Honeymooning With the Enemy, page 5
The oxygen in the room suddenly feels limited. I don’t know if it’s the silence or the proximity to her with so few people between us, but this moment is important. A moment I can’t let go to waste.
I have to talk to her.
Pulling out my phone, I’m glad we have old Mr. Douglas supervising and not one of the younger teachers who remember to confiscate our phones on the way in. He’s sitting at the front, head in the newspaper, as I open my Facebook app.
She’s first in my search history, sitting there from the other times I’ve wanted to add her as a friend and chickened out. Without letting myself wig out again, I hit the button.
The vibration is audible even from where I’m sitting, and she pulls out her phone. Eyebrows draw together. Creases line her forehead.
She turns, her eyes flicking to mine.
And she just stares.
She’s staring at me like someone who’s never experienced awkward, prolonged eye contact before. Like she’s surprised I initiated communication with her, surprised I can even see her. I don’t know where to look. So I just press my lips into a tight smile and nod.
Her fingertip touches her phone.
And two seconds later, my phone vibrates.
Storm Fernberg accepted your friend request
Jitters. Actual jitters erupt through my limbs, and I have no idea why. I’m never this weird around girls—I don’t have to be. They usually come to me, drawn to the allure of the ‘quarterback’. But this is different. Something tells me quarterback status would be lost on Storm, a currency with no value to her.
Panic sets in.
Doubt.
Fuck.
I can’t be that weird guy who adds her on Facebook and then fails to actually make contact. I have to say something. Say anything.
Tanner: Hi
A delicate finger taps her screen.
Storm: Hey
Instant butterflies. I swallow hard, trying for a full sentence.
Tanner: What landed you in here?
Storm: I was late to English with Mrs. Norris
Tanner: Oof… Mrs. Norris is a stickler for tardiness
A jolt of excitement hits my stomach every time the little icon shows she’s read my message, but I soon feel regret. I should’ve asked a question, ended with something else to go off. Now it’s over, she’ll just remember me as that guy who Facebook stalked her in detention one time.
Dammit, Jonas. Where is your game?
Storm: Why are you here?
A shot of lightning. She’s keeping the conversation going. Maybe she’s just being polite, or maybe she wants to talk to me, too.
Either way, I can’t mess this up.
Tanner: I got lumped in with something stupid my friend was doing
Storm: Let me guess, Ashton Sommers?
I smirk.
Tanner: He’s not that bad, when you get to know him
Storm: I’ll take your word for it
I push a laugh from my nose.
Tanner: I mean, he has the brain of a rock. But I happen to like rocks. They’re smooth and sturdy and make great paperweights
Storm’s body lifts slightly as she chuckles, and it sends another bolt through me. This mystery girl who I’m dying to know—I made her laugh.
I reread our messages from start to finish, multiple times over, not helping the smile they cause. When I face the front again, she’s watching. Staring at me with the same curiosity she wore when I first added her.
My phone vibrates in my hands.
Storm: Why did you add me today?
Gulp.
I can’t tell her the truth, can I? Because you fascinate me. Because I need to get to know the girl who was so transfixed, sitting under the tree.
Tanner: I wanted to talk to you
Storm: Why?
I frown. She’s not going to make this easy on me.
Tanner: Because I’ve noticed you around
I hit send, the pulse pounding at the side of my neck. Was that too forward? Too creepy? She stares down at her phone, and I start freaking out that I’ve said the wrong thing.
Tanner: Is that weird?
Heart racing. Shirt sticking at the armpits.
Storm: Kind of
Fuck. I have said the wrong thing.
I have to fix this; I have to make sure she knows I’m not a creep.
Tanner: Weird because I’m some random guy you’ve never talked to before? I promise I’m not a serial killer
That’s exactly what a serial killer would say.
Fuck. Why can’t I get this right? What’s wrong with me?
But her shoulders lift with another laugh, her fingers dancing over the screen as typing dots appear on mine.
I hold my breath.
Storm: Weird because no one notices me
When I look up, she’s gone.
I didn’t talk to Storm for two more days, didn’t see her around school, not even under her favorite tree. I must have typed a hundred messages that never got sent. Each one was lamer than the last.
How could she think no one would notice her? To me, she was like this enigma, a puzzle to solve. I wanted to be in her world, but it seemed like the only person good enough for that job was Bianca.
Until football practice.
I spot her from a mile off, watching Bianca at cheer practice from the bleachers. Watching is a bit of an exaggeration. Storm’s eyes barely leave the brightly colored threads in her lap. I return to the locker room to change out of my uniform when my stomach flips. A notification on my screen.
