Dating the Enemy by Nicole Williams

Author:Nicole Williams [Williams, Nicole]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Dating the Enemy
Publisher: Nicole Williams
Published: 2018-09-21T04:00:00+00:00

Sleeping with the enemy. I’d done it.

Maybe not in the way I had that winter night a couple of months ago, but I’d slept under his roof, in his bed—one of them—and was waking to the smell of fresh coffee.

It wasn’t such an awful thing. Especially since Brooks had nice sheets on his bed—the ones that had a two million thread count and probably cost as much as the mattress, which was lavish in its own right.

My alarm had gone off at six, but given the night I’d had, I snoozed until seven fifteen. As I rolled out of bed, I felt like I could have slept another ten hours no problem.

“Brooks?” I called after peeking out the bedroom door.

He was probably still out biking five gazillion miles and had left the coffee pot on for me, guessing I turned into a troll if I didn’t get some caffeine in my system a few minutes after rising. He would have been partially right.

When I got no response, I padded toward the kitchen. With sun spilling in through the windows, it cast his whole apartment in a different light. The place was still as impersonal as the lobby of a dentist’s office, but the grays in the décor didn’t come across so monochromatic. There were more shades than I’d guessed—too many to count.

On the counter, I found a clean cup by the coffee pot, along with a note letting me know creamer was in the fridge. He’d set out a mess of sugar packets and a spoon beside the cup, because I guessed he thought I was practicing for diabetes.

After making my coffee, which might have required three . . . and a half . . . packets of sugar to make it taste right, I was about to duck into the bathroom for a shower when the front door thundered open.

“Sweet baby Buddha!” I exclaimed when Brooks barged inside looking like he’d just come from a shower himself. A sweat shower.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.” As he hung up his keys, he stopped. His eyes traveled my way. They went wide.

That was when I remembered I wasn’t wearing my bathrobe, instead sporting nothing besides cotton shorts and that same cami Martin had had a tough time ignoring.

“And you have the gall to accuse me of running around half naked?” He motioned at me as though I were streaking down Lexington Avenue in nothing more than boobie tassels.

“I thought you were gone or I would have put on that robe you’re such a fan of,” I gritted out as my arms crossed. “I was just about to hop into the shower.”

He ran his hand through his damp hair. “Me too.”

“It’s your place. You first.” I sidestepped toward my room, in search of that robe.

“You’re my guest. You first.” He flipped on the bathroom light and snagged a hand towel from inside to wipe off his face.

“No, really. I insist.”

“No, I insist.”

“Brooks—”

“Hannah,” he cut in, a tipped smile carving into place. “There’s a solution that’s a compromise.

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