Frenemies

by Nicole Blanchard

  I saw her eyes flit to the pictures on the wall of her siblings. “Double for you then,” I announced to distract her and set my supplies on the counter. Crossing to the tequila station, I whipped up a quick round. “When is Charlie going to get here?”

  “You rang?” Charlie said, as she and her best friend and boyfriend, Liam, walked through the door after knocking. “Time to get this party started.” She was still in her scrubs, her dirty blonde hair in a messy topknot, but her eyes were bright and full of life.

  Smiling, I lined up four shot glasses for all of us and opened a new bottle—Ember had apparently finished off the rest from our last Tequila Tuesday. With an efficiency that spoke to exceptional competence at her job, Ember sliced limes and salted rims.

  Liam automatically went for the TV remote and put on some football game. As we readied our shots, he settled into the couch.

  “What’s Chris doing this weekend?” I asked.

  It was a touchy subject. Their on-again-off-again relationship was full of more drama than I could keep up with. But what did I know? I’d barely ever had a boyfriend. Even the thought of bringing someone around made me cringe. Not only would my mother have gone ballistic, I wouldn’t know what to do with one if I had one.

  Ember rolled her eyes. “No talking about that either. Just drinking.”

  I couldn’t argue with that, but I made a mental note to bring it up later when she wasn’t heading toward sloshed and so obviously emotionally raw. I held up my shot glass full to the rim. “What are we toasting?” I asked.

  “Knock-knock,” interrupted an all too familiar voice.

  No.

  I almost wished I was hallucinating. It’d be better than the alternative.

  I spun around, the tequila sloshing over my fingers, to find Liam letting Tripp and Dash in the front door. He looked so good it made me sick. He’d always looked good, even in high school. Perfect clothes, perfect hair. Expensive watches and a fancy new car when he’d turned sixteen. My mother had provided anything I’d ever wanted, but I never had the knack for labels like Dash. He wore wealth casually, like it was meant for him.

  Much as I despised him, maybe it was. He’d changed from what I’d deemed his professorial look—neatly pressed and expertly fitted khaki pants and a button-up shirt rolled at the sleeves and open at the collar—to dark jeans, sneakers so new they were still pristine, and a red T-shirt that fit him like a glove. His green eyes winked and that full, mouth was pulled wide into a knowing smile.

  My heart sank. My stomach clenched. I wasn’t so sure it was from repulsion, but I’d blame any residual attraction to him to the tequila. How had I forgotten my friends were chummy with Satan himself? I sent them a furious look, but they only giggled at me. The both of them were convinced there was something more between us, aside from complete and utter hatred. No amount of my convincing on girls’ night could sway them.

  “Are we just letting in anyone off the streets now?” I asked shrilly. Without waiting for their answer, I prepped myself a second shot.

  I was going to need it.

  “I’m wounded,” Dash said and snatched the new shot straight from my hands. “I thought we were getting along so well.”

  “Oh, I’ll wound you all right.” I lifted my remaining shot glass and hastily clinked it with Charlie and Ember, who could barely contain themselves. Why I put up with them, I’d never know.

  Dash watched with those potent green eyes that haunted my dreams—make that nightmares, I corrected firmly—as I licked the salt from my hand, slung back the shot, then sucked on the lime. I don’t know if it was the burning heat from the alcohol, or the flash of something in Dash’s eyes, but a wash of pure electricity flooded over me and settled low in my stomach. Good God, did tequila have the same wall-eroding effects that chocolate had? What was going wrong in the world that two of its most delicious substances could fail me so spectacularly?

  As the alcohol burned its way down my throat, I coughed and asked, “What are you doing here? Isn’t there some sort of rule about fraternizing with students?”

  “Hey, we like Dash,” Liam interjected.

  “Yeah,” Tripp added. “He brings the fancy expensive tequila on his nights.”

