Still Not Over You: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  “What? Steve?” It comes out in a breathy little screech, only for her voice to trail into a squeak as the blanket falls down around her waist. She lets out the most adorably chirpy little “Fuck!” I’ve ever heard, clutches at the blanket, pulls at her tank top, freezes for a moment, then rapidly sets her bra and tank to rights before clutching the blanket around her waist.

  She shoots me a nervous, wide-eyed look. “Oh. Uh. Crap. Morning.”

  I grin. I can’t help feeling like the cat that got the cream. “Morning, beautiful. Let me get our clothes so you can stop wearing that blanket as a shawl.”

  Her cheeks burst with color. It just makes me want to taste her tongue again.

  She glowers at me, but it doesn’t have much effect when her glasses are falling off her nose – and you can bet it was hot as fuck last night, seeing her arching under me, eyes wide and wet behind those sexy librarian glasses – and her hair’s a wreck and she’s clutching a blanket for decency.

  “Pants, Mister,” she says firmly. “I want my pants before we talk about this.”

  I smile, quirking an eyebrow. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Lifting her off me gently, I keep the blanket wrapped around her so I don’t get kicked in the junk, and shift to stand while simultaneously twisting to deposit her in the seat. I lean down to kiss the top of her head. She plants a hand on my face and shoves me away.

  I just kiss the center of her palm, then grin and saunter away to fetch my shirt, her shorts, and her panties.

  I shouldn’t feel so light about this.

  Too bad I’ve been an arrow strung tight to a bow for the past five years, and the tension’s finally released, shooting straight home.

  Yeah. Sometimes, it feels like Reb is the last bit of home I have left. The rest has been a mess of death, dad, Dallas, and bad fucking memories.

  I push them out of my head for now, plucking my dew-damp t-shirt out of the grass and pull it on, settling it over my chest. Then I drape her shorts and panties over my arm and return to the poolside lounge chair. She’s made herself a kind of blanket nest, burrowed down in it. She's looking out over the pool with that dreamy look in her eyes, her brows knit together.

  I sink down on the edge of the chair and offer her clothes.

  “Here.”

  She darts me another one of those nervous glances, then snatches her panties and shorts. They disappear underneath the blanket. There’s a little wriggling, a little cursing, a lot of blushing, and then I guess she’s dressed because she’s no longer clutching at the blanket like it’s her last line of defense.

  She bites her lip, pulling her knees up to her chest, watching me over the little round hillocks they make.

  “Hi,” she says in a small voice.

  I smile again, this time wider. “Why do you look like I’m about to tell you to go fuck yourself?”

  “Because that’s been the pattern for the past five years, hasn't it?” she retorts dryly. “Though, I guess I don’t really need to fuck myself since you did a pretty thorough job.”

  “Thorough, huh?” I grin wolfishly, and she scowls. “I'll take that as a compliment.”

  “I – you know what I mean!”

  “Do I? C'mon, Reb. You write romance books. You start making clever sex puns, you gotta own them.”

  “I write romance novels. I don’t live them, Landon.” She groans, dragging a hand across her face. “Oh, hell. I’m living a romance novel...aren't I?”

  “Doesn’t have to be that complicated. Or that much drama. We're both grown-ups here, babe.” I lean over and nudge her with my shoulder, then toss my head. “Come on. Let’s get your shit and sneak out before Steve sees us. We’ll talk it out back at my place.”

  She stills. “You were serious about...about me coming back?”

  “As a heart attack.”

  “Just to be your fake girlfriend...with benefits?”

  Shit-fire, she's got me there.

  I clear my throat. “Well, it might be a little more complicated than that, but yeah...that's the gist of it.” I hesitate.

  I don’t want to give her an ultimatum, tell her that we’ll only talk it out if she agrees to come back with me, but her brother’s back yard is seriously not the place for this conversation.

  She seems to pick up on what I’m thinking, as she casts a nervous glance over her shoulder toward the house, then unfolds herself and rises. “Okay. I'll come. Most of my stuff is still in my car. Let me get my bag from the house.”

