Sincerely Enemies: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (The Warr Acres High Series Book 1)

by Kelsie Stelting

  The guy clapped my back. “Have fun.”

  The girl stepped forward, putting her mouth next to my ear. “Heya, handsome. What’s your name?”

  I swallowed. “Rick.”

  She stepped back and grinned. “Lacey. But you can call me yours.”

  Damn, she was laying it on thick. And the way her lips moved around her words? Again, damn.

  “Wanna dance?” I asked before I knew what I was saying.

  She nodded. And we danced to the next song, doing some strange mix between grinding and fast dancing and slow dancing. It totally wouldn’t have gone over well at a school dance.

  Lacey-call-me-yours didn’t seem to mind. She just kept pouting at me with those kiss-me lips and swaying her body in a way that made me hope the integrity of her tube top wouldn’t last long.

  After the song, she took my hand and put it over her shoulder so she could lead me outside. Like a puppy on the world’s sexiest leash, I followed.

  Outside the bar, she leaned against a wall and propped her foot up, making her skirt ride up even further. From deep in her cleavage, she pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered me one.

  I shook my head and leaned against the wall.

  A sexy smirk on her lips, she took it out for herself and lit it with a cleavage-lighter. Her full lips moved around the butt of the cigarette and left a line of lipstick. White smoke poured through her nose.

  She watched me watching her and smiled. “You’re cute.”

  I swallowed. “You’re hot.”

  Her head tipped forward, spilling her hair over her face, and she giggled.

  Why didn’t I date? Girls were nice—they had the best laughs, and they smelled a hell of a lot better than Wolf. Plus, those lips. Those curves. I bit down on my bottom lip, thinking of all the things I’d been missing out on.

  She peeked around her hair and looked up at me, batting her long eyelashes. “Why don’t we get out of here?”

  Ten

  Nora

  “Trey, you don’t get it,” I said, dropping onto my bed.

  He sat in my desk chair, his tie hanging loose around his neck. “I guess I don’t. What’s the deal? If having the media there helped your dad’s chances at winning governor, wasn’t it worth it?”

  My chest ached. He really didn’t get it. “It’s not about whether it was worth it or not. It’s about the fact that since this whole campaign started, I’ve hardly seen my dad. Edith and Esther asked for me and Mom to tuck them in, not Dad. And then we have him home for the first Saturday night in months, and he takes us out, invites you,”—I ignored Trey’s hurt look—“and then I learn it was all a publicity stunt to show how he’s the perfect ‘family man.’” I used quote fingers.

  “He is a family man,” Trey said. “You know he’s running for governor to make Oklahoma a better place to live for you and your sisters. And that means you’ll have to sacrifice for a little while. Honestly, you’re being a little selfish.”

  I raised my eyebrows. Trey talking about sacrifice, calling me selfish? That was rich.

  My phone beeped on the edge of my dresser.

  Trey stood up to get it, but I hurried to reach it before he could.

  His eyebrows came together. “Who’s that from?”

  I held the phone behind my back. “No one.”

  A few knocks sounded on my door, and it came open.

  Trey’s face automatically shifted from accusatory to charming, dimpled smile and all.

  Mom peeked her head in. “You know the rule. Open doors.” But she said it with a smile, like she was proud our clothes were securely in place and we didn’t have our tongues down each other’s throats.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Wilson,” Trey said.

  She nodded. “That’s alright. It is getting late though.”

  “You’re right.” Trey stood up and hooked his blazer over his shoulder with his finger. “I better get home.” He turned to me. “Talk to you at church tomorrow?”

  Translation: I’ll interrogate you at church tomorrow.

  “Goodnight,” I said.

  Trey left, but Mom stayed in the doorway. “Everything okay, honey?”

  My eyes stung, and I stared at the ceiling. “I’m fine.”

  She leaned against the door frame, probably waiting for me to fall apart so she could help hold me together. But that wasn’t my life. My family depended on me to be the perfect daughter, to look good in photo shoots and be a star student and drive my sisters place to place. Breaking down didn’t fit into that facade.

  I took in a deep breath and smiled at her. “That monte cristo was really good, huh?”

  “It was good.” Her smile softened, and she came closer, kissing me on the forehead. “Goodnight, honey. Your dad and I are so proud of you.”

  I tugged my lips back and fought tears until she left and shut the door behind her. Then they spilled down my face. Dad wasn’t proud of me. No matter how hard I tried, it was never good enough.

  After slipping out of my future-governor-approved pantsuit, I went to bed, bringing my phone with me, and slid under the covers. Using the edge of my quilt, I wiped at my eyes so I’d be able to see Adam’s message.

  From: ADAM

  To: ThePerfectStranger

  Hey Stranger,

  I’ve never thought about how I’d want people to see me, just how I didn’t want them to see me. But now that I think about it, I want them to see me as a good, honest guy. The kind you can depend on if you have a flat tire in the middle of the night or one who would take a drunk girl home and set some Gatorade and aspirin by the bed for when she wakes up in the morning. And even though that’s the kind of person I am, it’s not like anyone believes that.