  “Sellouts,” I muttered. I pointed a finger at Tripp, who sputtered. “See if I bring you donuts to the dugout this year.” Tripp played college ball for the university team and was being considered for pro ball. He’s had it bad for Ember for years but settled on being her friend when she and Chris hooked up. Why couldn’t I have a stalker like Tripp, who was as wholesome and kind as they get? I frowned at him, until Dash shifted and caught my gaze again.

  Maybe it’s because I’d always had a thing for bad boys. Tripp was nice, maybe a little too safe for me.

  While Ember and Charlie were busy making drinks and chatting with Liam and Tripp, Dash ambled closer. “It’s not against the code of conduct unless you make a move on me. Then we’d be in some trouble. Why does it matter, Lay?” He leaned onto the counter, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Thinking about making a move on me?”

  “You wish,” I hissed. I was comforted to learn he had to keep his distance, but I wasn’t sure if it was because I wanted him to—or because I didn’t.

  “Another!” Ember shouted from across the kitchen, already overcome with giggles. She wouldn’t say it, but I knew she was missing Chris. I gave Dash one last scathing look, and then joined my friends.

  Dash watched me again, I could practically feel his eyes on me, but I ignored him. Charlie finished prepping mean-ass margaritas and we chose a board game from Ember’s stash. They were always missing pieces because of the kids, and some were so worn you couldn’t see the boards, but normally we were too shit-faced to care.

  A couple hours later, I stumbled my way to the bathroom. Bladder emptied, I splashed some water on my flushed face. The room swam around me pleasantly, and despite Dash’s constant comments, I was feeling nice and buzzed. I’d regret it tomorrow when I had to get up early for his class, but for the moment I didn’t care.

  I stepped out into the hall after drying my hands where Dash was waiting for me.

  “I’m going to turn you in for stalking,” I said. “First class, then the building, now following me to the bathroom. Those are serious red flags, buddy.”

  He pushed off the wall and I slipped by him, but in my slightly drunken state, I went the wrong way and he cornered me in Ember’s laundry room.

  “Running from me now?” he asked.

  “No,” I said stubbornly.

  “Looks like it.”

  “Then maybe you need to have your eyes checked, Dash.”

  He made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Mr. Hampton,” he corrected. “We’ve talked about this.”

  I snorted. “In your dreams. Besides we’re not in class right now.”

  I tried to move around him, but he blocked me. My hands bounced off his chest and my body brushed against his. Warning signals went off in my head. A touch of panic mixed in with the tequila and arousal. Dammit, I should have known better than to let him corner me.

  “You’re right. We’re not. Stop trying to get away from me,” he said, his tone tinged with frustration. “I’m trying to talk to you.”

  My hands dropped to my side. “Are you dense? I don’t want to talk to you.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You love talking to me. You just hate that you love it and it pisses you off.”

  My jaw dropped. “The hell I do.”

  “Want me to prove it?” he asked, stepping closer.

  “I don’t want you to prove anything,” I said, but the fight had gone from my voice.

  The tequila had my muscles feeling loose and warm. The way Dash’s body heat began mixing and sparking with mine clouded my head, my judgment. I knew I should get away, but his nearness was more intoxicating than any drug.

  “That’s because you know I’m right.”

  Struggling to find a clear thought, I pushed my wild curl
s out of my face. “You forget, Dash, I’ve kissed you before and I’m fine never doing it again.” There, that ought to shut him up, prove it to him.

  But he only smiled. “You think you didn’t like it?” he asked.

  “The only thing I liked about it was when you finally stopped.”

  Dash chuckled, lifted a finger to trace a hairsbreadth away from touching my lips. “I think you’re lying. You loved it.”

  “The only thing it made me feel was anger, much like your presence is doing right now.” The words were nearly a whisper because I was fairly panting at how close his body was to mine, how much closer I wanted it to be. It was as though we were composed of two volatile chemicals that reacted to each other when we were in close proximity. Instead of a slow burn, it was an explosion.