  “You want to drive, or ride with me?”

  “I...” She pauses, blinks, remembering her car is here. There’s a touch of that shyness I remember. “Well, it’ll be easier if I ride with you, won’t it?”

  “You know it.” And I’m not thinking of her straddling my lap, crushed between the wheel of the Impala and my body. “Saves on gas.”

  Lame excuse. Doesn't mean she doesn't beam like the sun after it's out of my mouth.

  She clears her throat, rolling her eyes playfully, hiding the genuine happiness seeping through her. “Okay, fine. I’ll ride with you.”

  “Good answer. Move, Reb. We've got five minutes.”

  That just earns me a snort, a light slug on my arm, and a blush before she ducks her head and runs inside quickly.

  I feel like a teenager again with us creeping through the back door, peeking around, listening for Steve, before scurrying through the empty halls to the guest room. She stuffs her things in her bag quickly and skitters for the door, then jumps with a half-yelp, half-giggle, when I slap a hand against her tempting little ass as she passes.

  “Don’t,” she hisses, pushing my arm. “What if he’s still in the house?”

  He’s not still in the house.

  He’s five steps ahead of us and just getting into his car as we come tumbling out the front door and head for my car.

  Steve freezes. His wife freezes. I freeze.

  Kenna might as well be a block of petrified wood.

  We just stand there in icy, confused silence, staring at each other. Then Steve suddenly breaks into the widest, happiest grin.

  “Landon!” He’s already coming for me, and I know already I’m about to get hit with a hug. Steve is the huggiest damned man I’ve ever seen.

  It’s like being smothered by the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man half the time, when he wraps around me in this big bear hug and thumps at me like he’s trying to crack my ribs. “Holy shit, how's it going? I haven’t seen you in way too long.”

  “Because you don’t answer my phone calls,” I growl, but I can’t help hugging him back, giving his back a brotherly slap.

  Steve, too, is part of that feeling. Everything I'm not supposed to have. Home.

  And maybe if he’s busy hugging me, he won’t think too hard. Won't remember to ask why Kenna’s blushing up to her ears.

  Steve pulls back from me, though, giving me a puzzled look. I know I'm fucked.

  “Say, what're you doing down here, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be working a gig?”

  “Last-minute trip.” I glance at Kenna, then take Steve’s arm and pull him aside. Kenna did me a solid by covering for me, so I guess now it’s my turn to do that for her.

  I lean in close, muttering. “Look, man, Kenna hit a major slump. I had to do something to help her clear her head. She was talking about walking away from her book, and left before I could talk to her.”

  Steve frowns, glancing past me at Kenna. “Jesus. It’s going that poorly? She sounded happier on the phone the other day...”

  “I don’t know. She said something about not having the inspiration. The muse, or whatever. I thought, maybe if I could talk her into coming back and giving it time, she wouldn’t give it up.”

  “Huh.” Steve folds his arms over his chest. He looks at me, questions brimming in his big eyes.

  Shit. It’s not hard to tell something’s not sitting right about my story, but if I’m fucking honest, I’m not an amazing liar – especially not on the spot like this.

/>   We both know Kenna’s wanted to be an author since she was barely tall enough to walk, and the idea of her just flouncing on her whole career like that is totally out of character. But it was the best I could do at the time, and after a moment Steve seems to accept it, if only to keep from making a fuss with an impatient Kenna only a few feet away.

  “Well, hell, I’m glad you got it sorted. Thanks for looking out for her, Landon. I owe you one.” He pitches his voice toward Kenna. “So, you’re heading back up to Landon’s place?”

  Kenna smiles weakly, shakily, and hefts her bag. “Already packed! Mind if I leave my car here for a few days?”

  “No problem. I was going to invite you out to brunch with us, but maybe next time. We're taking Gam-Gam out for her belated birthday waffles – she loved the card I picked out for us both!”

  Kenna gives a strained smile. “Ugh. I really need to see her soon. I'm sorry again, Steve, for being so AWOL lately.”