Storm: Nice shoulder pads
A stupid, goofy grin pulls at the corners of my lips. The kind of grin I would give my friends shit about if I saw it on their faces. But I can’t help it.
Tanner: You think so? I always feel a little top-heavy. I wish the uniform showed off my killer hips
“Who are you talking to, stud?”
Ashton appears at my side, snatching the phone from my hands.
“No one,” I say, swiping at my phone. “Give it back, asshole.”
He pulls it out of reach. “Not until you ask nicely. And tell me who put that adorable smile on your face,” he says with his shit-eating grin.
“Fine. It’s your mom. I’m thanking her for the thing she did with her mouth last night.”
Ashton lunges, distracted for long enough that I can grab my phone before his shoulders collide with my torso. I laugh. “You asked, bro.”
We roughhouse in front of the lockers until a whip of my towel sends Ashton back a few steps. He stumbles, that signature dopey laugh filling the space between us.
“So secretive,” he says, pulling off his uniform. “Does she have a monobrow or something? A third tit?”
“If she did, you’d be all over her, wouldn’t you?”
The guys around us laugh, joining in. Ashton is always an easy target. Talks so much shit to everyone, no one minds making him the butt of the jokes.
With the guys distracted, I stuff my phone into my bag and close the locker before hitting the showers. As the water splashes against my face, I wonder what Storm is doing. I imagine what her house looks like, the way she decorates her room. I want to get to know her. And I want to do it without my bonehead friends getting involved.
Talking to Storm feels sacred. Sharing it around like locker-room talk would demean its value; I want to keep it all for myself.
My pocket vibrates on the walk home.
Storm: Killer hips, huh? Might I recommend some high-waisted skinny jeans? Should show off your ASSets nicely
I laugh at the pinched fingers emoji, turning into my street and walking up my driveway. But my good mood is cut short when my dad pounces the second I walk through the door.
“Detention?” he says, his hands resting on the hips of his suit pants. “You landed yourself in detention this week?”
Mom stands at the sink, scrubbing a plate silently.
Informant.
“I did, but it wasn’t my fault,” I say, setting my bag down on the floor. Mom gives me don’t just dump it there eyes and I huff, hooking it back over my shoulder.
“I don’t care whose fault it was. And the dean of admissions sure as heck won’t.” Dad crosses his arms over his chest. “You don’t need to be messing around this close to graduation.”
“I’m sure the colleges have selected their students by now.”
“So where are your letters?” he demands. “We’re halfway through April and not one acceptance letter? I watched you submit your applications myself.”
“I’m sure they’re on their way.”
“Have you been checking your email? The application portal?”
“Yes, Dad.” I walk through the kitchen. “Can I put my stuff down now?”
“This is your future you’re acting so cavalier about, Tanner,” he says, back to the hands-on-hips power stance. “You’ll thank me when you’re playing college football and have a bright future ahead of you. I’m doing this for you, not me.”
I stop in the doorway, sighing. “I know, Dad.” He watches me, lines of concern all the way up to his graying, brown hair. “I’ll keep checking my emails, promise. I know this is important.”
His chest deflates. “Well… all right then. Go put your stuff away.”
“Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes,” my mom adds before I escape to the privacy of my room.
College applications. Football scholarships. Acceptance letters. It’s all we’ve talked about for months. I can’t remember the last conversation we’ve had that hasn’t included the words ‘future’ and ‘best for you’. But what my dad doesn’t realize is that what’s best for me right now is for him to lay off, give me a moment to think.
I fall onto my bed chest-first, fishing underneath for the stack of papers I’ve been keeping out of sight.
Welcome to the University of Michigan! It is with the greatest enthusiasm…
Congratulations! The University of Notre Dame committee has…
I am delighted to inform you that the committee has admitted you to Pennsylvania State…
I flick through letter after letter, each with a full-ride football scholarship. And these only include the official acceptances. Others sit on my laptop as emails and updated admission statuses on college websites. I should be happy. I should be showing them to my parents, assuring them that their son will have that bright future they’re so insistent on talking about. But instead, I feel trapped, weighed down by these sheets of paper like they’re slabs of thick cement.
Without thinking, I pull out my phone.
Tanner: Can I tell you a secret?
Instant relief courses through my veins when Storm replies quickly.
Storm: Shoot
My heart pounds behind my ribcage. Why would I talk to Storm about this? We barely know each other. I stare down at the screen, my fingers hovering above it. It’s because I don’t know her in the real world that I feel like I can confide in her. Like our conversations are locked in a vault, inaccessible to those on the outside.
Tanner: I’ve never said this to anyone before
Storm: Your secret’s safe with me
I stare down at the screen.
