ANYTHING BUT ENEMIES

19. pretty girl (dane's version)

WHEN I DECIDED to go out to the pool to get some writing done, pretty much the last thing I expected to see was Cleodora standing in front of me in a bright pink bikini.

She looks good, and it's obvious she knows it, arms crossed over her chest and eyes narrowed as if she could will me out of sight with just her stare.

She's infuriating. Infuriating and a huge fucking distraction. As if she's not bad enough when she's fully clothed and whining about how I'm a huge asshole.

Which, hey, valid, but still not something I find myself looking forward to hearing everyday.

Fed up with the way she's looking at me, I let my eyes linger on her over my notebook. "What's the getup for?"

She looks pissed—as if she deserves the right to be after I helped her clean up her bloody nose. Even worse, I still can't explain why I would even decide to do such a thing (besides the fact that I'm not enough of an asshole to leave her possibly concussed in a deserted stairwell).

Her lips twist into a big fake smile. "Why? Hoping I dressed up for you?"

I can't deny the feeling in my pants at that response, and I hate myself for it.

"Hardly." My book comes down to show her my unimpressed expression, or at least what I'm trying to pass as unimpressed.

She doesn't respond for a second, and after a while I realize it's because she's sizing me up. My lips tick up into my own mean smile.

"Like what you see, Cleodora?"

"Having fun familiarizing yourself with my tits, Doggy?"

On instinct, my eyes find her chest. Bad move on my part. I shift in my chair then lie through my teeth. "Not really. I've seen better."

"Doubtful."

Fuck her and her unwavering confidence.

"Really? Why doubtful?"

Her mouth opens, no words coming out, and I give myself a mental pat on the back. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

She immediately tries to recover. "Has anyone ever told you that you're an asshole?"

"Many people. You more than once. Has anyone ever told you that you're annoying?"

"Oh, I'm sure you get that a lot."

"I don't actually. I think it's something to do with the fact that I'm self-aware."

"Wow, asshole and a liar—this is turning out to be quite the impressive resume you have."

My eyes raise at that. "Who let you out of your cage tonight?"

Her teeth bare, and I get to relish in the heat of her rising temper.

Then she shoots back, "Shouldn't I be asking you that, Doggy?"

Shit. She's coming closer.

Quickly my hands move down, dropping my notebook to try to block her view of my growing boner. The damage that she's done so fucking easily.

When she perches on the arm of my chair, I have to clear my throat.

"What are you doing?"

"Spending time with an enemy of mine. Does this make you nervous?" She leans back, palms to plastic, and I can't stop the small noise that escapes the back of my throat.

My voice is strained even to my own ears as I say, "Find somewhere else to sit."

She doesn't break gaze, pulling her hair up into a bun with a tie, flexing lean abs. "I like this spot right here actually."