  “Sis, don't apologize. Just finish your book.” He steps up, tugs her close, and kisses her forehead. “Be good, baby sister. You'll tell our grandma all about it when you hit the NY Times' list again.”

  She leans into him, then hugs Melanie, before giving me a secret, pleading look. “Let’s go. I’d rather not be on the road all day.”

  So bossy.

  It’s cute.

  We say our last goodbyes, retrieve the rest of her stuff from the back of her car, and then climb into mine. As she fastens her seatbelt and I start the engine, she gives me a dry look.

  “Really? The book? You told him I had a complete emo flail and gave up on my writing career? You’re bad at whispering and lying, by the way.”

  I don't say anything. Just give her a quirk of my lips and back the Impala down the drive. “Look, I needed something. He caught me off guard.”

  “You know he didn’t believe you.”

  “I know.” I sigh. “That's what worries me. But at least I bought us some time.”

  For what, though?

  That question lingers on my mind as I push the Impala into Drive and head off down the road, toward the highway.

  “It's just as well,” she whispers. “I'm kind of a screw-up lately. Can't even stay in one place long enough to give my grandma a real birthday present.”

  “You'll get her back sooner or later. And if this is screwing up, you'll fix it. Don't lose sleep over it.” That's all I say, going no further with my own problems.

  Kenna’s silent in the passenger’s seat, looking out over the road with her fingers curled against her lips. She’s disheveled and still has grass in her hair, just another reminder of her body clinging to mine, clutching against me, wrapped around me and drawing me deeper.

  What did I buy time for, really, when I have no idea what the fuck just happened between us?

  * * *

  It’s a quiet drive back. Not necessarily tense, but definitely pensive.

  We pull into my place just as another ripping red California sunset blazes over the water. Kenna’s all smiles as she grabs a few of her bags and I grab the rest. The awkward moment comes when we’re taking her things upstairs, and I make a beeline for my bedroom, while she heads for the guest room.

  There’s a frozen moment. A long look.

  Does she belong in my bed now? We're both asking it with our eyes, but fuck if either of us say it out loud.

  And by mutual truce, we leave her things in the hall for now, heading down to make dinner.

  Two cats come crashing into our legs, one at a time, purr-butting their heads against us. We both reach down, having something crazy with Velvet and Mews. Something that feels way too much like a family moment.

  Later, I'm fixing our supper while she settles on a barstool with her little black book, biting her lip and scribbling away. I’m busy tossing seared strips of beef, baby snow peas, chili peppers, onions, and paprika in a sizzling pan, but I can’t stop watching her from the corner of my eye.

  She’s not really writing. Her pen scratches now and then, but for the most part she’s just chewing on it, wrapping those delectable lips around the cap, sucking on it in ways that give my twitching cock some evil ideas.

  Fuck me.

  One taste, and I’m already addicted.

  I’m also worried. Last night may have been a major fuck-up, and not just because of lying to Steve.

  It’s not hard to tell she’s questioning, too, dwelling on doubts, wondering where we stand. I’m kind of glad she’s not asking, because right now I’m not sure I’d have any answers that would satisfy either of us. I don’t know what I’m doing here.

  Don’t know how I went from get the fuck out of my life to can’t get you out of my head.

  Maybe if she hadn’t kissed me in front of Milah, none of this would've ever happened.

  If she hadn't offered me an out, a fake girlfriend story that quickly fell apart. If I hadn't taken it, and used it as an excuse to bring her back.

  I’m just setting dinner on the kitchen island, slinging piles of my version of stir fry onto plates piled high with steaming beds of rice, when Kenna makes an exasperated sound and slams her little black book closed hard enough to make me jump.

  “Okay,” she says. “Fine. I’ll be the one to say it.”

  I arch a brow over cracking a couple of beers and setting them out next to our plates. “Do what?”

  “Start the conversation. We. Uh.” She’s blushing again. I don’t know how she stays conscious with all the blood rushing to her head. “We weren’t exactly in a position to talk last night.”

  I dip my gaze downward. She’s still wearing what she had on last night, grass stains subtly darkening her deep tan tank top. “I remember. I was there last night, too.”