Tanner: I’m good at football, and everyone knows me as the quarterback, but… I’m not sure it’s what I actually want to do with my life
The weight of a thousand football helmets lifts from my chest, their absence finally allowing me to take a full breath.
Storm: What is it you want to do?
I huff a laugh.
Tanner: If only I had the answer. I spend so much time doing what I’m told I should do, I have no idea what I actually want
I look at the football sitting on my desk, the different college pamphlets stuck to my wall.
Tanner: You want to know the craziest part?
Storm: Yeah
I roll onto my back, holding my phone above my face.
Tanner: You’re the first person who’s asked me that
7
Storm
Allen is standing at his wall-to-ceiling window when I enter his office on Monday morning. If there was one benefit to knowing he wanted to chat today, it was providing a distraction so I didn’t have to spend the entire weekend thinking about Tanner.
My hand trembles as I rap on the door.
“Morning, Allen.”
He turns around, hands still clasped behind his back. “Ah, Storm. Right on time. Take a seat.”
Padding across the room, I sink into the brown leather chair facing his desk, reminding myself of all the reasons I’m qualified for this promotion that have nothing to do with Tanner Jonas. I’m not doing anything wrong. Just working the unfair biases to my advantage. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. And all that.
He faces his computer, and I mentally go over all the selling points I included in the application letter I sent to HR last week. I should know if off by heart by now. I worked on it long enough.
“So,” he says, facing me and interlacing his fingers. “You’re interested in the QSM position.”
“I am, sir.”
“And you believe you would be a good fit for the role?”
Straightening up, I plaster on a self-assured smile. “I do, sir.”
He leans back in his even nicer brown leather chair and looks up at the ceiling. “You know, here at DSI, we’re not just about work ethic. We care about the quality of our services, of course, but there’s so much more to being a senior member of the team. We’re loyal to one another. A family.”
He stands, resuming hands-behind-the-back position and walking to the window. “You’re a great bid writer, Storm. You’ve won us some of our most lucrative projects, and I’ve always been grateful for what you do here. But there is a sort of…” He tilts his head in thought “… distance to the way you operate.”
I swallow to moisten my dry throat. “Distance?”
“An aloofness. You don’t get involved in social events, nor do I see you interacting much with the team.”
A hard, sinking lump settles in my stomach.
That fucking resting bitch face.
“Until Friday night,” he finishes.
My eyes widen. “What?”
“It was so refreshing to see you with your husband at the inauguration dinner. Like the outside layers of an onion peeling away. I think I judged you too quickly, Storm.”
“You… do?”
“It’s no secret that we’re a company that values family, loyalty, as you know. Our senior members raised their families in New York. They’re settled here. I can’t tell you how reassuring it was to see you with Nigel, looking very happy. Putting down roots… settled.”
Debra’s words echo through my head. A single girl is not a stable girl… not a good business decision.
So, she wasn’t bluffing.
“I’m definitely putting down roots in New York,” I say, leaving out the part where I’ll be announcing my ‘divorce’ the second I get the promotion. If I get the promotion. “You can count on me.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Turning away from the window, he paces toward me and I stand, anticipating the ultimate climax.
Is my awkward night with Tanner about to pay off?
“We’re going to take a couple more weeks to think about the QSM position. But I want you to know you’re on our radar.”
My enthusiasm falters. Well, it’s not a no.
“I’m glad to hear that,” I say. “And again, I want you to know how ready I am for this challenge.”
“I don’t doubt it.” He walks to the door, nodding his permission for me to leave. “Just keep showing us the human inside the worker. Here at the top, we like to consider each other as friends, not just colleagues.”
Instant skin prickles at the word.
Friends.
Historically, not my strong suit.
“Of course,” I say, spreading my lips into the most convincing smile I can muster. “I would like that too.”
“Very good.” Allen nods his goodbye, striding back to his desk as the phone rings. I make a hasty departure down the hall, eager to retreat to the privacy of my cubicle. But before I can reach the main room, Nisha cuts me off.
“Happy Monday!”
“Hi,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “Why do you look like that?”
She shrugs. “Oh, no reason.”
Frowning, I walk past her as the hallway opens to the expanse of cubicles. And her weird expression suddenly makes sense.
“Surprise!” everyone shouts, pulling party poppers and blowing obnoxious party horns.
Streamers. Smiling faces. And a huge banner that reads ‘Bon Voyage’.
What the fuck?
“Happy wedding present!” Nisha says, spreading her arms out wide like a game show hostess.
“W—what’s going on?” I say, trying to mask the obvious panic on my face.
“The company always buys their employees a wedding gift,” Debra says, her face at least five times less enthused than everyone else in the room. “But seeing as you didn’t tell anyone you got married, Allen came up with an alternative.”
