Page 41 of 6 Clues Your Nemesis Loves You

Des: I was thinking flamethrower.

Jake: Explosives. We strap them to his chest.

Callahan: I’ll bail you idiots out of jail.

Normally, I’d be right in there, suggesting gruesome torture with terrifying spiders or fire ants, or force-feeding our lactose-intolerant father nothing but dairy. Instead, I keep quiet.

Only Des knows I plan to meet Dad. My other brothers have shockingly kept quiet on the subject, and this news isn’t good. I need to meet with the Life Wrecker before Mom calls our next Bower family meeting. Deal with him and get past this weird angst knotting me up, so the next time my brothers gang up to plan his homicide, I’m front and center egging them on.

“Gotta head out,” I tell Des, not wanting to discuss the book or Mom’s reaction.

He gives me another hard stare.

Ignoring his silent judgment, I hurry outside and squint at the thick clouds. Rain is coming, and the downpour will be fierce. I hightail it to my truck and seal myself inside. I pull up the Life Wrecker’s last message and type with hard taps of my thumbs.

Me: If you want to meet, it needs to be in the next few weeks.

Bouncing my heel, I send the text. I hate how unraveled he makes me feel. The most mundane communication, not even in person, and I’m starting to sweat.

I immediately pull up Nemesis from my contact list and write her.

Me: I hope work’s going okay.

No reply comes in, which isn’t a surprise. My job allows me a tremendous amount of freedom. Maggie works a steady nine-to-five, including some weekends for events. Still, texting her steadies my frantic pulse. My bouncing heel slows. I reach to press my truck’s ignition, but my phone pings.

Grinning, I grab my cell…and there goes my smile.

Life Wrecker: I’m busy for the next few weeks. I can meet you November 22. Please don’t say no.

I should say no. I should pull up my family’s group chat and tell them I’m meeting Dad so I can strap him with dynamite. Instead, I reply to him with one word.

Me: Fine.

Eyes closed, I lean into my seat. The first drops of rain hit my roof, a steady pat, pat, pat that mimics my short breaths. My fucking life, I tell you. When my phone pings again, I groan. The sight of Nemesis lighting up my screen has me sitting straighter.

Nemesis: Work is predictably painful. Boss is unimpressed. But

Me: But?

Nemesis: I had a wonderful drive this morning.

Warmth unfurls behind my navel.

Me: Is that so?

Nemesis: Couldn’t quit smiling for some reason.

I rub my chest, unsure how I can shift so quickly from uncomfortably agitated to puffed with pleasure. I start typing that I miss her already and want to take her out on a proper date, but it’s too soon. We’ve only been best friends for a day. Maggie was visibly upset when vaguely discussing her commitment issues, and all this stuff with my father is messing with my head. I delete and rethink. Settle on a different kind of honesty.

Me: Desmond agreed to your accent wall in the cabin. Can you help me with it this weekend?

Nemesis: Why would I subject myself to another paint fight?

Instead of reminding her that she’s the one who painted my dick, I switch topics. Sort of.

Me: My father and I booked our reunion date. November 22.

Nemesis: Wow. How are you feeling about it?