  “Stop that!” She folds her arms across her chest, but that only plumps her breasts up more, keeping my attention on them. I’m listening to what she’s saying, I swear. “Landon, what was last night?”

  “Reb, c'mon. I know you’re not so innocent you don’t recognize a good fuck?”

  She scowls. “Don’t be coy, Mr. Strauss.”

  “Perish the thought.” I settle on a barstool across from her and rest my elbow on the table. “We had sex, Kenna. I put you under me in the grass and we fucked. You came on my dick twice. And that can mean something, or it can mean nothing at all, but I’d like it if it meant something. I'd also like it if you're in my bed tonight, legs spread, moaning real sweet for my tongue while I burn the taste of your clit into my memory. Whatever we've got, it's more than casual, so let's stop pretending.”

  She smiles weakly, trying to disguise a blush. “I think that’s supposed to be my line.”

  That pathetic little smile actually makes my heart ache. I reach across the countertop and brush my thumb under her chin. “Is it really so surprising I’d say it first?”

  Her lashes lower. “A little. You’ve been pretty clear you hate me for years.”

  “Fair. And I’ve been pretty damn confused over hating you for years.” I trace my touch up to her cheek. “Maybe what happened last night was meant to clear a lot of shit up. Like five years ago. When I was young and immature and stupid. And somehow, that incident between us with the black book got codified into the norm. Rejecting you before you could reject me for showing you the monster inside. The dirty fucking secret nobody else was ever meant to see.”

  “I don’t see you like that. You're not a monster.” No matter how many times she says it, my gut twitches like it's been punched.

  I want to believe her, but I can't.

  Still, there's some relief when she presses her delicate cheek into my palm. “Some kind of wild beast? Maybe. But you expect animals to act like animals. That doesn’t make them evil.”

  I laugh. “I’m no animal.” At her skeptical look, my laugh deepens. “Not that much of an animal.”

  “You pulled my bra down with your teeth last night.”

  I grin broadly. “And I’d do it again.”

  “But...should we?” Her
touch of amusement fades to a worried look. “Not gonna lie – I almost died of a heart attack when Steve and Melanie caught us. I thought they’d see right through it. Did we just screw ourselves?”

  “Technically we screwed each oth–”

  “Landon.”

  “All right, all right.” I’m taking the conversation seriously. I promise. Just can’t help having a little fun after finally having things easy between us again, even if we’ve made a million other problems. “Look. Does this feel like a mistake to you? Because it doesn’t to me.”

  “I don’t know,” she admits with a frankness that’s so very Reb. “It feels good. It feels like I’m in the middle of some weird teenage daydream. But that doesn’t change the fact that things could go south really fast.”

  “Okay. What ways are you worried about?”

  “Well, one, we get in another fight.”

  “And then we talk it out like adults instead of the teenagers we’ve been acting like,” I point out. “Next.”

  “Milah.” She wrinkles her nose.

  I snort. “Fuck Milah. Her private life is my business. A job. My private life isn’t hers.”

  That coaxes a laugh from her, eyes glittering, a touch of the tension leaving her shoulders. “Fine. Last obstacle. Steve.”

  “He’s your brother. He loves you. He’s my best friend. He won’t murder me, just potentially take off a limb or two. But sooner or later, he’ll accept that we’re adults, and it’s our choice.” I smirk. “You worry too much, Reb.”

  But I’m the one with pensive thoughts on my mind, as I realize I’d said sooner or later.

  As if this could be something long-term.

  As if one night of hot sex has already got her embedded way too deep in me.

  But she’s smiling again, letting out a sigh of relief. “You’re right. I probably do. And I mean...last night was nice. I wouldn’t mind doing it again.”

  “Yeah?” God, she’s got such a strong pull on me.

  I can’t help pushing myself up, leaning across the island, catching her lips. I taste her deep and slow, just enough to feel her go soft against me, then draw back with one last caress of my thumb over her lower lip. This raw, primal thing inside me wants to claim her all over again.