Page 80 of Say Yes to the Nemesis

Pretend we’re not combusting. Pretend I’m not already ruined for anyone else. Pretend that we’re enemies. Pretend that nothing’s changed between us.

It certainly feels as though things have.

She kisses my lips and then gets up. She pulls on a fresh pair of panties and a bra from her duffel bag. I watch her move around my room like she belongs here. In another life, when she wasn’t Jay’s sister, this could be normal.

Then she looks over her shoulder. “Can I borrow a shirt?” she asks.

“You can wear anything of mine, anytime,” I say.

She drags on a pair of jeans and pulls my shirt on. It swallows her frame. But somehow, it fits better on her than it ever did on me.

“It smells like you,” she says. “I mean that in the best way possible.”

I grab her and kiss her lips again. She leans in and kisses me back for some time, but before I can deepen the kiss and start taking her clothes off, she backs away.

“I really have to go now. I’ll see you later tonight.”

I almost saydon’t go. Almost. But I bite it back and let her choose.

She blushes as she bolts out the bedroom door. Then I’m alone.

I hate it.

My body is primed for sex. It’s not going to happen. But I lie in bed for much too long, refusing to do anything about it. I talk myself down. I tell myself that it was just sex. Just two nights of pretending and breaking the rules.

But the echo of her laugh in my head, the way she looked wearing my shirt. That doesn’t feel casual.

I picture her face, the way she looked at me when I went down on her for the first time. The way she looked at me like I was good. No, I wasn’t good. I was the best thing she’d ever had. Like she wanted me for more than a hookup or a headline. Like I was safe. Like I was enough.

If I start to believe any of that is true, I’m terrified of the outcome.

I shower and dress before I grab a bowl of oatmeal. My phone is full of texts and missed calls. Jay wanted to grab lunch yesterday. Jay asking if I had plans last night. Then my sister Ellie, sending me several blushing emojis and suggesting I call her.

I text,

So Wren got a makeover. As you can see, it’s… a lot.

The dots appear instantly.

Hot girl transformation?

My lips curve upward.

She looks like the kind of woman who’d eat me alive.

Sounds like your type.

I stare at the screen for a second too long.

She had heels on. Eyeliner. A crop top. How was I supposed to resist?

You poor thing. Did you faint?

No, but I forgot how to use my legs for a minute.

Be honest. You’ve been into her since she wore that nerdy little Greek mythology shirt to your birthday party.

That was three years ago.