each word, “luv . . . eew.”

  A frustrated rumble rocked my chest.

  “Hannah. It’s okay. Whatever you’re trying to say can wait—“

  “I love you.”

  The words burst from me, clear and loud enough for half the park to hear. Brooks blinked, his eyes finding mine. “Before I say anything else, I just wanted to confirm those are the words you actually meant to say?”

  “Those were the right words.” My fingers curled into his arm, my breath evening out.

  “You saw my article?”

  I took a few deep breaths, letting me heartrate calm, before replying, “I saw it, and hitched a ride on a plane heading this direction two hours later.”

  “I didn’t write it so you’d feel obligated . . . pressured . . .” He shifted, words sticking in his throat.

  “I’m here because I want to be.” My teeth worked at my lip. “I’m here because I want you. Because I love you.”

  The skin between his brows creased, his hand finding mine. Everything relaxed as his fingers wove through mine, cementing his palm to mine.

  “I was scared. I was a coward. Everything with the show, knowing what you believed and how you’d come into it all, I wasn’t sure if I could trust what I was feeling. I didn’t know if I could trust you.” My feet shuffled closer, until our bodies were touching. “My heart knew this was real. My head just took a bit longer to realize it.”

  An amused light lit in his eyes. “I’m guessing my soul-bearing article on the front page of the World Times, and drawing myself out of the running for the job didn’t hurt either.”

  “No, that definitely didn’t hurt,” I started, my face drawing up. “But you didn’t need to do all of that. The article. The job. You sufficiently turned down a promotion at the same time you put Mr. Reality out of commission with what you wrote.” My free hand planted against his chest, the sweat and heat of his skin seeping into my palm. “You gave up too much.”

  “And look what I got in exchange?” His arm wove behind my back, drawing me nearer.

  “You knew I’d come?”

  “I hoped you would. And someone taught me that hope, is enough to keep even the most outlandish of notions alive.”

  The crowd had grown so quiet I’d forgotten a mess of people were even here, witnessing it all.

  “So, Department Head, would you keep me in mind if you have any paper runner or grunt-level positions that open up? I managed to put myself out of a job.” He grinned, brushing my disheveled hair behind my ear.

  “Actually . . . I’m going to put myself out of a job too.” My nose cr
inkled as I said it.

  “Hannah. What? No. No way. That is your dream job. You’d be one of the youngest department heads ever.” Brooks shook his head. “I won’t let you give that up.”

  “It’s too late, because I already gave Conrad my resignation. Once this camera is turned off, I’m out.”

  My hands planted around his neck when he shook his head “That was your dream.”

  “It was.” My shoulders lifted. “But just like everything else, dreams can change. Besides, with Mr. Reality and Ms. Romance going extinct, there’s going to be a big hole to fill.”

  His head tipped. “What did you have in mind?”

  “A relationship blog, you and me the writers, contributor, and . . .”—I bit my lip—“the subjects.”

  He was quiet for a minute, probably considering my crazy idea. “You hate being on camera,” he said, lifting his chin Jimmy’s direction.

  “I do. But there are a lot of misconceptions about love out there. Figured we could maybe clear the air by documenting our experience. The good. The bad. All of the highs and lows and not just the shiny Instagram captures of a relationship. The ugly, really nasty bits too.”

  His head shook, but he was smiling. “Sounds awful. Where do I sign up?”

  I glimpsed over at the camera, waving at the droves of viewers watching on the other end. “You just did,” I told him.

  “Speaking of cameras, mind telling me why you drug this one with you all the way from New York to document this?” he asked.

  My thumb brushed up his neck. “So I could confess to the whole world that I’m in love with you.”

  “A grand proclamation.” He nodded.

  “Just following your lead,” I replied, my eyes dropping to his mouth.

  The corners of his lips lifted, his finger motioning between us. “You and me, this should have been impossible.”

  I let myself go back to the start, the very beginning. My childhood. My parents. My career. The night we met. The deal, show, dates, heartache and break. This moment.

  “Impossible is only a dare.”

  “Yeah? Then I dare you to . . .” As Brooks leaned in, his hand reached out to cover Jimmy’s camera lens as he whispered the rest into my ear.

  My legs lost sensation again, but this time it wasn’t from physical exertion. “I do,” I blurted, laughing at myself. “I mean, yes . . . I will.”

  “You want to give yourself a second or two to think about that? Kind of a lifelong commitment—at least from what I’ve read.” Brooks lips touched mine, inhaling me before pulling away. “I’m not the prince on a white horse, remember?”

  “I wasn’t searching for the fairytale.” My lips met his once more. “Just my own story.”

  Thank you for reading DATING THE ENEMY

  by NEW YORK TIMES and USATODAY

  bestselling author, Nicole Williams.

  Nicole loves to hear from her readers. You can connect with her on

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  Other Works by Nicole:

  MISTER WRONG

  HATE STORY

  TORTURED

  TRUSTING YOU & OTHER LIES (Random House)

  ALMOST IMPOSSIBLE (Random House)

  EXES WITH BENEFITS, ROOMMATES WITH BENEFITS

  CRASH, CLASH, and CRUSH (HarperCollins)

  UP IN FLAMES (Simon & Schuster UK)

  LOST & FOUND, NEAR & FAR, HEART & SOUL

  FINDERS KEEPERS, LOSERS WEEPERS

  STEALING HOME, TOUCHING DOWN

  COLLARED

  THE FABLE OF US

  THREE BROTHERS

  HARD KNOX, DAMAGED GOODS

  CROSSING STARS

  GREAT EXPLOITATIONS SAGA

  THE EDEN TRILOGY

  THE PATRICK CHRONICLES