Page 68 of Falling for the Enemy

The aspirin and the note were only the beginning. There had been little acts of kindness since, each one making it harder to keep a handle on the meaninglessness of their affair.

The day of his father’s funeral, when she caught him fighting back tears all alone in the crowded room… It was the first time she didn’t have the heart to pick on him. On the contrary, she wanted to protect him, take his pain away, and get that sad look off his face. And he let her, goddamn him, which confused things even more.

“We can’t do this, Soren. One of us will end up hurt.”

“You won’t hurt me.”

She wasn’t worried about him. He was resilient and strong. Lowering her gaze, she said, “It won’t last.”

“Us being nice to each other? No, probably not. We get off on being at each other’s throats too much. But it might be nice to take a break from all the hostility for a change.”

He reached into her lap and pried her hands apart, keeping hold of one under the table so he could rub his thumb along hers.

“Joce, all I’m asking for is a temporary truce. If that feels like too much, we can schedule weekly screaming matches and fight until we fuck.”

She laughed, despite her reluctance. When she didn’t pull her hand away, he gave her another victorious grin.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t look so cocky. I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”

“Yes, you have. I know that look. It’s the same one you make when you let me in.”

Did he really know her that well? And if he did, did he truly want her or the challenge that came with her?

He saw her as a puzzle, a plot twist in his well-ordered life, a thriller, a side quest. What he didn’t realize was that knowing her more often led to loving her less.

“I won’t change, Soren. With me, you get what you get.”

“After two decades, Joce, I think I have a pretty good idea of who you are.”

Two decades of arguing, pushing each other’s buttons, and irritating the hell out of one another.

“I won’t change.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

Soren had always liked control. Even as a kid. In group projects, he had to take the lead. In sports, he was always the captain. With her, that sort of unquestioned authority didn’t fly.

His entitlement and the assumption that he was the absolute best choice for every job infuriated her. They both had oversized egos, and when they collided in even the smallest disagreement, the results were atomic.

“Tell me what you’re thinking?” He gave her hand a slight squeeze.

“I’m thinking that I know us too. I know how you get. Take my annoyance out of it. I know how you think, how you work. I know that you like to go at things head-on.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“It’s a destructive thing.”

“Gotta break a few eggs to make a cake.”

“You’ve never baked in your life.”

“Not true.” He smiled. “My mom used to bake with us.”

She’d only met Sable Hawthorne a few times, but she’d never been more than background to Jocelyn. Someone who occasionally showed up at school to chaperone events, and once in a while at Wren’s house.

Sable and Wren’s mother, Haven, had been inseparable best friends, yet they could not have been more different. Wren’s mother was a willowy creature who communed with nature and moved like the wind, natural and in harmony with the seasons and the earth. She’d been a light in every room she entered.

Sable was a darker presence, with her ebony hair, fine clothes, and heavy jewels. The first time Jocelyn saw her, she thought she was a famous celebrity. Unlike Haven, who moved with the natural currents around her, Sable seemed to cut through tides. Crowds parted for her.