Page 42 of Tony

“Since you first met Belinda, you mean?” She’s got a gleam in her eye. Almost a twinkle. Like she’s teasing me and testing me in the same moment.

“I’m not gonna lie to you. There’s no point. Yeah. Rose—” I stop at the name slip-up. I’m really not in the mood to explain why the girl she only knows as Belinda is known as Rosalie in other parts of the country. “Belinda is…” But I can’t really find the right word for the energy Rosalinda radiates. “I don’t know. She’s just... different than most people. She gets to you. Gets under your skin and kinda makes herself at home. And then, even though you weren’t planning it, you find that her presence in your life is a constant you can live with.”

“And then you realize it’s also a constant you can’t live without?”

“Huh,” I hum. “Yeah. That’s kind of a good way to explain it.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“So you’re here for her, and then what? You’re gonna take her home with you when you leave?”

I can’t tell if that’s hope I hear in her voice, or the edge of disappointment. “I already told you no. My older brother actually sent me up here to check on some things.”

“I hear you saying that, but it doesn’t make much sense.”

“I know.” I sigh. “I get it. Trust me, it makes no sense to me either. I just… felt… compelled to check up on her. And I hate it.” My voice rises in agitation. “I fucking hate that I’m here. I hate that I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“Hmm. The old enemies-to-lovers thing. It’s hot, I guess.”

“Is it? Or is it just sad?”

“Oh, I don’t know. In the books it’s hot.”

“Books?” I laugh.

“You know. This is like… what do they call it?” She looks up at the ceiling as she thinks. “A theme, or whatever. A trope. Falling for the wrong guy?” She smirks at me. “Or girl. It’s kind of classic.”

“It might be classic. I get the attraction to someone who’s totally different from you. You don’t understand them yet. They have their own outlook on life. Maybe even a completely opposite worldview. And it’s alluring for some people. I think falling for someone like that is kind of… mature.”

“Mature?” She chuckles. “In what way?”

“You know. When you have this belief system and you’re committed to it, right? It takes a lot of self-reflection to be able to look at things from another point of view. And then to like a person who believes the opposite of you? Yeah. That’s maturity. It’s... wisdom.”

“Hmm. I guess I never thought of it that way. I’ve never personally had an enemies-to-lovers relationship. I don’t hate Vann. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t hate me, either. He might not be interested in me the way I am him, but he doesn’t hate me.”

“I don’t have that kind of relationship with Belinda, either.”

“No?” Soshee’s eyebrows go up.

She thinks I’m lying. Or at the very least delusional.

“No. Not at all. It’s not like we have two completely different outlooks on life. I think our personal belief systems probably line up quite well. Belinda is just… I don’t know.” I throw up my hands. “I seriously don’t know why I’m here or what I think is going to happen before I leave.”

“Your brother sent you on business.” It takes a lot of self-control on Soshee’s part not to laugh out those words.

“Right. Business. I haven’t even started asking around about that.”

“You wanted to fuck her.”

“Yes.” I sigh. “But… why?”

“She’s pretty. You can’t tell me you’re not attracted to her. She’s a little bit short, but that just makes her cute. And she has a style to her. Those short skirts and cowboy boots. That pink hair. Her career as a tattoo artist. That’s kind of… fucking awesome. People are just naturally drawn to her.” She huffs. “You are my exhibit A. She’s like Vann in that respect. And she has an attitude.” Soshee frowns. “I wish I was like her. She really is a badass girl.”

“What the hell are you talking about, not like her? You’re not short, but you’re sexy runway-model tall. That’s a big, fat check in the pro column as far as I’m concerned. And trust me, your legs look amazing in that short skirt of yours. And you’ve got red hair. Natural, right?”

She nods. “It’s all me.”