  “You aren’t mad because I kissed you at your graduation,” he whispered in my ear, causing me to shiver against the nearness of his body. “You’re mad because you liked it.”

  I pushed away from him and whirled around, hoping he couldn’t see the frenetic beat of my heart in my throat. The hum of Ember’s dryer tumbling filled my ears and created a cocoon of sorts in the small space. I struggled to find the right words. “You’re so full of yourself, Dash.”

  He stepped closer and my ragged breaths snagged in my chest. “I don’t think so, Lay. Not about this.”

  “Don’t come any closer,” I warned with my hands in front of me. “I’m not asking to take a trip down memory lane.”

  “Why? Afraid you might like it?”

  I gulped down air, suddenly finding it impossible to breathe. “No,” was all I could manage.

  “No, what?”

  I didn’t know anymore. I had to keep my hands in fists at my side to abstain from touching him, though it was the only thing I wanted to do. The bastard knew it.

  He took a step back, looking like he felt none of the things I did. His expression was serious as he studied me. “That’s what I thought.” A smile ghosted across his lips. “You should get some water to drink, Lay. You look a little flushed.”

  He turned and ambled away with his hands in his pockets as I fumed with impotent rage behind him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  DASH

  IT WAS HALF of the way through the semester, but it felt like it would never end. Seeing her every day was torture of the most delicious kind. I could look, but not touch. Talk to, but not taste.

  If I had been entertained by the constant battle of wills before, now I was tortured by them.

  Cornering her at Ember’s had been a mistake. One I’d do my best not to repeat. It had been exhilarating being so close to her. Watching those baby blue eyes light with indignation, then with heat. A part of her wanted me on some level, that much was clear.

  I almost wished I could turn back time and make different choices. Having the image of her—heavy-lidded and a little blurry around the edges was driving me crazy—she was driving me crazy. All I could think about was how much I wanted to see her with those walls down and how much I wanted to be the guy who scaled them.

  It was wrong on so many levels.

  Ninety-nine percent of the time, she hated me. But that one percent when she didn’t? It consumed me.

  In class, we both pretended like the kiss never happened. We were polite and professional. I lectured, she turned in assignments. It was as though we knew if we crossed that line again, there’d be no going back. I was never much for self-control, especially not when it came to getting something I wanted, and wanting Layla was becoming something I needed.

  Normally, I despised charity functions. Rich people rubbing elbows with other rich people who pretended like the mutual dick-measuring made a difference in the lives of people who needed genuine help. If I hadn’t been in such need of a distraction, I would have avoided the fundraiser Grandmother roped me into like the plague. However, because Layla was occupying my thoughts with increasing regularity, I submitted and resigned myself to a night of boring conversations and expensive, tasteless food.

  “Thank you for coming tonight without putting up much of a fuss,” Grandmother said, as I escorted her from the dining room to the lounge.

  Dinner had been plain chicken with overcooked vegetables, and I was looking forward to washing it down with a drink from the open bar. “You bet,” I said distractedly.

  “Since you’ve been in such a great mood, let’s go to the Martins now before they leave for the night. I’ve been meaning to talk to Janine about her volunteer work.” Code for she wanted to railroad me into talking to their daughter, Jessica, before I turned tail and ran.

  “Why don’t I meet you there? Do you want me to get you something to drink?” I compromised.

  “White wine,” she replied and lifted her hand in greeting.

  I booked it for the bar before she could rope me into socializing without any alcohol in my system. This semester was going to turn me into a drinker if I made it to the other side alive.

  “Whatever white wine you have and a beer, thanks,” I said to the bartender. I’d overdone it on the tequila and was going to limit myself tonight, but that didn’t mean I had to listen to the inane chatter without the social lubrication.

  As I waited, a woman by the bar caught my eye. She was sitting prettily on a barstool observing the crowd and sipping a white wine. Her eyes on the projection show playing on one wall of the lounge. I glanced over to see what had her so entranced. It was a slideshow with information about the charity—arts for youth or something like that.

