Page 125 of Falling for the Enemy

Strange to admit that Jocelyn had in fact become his best friend, but there it was. He talked to her more than anyone else, and she knew him better than all his other friends and brothers combined.

“That really wasn’t a twelve-hundred-dollar bottle of champagne, was it?”

She’d selected the Armand de Brignac, the Ace of Spades. Not because she had expensive tastes, but because he told her to pick whatever she wanted. He didn’t mind, and he certainly wasn’t complaining, but knowing Jocelyn, she’d make herself sick over such a number, so he lied, “No, I was just kidding.”

She exhaled with relief. “Thank the gods.”

The cost didn’t matter to him. She mattered.

She was here. She was his. And she was worth every drop.

Being with Jocelyn was a little like being a goalie. When life moved fast, he had to keep an eye out for threats and bat them away before dangerous worries slipped past her defenses.

Mapping out her freckles that still lingered from summer, he kissed her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. His fingers lazily laced with hers, and he smiled at the jagged chips of polish covering the nails.

Jocelyn didn’t bother with manicures like other girls. She said it got in the way of her typing. She didn’t care about designer clothes, didn’t lose sleep over celebrity gossip, and would probably pick a one-of-a-kind vintage bag from a thrift shop over a Birkin any day.

Rolling to her back, she sighed. “I’m going to be a stressed-out maniac tomorrow, and it’s all your fault.”

When he dragged her to his house earlier, she put up a fuss, claiming she had words to write and a million things to do tonight to prepare for the baby shower this weekend.

He begged her to come over anyway, because he was selfish and never satisfied with just a little of Jocelyn. He always wanted more. In the end, he convinced her that she needed to eat, but somehow, they opened a bottle of champagne instead and wound up pouring it all over each other and sipping it out of every crevice.

“You’re right. I take full blame,” he admitted, feigning contrition.

She scoffed. “You’re not even sorry. And, because you never fed me, I’m now too tipsy to get any work done.”

“How about I come over tomorrow and help you?”

She snorted. “That won’t work. You’re a big, fat distraction.”

“I’ll have you know I have less than twelve percent body fat.”

“What a flex.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re still a distraction…fat ass.”

He laughed. “Come on.” While she was on her back, he pinned down her arms and blew raspberries into her stomach until she squealed.

“Soren!”

He relented. “I promise not to be a hindrance. You’ve never seen me at work. I’m an unstoppable project manager. We can get everything done, and then you can thank me with one of your prize-winning blowjobs.”

“I love how you just assume I’m willing to prostitute myself for your lame company.”

“Are you not?”

She debated for a second. “Fine. Be there by six and be prepared to work. Sex doesn’t happen until everything gets done.”

The following day, Soren arrived at Jocelyn’s house by ten to six, unprepared for the amount of baby paraphernalia he walked in on.

Lifting a children’s book off the stack on the counter, he scanned the title. “What happened in here?”

“Put that back! I have a system, and those are already organized.”

He set the book back where he found it. “I see.”

He didn’t see. All he saw were piles and piles of craft supplies, wrapping paper, and baby shit everywhere.

“Did people drop their gifts off for you to wrap?”