  And this guy you’re writing to? He’s lucky as hell. He looks forward to your messages, too, even though you say thank you way too much and are way too smart and nice. You make him want to be a better guy, just so he doesn’t keep getting shown up. ;)

  So, did you have a good night at least?

  Signed,

  Adam

  PS-Can’t stop, won’t stop the PS.

  A smile touched my lips. The first one since I read his last email. What would it be like to meet Adam in person? Would he be fun? Serious? Would we be able to talk like this without the cover of pen names and computer screens? I didn’t know. All I knew was that I wanted to write him back.

  From: ThePerfectStranger

  To: ADAM

  Dear Adam,

  How could people not see you that way? You write an advice column for crying out loud! Maybe one of the best advice columns I’ve ever read. That has to translate into your everyday life. I don’t know if we’ve ever met, but I have to believe that if I saw you, I’d be able to tell how kind you are.

  And I’m happy you like hearing from me too. Otherwise that would be kind of awkward. But really, is there such a thing as too smart and too kind? (Asking for a friend.)

  My night? It was a disaster. Honestly. There was this huge jungle at our family dinner—more than the normal kind with so many siblings. And my ex came. Can you believe this? He actually told me I was being selfish for wanting my dad to be around and spend more time with us. And the worst part? I actually believed him for a second.

  ThePerfectStranger

  PS-You’re the worst. Thank you. ;)

  Within a few minutes, my phone chimed again, and instead of reading on the tiny screen, I pulled out my laptop.

  From: ADAM

  To: ThePerfectStranger

  Hey Stranger,

  You might be surprised how people see me. At the risk of sounding like a cliché, looks can be deceiving. But it makes me feel better that you wouldn’t judge me.

  Let your friend know there isn’t such a thing. I like it. Really.

  And I’m sorry about your family dinner not going well. If it makes you feel any better, I can’t remember the last time I sat down to eat supper with both of my parents around. Sometimes I eat with my uncle’s family, though, and tha
t’s always a survival-of-the-fittest type event. Imagine three kids under ten fighting for fish sticks and you’ll have a general idea of what it’s like.

  I’m sorry, but your ex was totally out of bounds for calling you selfish. There’s not a lot of black and white in the world, but this is one of them: you are not selfish. Not even close.

  But it’s getting late. We should both get some sleep. Talk to you tomorrow?

  Signed,

  Adam

  My eyelids felt heavy, but I wrote him back.

  From: ThePerfectStranger

  To: ADAM

  Dear Adam,

  Fighting over fish sticks. It sounds like you were at my house. And thank you for being so nice to me. I’m really happy I decided to email you.

  Talk to you tomorrow.

  ThePerfectStranger

  In the morning, Mom woke me up for church, and it was a mad dash to get myself and all of my siblings ready, even with Dad around. He had work to do since he had to drive across the state in the evening for more campaigning.

  When we were all dressed to Dad’s standards, we piled into the van and drove to St. Charles for Mass. There weren’t a ton of Catholics in Oklahoma, but we had a good church family of people from all over the world. But that morning, I wished my parents were the type of Catholics who would just get in and get out.

  Mom and Dad always stayed around to talk while the younger kids played in the little gym attached to the church. They sat down with some friends at a table in the gym, and I sat with them. Which, unfortunately, meant Trey had ample time to find me.

  He came to stand beside my seat. “Hey, Nora.”

  I glanced up at him. How hadn’t I noticed he had a little gap between his two front teeth? Now, as he smiled at me, it seemed like that little space was all I could see.

  “Want to walk around?” he asked.

  I glanced back at Mom. “I’m keeping an eye on my sisters.”

  Mom rested her hand on my forearm. “Go ahead, honey. I’ve got it.”

  Thanks, Mom.

  I stood up and followed Trey to the walking path around the inside of the gym.

  When we got out of earshot of the other adults and children playing tag, he said, “Nora, have you been thinking about us?”

  I nodded. I had a hard time thinking of anything else.

  His hand tightened around my waist. “And?”

  Tired of his grip, of the pressure, I stepped back. There wasn’t a good way to say this. “Look, Trey. I don’t think we’re well-suited for each other.”

  He rubbed his hand over his smooth jaw. “‘Well-suited’?”

  I folded my arms across my stomach and let him process.

  His eyes penetrated me, boring into mine. “Are you serious? We’re the ‘it’ couple.”

  “Do you hear yourself?” I raised my eyebrows. “This isn’t about me; it never has been. It’s just been about stoking your ego.” I could see that more clearly than ever now.

  Trey came a step closer. “You’re doing this here?”

  “What?” Then realization hit. “You just talked to me at church because you didn’t want me to be able to say no and make a scene.”

  My mom called from across the gym. “Nora!”

  I looked over my shoulder.

  “Ready to go?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” I called and made sure to say a quick thank-you prayer for my mom’s intervention.

  Trey’s lips pressed together. “This isn’t over.”

  I started toward Mom, ignoring Trey. He was right. There wasn’t a word for how over we were.