  Of course it was.

  I downed half the beer and ordered another. There was no getting away from her. At first it was amusing to run into her in class, at my apartment, now it was my own personal hell.

  The woman at the bar sighed and shook her head and the movement was so reminiscent of Layla, I did a double-take. Studying her more closely, I noted the full-length, siren red dress with an objective sort of appreciation. It was formfitting with a slit up the thigh and cut so it emphasized her slim, elegant frame. She turned back to the bar, and her face was in shadow from the moody lighting the event coordinators had rigged to imitate intimacy and draw attention to the projection.

  She was literally driving me insane. Seeing her everywhere when she was actually there was one thing, but imagining she was there was another. I finished the beer and started the second. Maybe I’d give that Jessica Martin a chance—anything would be better than this.

  Then, the woman at the bar turned and Layla and I stared at each other in shock.

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or start chugging my beer, so I did both. “Before you accuse me of stalking you, I’m here at my grandmother’s invitation,” I said once I finished the second beer. The bartender asked if I’d like another, but I declined and switched to water. The last thing I needed was to be drunk around Layla again.

  “Sure, you are,” she said, her tone scathing.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “This fundraiser, such as it is, is for the art institute where I work part time. We’re trying to raise money to benefit the low-income schools, so their programs don’t get cut.” She gestured to the slideshow on the projector. “Those are some of my students’ projects, not that anyone here seems to care.”

  “I didn’t know you volunteered.”

  “Contrary to what you may think, you don’t know everything about me.”

  And that was where I should leave it. For now, I was her T.A. and I’d already overstepped. I should wish her a good night, tell her I’d see her next class, and walk away.

  But I couldn’t.

  “How long have you been volunteering?” I asked. I was a predator scenting its prey. All I wanted was to gobble up each thing about her like it was my last meal. I was going to hell.

  She gave me a look like she couldn’t quite figure out what I was up to, then sighed. “I’m not into doing this whole thing tonight. Can I take a rain check?”

  “Thing?” I asked.

 
; “C’mon, Dash, I’m serious. Not tonight. I’m tired, my feet are killing me. We’re not going to reach our goal and I frankly don’t want to argue.”

  “Who said we had to argue?”

  “Dash!” came my grandmother’s voice came from behind me. “I have someone I’d like you to meet.”

  Suddenly the charity had gotten a lot more interesting and it wasn’t because of Jessica Martin.

  “You should go,” Layla said and gestured to the bartender for another drink.

  I started to argue, but my grandmother came up behind me and put a proprietary hand on my shoulder. “Dash? I’ve been calling you. The Martins are waiting.” She noticed Layla drinking deeply from her glass and her lip curled. “Who’s this?”

  “Layla, this is my grandmother, Elizabeth. Layla is affiliated with the organization. She’s a tutor and also one of my students.”

  Ever one to observe social niceties, she took Layla’s hand. “A pleasure to meet you. Why don’t you join us? I’m sure the Martins would love to meet you and talk about the organization.”

  “Of course,” Layla said, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  I knew she wouldn’t take my offer to bow out gracefully, so I didn’t try. Instead, I followed the two of them back to the table where Jessica and her parents sat with my grandfather.

  “Neil, Laura, this is Layla, I’m sorry, I didn’t get your last name,” Grandmother said.

  “Layla Tate.”

  Grandmother scenting blood in the water laid a hand on Layla’s arm as they took a seat at the table. “You’re not Magdalene Tate’s daughter, are you?”

  “Afraid so,” Layla said with a tight smile, reminding me of how I’d found her at her graduation. Because of her mother.

  “So wonderful to meet you!” Jessica Martin interjected. Jessica was everything I could have hoped for in a political marriage (if I wanted one) and my grandmother knew it. She was beautiful, charming, elegant, and poised. In fact, she reminded me of a shark, and she was looking at me like I was a tasty baby seal.