Page 104 of 6 Clues Your Nemesis Loves You

I accept her drink and nod at my brother. “Jake was just saying how great it is to have you back in his life.”

For a second, her gaze seems to slide down my body. The perusal isn’t interest. Jolene never looked at me the way she looked at Jake. She’s likely surprised by my bulk now that I hit the gym daily on top of my construction work, but I instantly feel flushed.

Expectedly, she blinks and looks at Jake. “It has been great having your family back. I missed you both a lot.” Her attention flicks back to me. “I’ve tried calling you a few times, Cal. You’re never around.”

“I’ve been busy,” I say. Mainly avoiding her.

“What he’s doing,” Jake says, his tone hard, “is taking on extra work he doesn’t need to do.”

I crack open my can and take a long gulp of fizzy lemon soda. Anything to cool me down when around Jo. Unfortunately, nothing douses the fond memories she inspires—us competing in Monopoly or Sorry until the person losing upended the board in a dramatic fury. Playing touch football after a hard rain, diving into mud puddles, cracking up as muck covered us head to toe. We studied together, often ate dinner at each other’s houses. Helped each other when needed, like the time she broke her arm jumping out of her tree house.

I was at her house daily while she was healing, writing her assignments, even brushing her hair and helping her get dressed. I could barely breathe those days, holding out her jeans, feeling the drag of my thumbs up her thighs, the sharp dig of her fingers into my shoulders as she used me for balance. Teenage hormones were not my friends back.

Adult hormones aren’t much kinder.

“There’s nothing wrong with helping townsfolk,” I tell Jake, forcing my focus on him. “Mr. Elroy needs a new back deck. The Liangs need a fence for their puppy.”

His nostrils flare. “You’re doing too much.”

This is typical Jake. Our stand-in dad who kept us together when our worlds fell apart. I love that he cares so much, except his thoughtfulness enflames my guilt. “After being gone so long, it feels important to help where I can and reconnect with people. Like you two are reconnecting,” I say emphatically.

Jolene glances at her cowboy boots. Jake scratches his chest, his intense focus shifting to her beautiful face. Their reconnection might take time, but I’m a patient man. I’ll do my damnedest to give Jake everything he deserves. Namely, Jolene.

“What you’re doing,” he says to me, back on my case, “is working yourself into an early grave.”

“The only person going into an early grave is our father,” Lennon says, joining us.

“Again, no one’s being killed.” It’s amazing how many times I’ve uttered that sentence in my life.

“Death is a natural part of existence,” Lennon says, smirking through his hipster beard. “Speeding it up is simply helping evolution.” His smug expression passes over our awkward group, then settles on me. He raises an eyebrow brimming with know-it-all condescension. “How is everything these days, dear brother?”

I clack my teeth together. “Great, thank you.”

“Like, really great?”

“As great as great gets.”

“So you’re great?”

“Absolutely,” I say with a forced smile, refusing to look at Jo.

Here’s the thing with Lennon. My meddling brother thinks he knows my secret. He thinks I’m as far from great as great gets because I’m in love with Jolene. I may be guilt-ridden over what I did—and there’s no denying I’m still attracted to her sensual-innocent-siren self—but that’s pure chemistry. I haven’t spent time with Jolene in twelve long years. I no longer obsess over her, dream about her, wish we could be together. As long as I keep our friendship minimized, I won’t revert to my old pining ways. Plus, I have a plan to reunite her with Jake and fix the mistakes I made.

“If you’ll all excuse me,” I say as I inch away from the group, “I think they need help with the tree carnage outside.”

This is my life these days. Making quick exits from coffee shops, family gatherings, bars, get-togethers. Anything to avoid Jolene and keep my family from learning too much.

I make haste and march toward the exit, but I feel Jo’s attention on me as I move. She’s probably confused as to why her former best friend is avoiding her like it’s his job.

Once outside, I spot Ben standing over the fallen tree. He squints at its girth and rubs a hand over his shaved head.

“We’ll need an arborist for that,” I say, strutting toward him. A much easier task to focus on than righting my wrongs. “They can cut it up and turn it into wood chips.”

“Sure, but…” Ben gets a hazy look in his dark eyes. “It’s a great shape—the way it protrudes in sections. I could carve a bear in the top half.”

“Or just a portrait of me.”

His lips quirk. Ben is a built Black man who would look at home on a sports field, but he’s a sculptor who started this artist co-op with other like-minded creators. “Too bad the gallery has investors, and I promised them we wouldn’t create anything terrifying.”