  High from the giddiness of finally making a decision about Trey, I emailed Adam on the ride home.

  From: ThePerfectStranger

  To: ADAM

  Dear Adam,

  I did it! I ended things for good with my ex. So, I know you don’t like thank-yous, but thank you. I never would have been able to do it without you. Email me when you have time. I have something crazy to ask you. :)

  Stranger

  I signed the email as Stranger, but maybe I wouldn’t be for long.

  Eleven

  Emerick

  Staying out all night was stupid. Especially since I went straight from hanging out with Wolf, Blue, and Ace to my Sunday morning shift at the shop. I used a napkin to rub my eyes, then poured even more tar-black coffee into my travel mug. Technically, the stuff was supposed to be for waiting customers, but they’d be waiting a long time if I fell asleep.

  Even though we’d had fun after the guys and I dropped Lacey off at her apartment, I was seriously regretting it. I still had a ton of homework to do, and I needed to get a jump on the column for my Thursday deadline.

  On my way back to the garage, I pulled out my phone to check my emails. When I read the one from ThePerfectStranger, my heart both soared and sank. She wanted to meet me. I just knew it. How could I tell her I couldn’t? Not just because I wouldn’t be what she was expecting, but because I’d literally fail my senior year if my identity got revealed.

  Shouts reached my ears, but not soon enough. My foot hit a slick spot on the ground, slid out from under me, and slammed into a jack holding up the back end of a compact car. Then pain. Like I’d never felt before.

  Blinding white lights.

  Shouting.

  Grunting.

  Screaming. That came from me.

  And then I looked down at my leg and saw the car frame had sliced all the way through my jeans, down to my broken bone.

  I leaned over and threw up. But then I couldn’t feel anything, just saw it all happening like it was someone else’s body getting loaded onto a stretcher, riding in the ambulance, being rushed through the emergency entrance to the hospital, being told I’d have to go into surgery immediately if I had any hope of keeping my leg from the knee down.

  And then blackness.

  I blinked my eyes open to a white room and flashing monitors. To dull, throbbing pain below my knee. To my mom and uncle sitting with me.

  Uncle Ken sat in the corner, flipping through a magazine. Mom had her chin resting on her folded hands. She was still wearing her scrubs, and her eyes looked purple underneath.

  “Mom?” I grunted.

  Mom’s tired eyes jerked up to me. “Emerick?” She stood up and crushed me in a hug. Wires be damned. “Oh my god, baby.” She pulled back, her hands running over my chest, my cheeks. “How do you feel?”

  Uncle Ken came to stand beside her, taking me in.

  “Like you look.” I tried to chuckle but started coughing instead.

  Tears sprang to her eyes. “You had me worried sick.”

  My uncle nodded, the crease between his eyes more pronounced than I’d ever seen it.

  I blinked. “What...what happened?” My lower half was covered with blankets. “What about the surgery?”

  They looked at each other.

  Uncle Ken stepped forward. “Son, you shattered the two bones in your calf. They kept your leg, but you’re gonna need another surgery in a couple months. It’ll be a long time before you’re walking on it again, and you might never walk without a limp.”

  Me? Injured? I looked down at the blankets covering my leg. How could that be true? I’d never even sprained an ankle or needed stitches on the job.

  “How am I supposed to work?” I asked.

  Uncle Ken put a hand on my shoulder. “You just worry about getting better. We can talk about that later.”

  I wanted to stand up and argue, to fight. I propped myself up on my elbows, but Uncle Ken pushed me back down. “You need to calm down, son.”

  “No,” I spat. “I need to work. We’ve got bills to pay. Ma, you can’t work twenty-four hours a day.”

  Mom closed her eyes and shook her head. “Baby, you leave that to me.”

  “How you gonna pay Dad’s credit card bills, huh? You wanna be on Ken’s couch forever?”

  Uncle Ken squeezed my shoulder, probably trying to relax me, but it just pissed me off. What were they thinki
ng? That some unicorn was going to fly over and shit money on us?

  “I’ll be at work Monday,” I told Ken.

  “That might be a little hard since they want to keep you here for a week,” Ken said.

  “I’ll be at work Monday,” I repeated.

  Mom ran her hand over my hair and kissed my forehead. “I love you, baby. You just gotta let go and let God.”

  Mom was always saying shit like that when we actually had time to talk, but I didn’t know how. Her husband was in the pen. Her son had to work a full-time job on top of school to pay off debts. She was working two jobs and living with her brother. This was rock bottom. This was what “letting go and letting God” looked like.

  “Listen,” Uncle Ken said, his voice taking on that hard, no-arguments, paternal tone I rarely heard from my own dad. “This is why we have insurance. We’re gonna get a worker’s comp case going. You’ll have your hospital bills paid for, maybe even have some extra wages while you’re recovering. Will you give me a week to work it out and just focus on getting better during that time?”

  My eyes stung as the weight of it all hit me. Shattered bones. Another surgery. Never walking without a limp. Worker’s comp.