Enemies Abroad Read online

  Being at odds for all these years has made it worth our while to pay careful attention to each other’s every move. Noah only likes chocolate cake? I make sure to order vanilla for Angie’s retirement party just to spite him. Fun, right? We’ve studied each other’s habits with determination and focus. We’ve figured out what makes the other person tick. I realize now, having an enemy is a lot like having a best friend.

  Noah knows me better than anyone.

  The realization brings forth a delirious little laugh.

  I never saw this coming.

  I still don’t actually see how it could possibly work, but I’m willing to try. In the light of day, I won’t shrink back into my turtle shell and give him the satisfaction of seeing me cower.

  I walk right up to him, spread his legs with my hands so I fit perfectly between them, then lean down slowly so he gets an eye-full of cleavage. My lips brush his cheek and I kiss him gently against his stubble.

  “Saturday.”

  It’s a promise.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Ms. Cohen! Are you listening? Our van almost went right off the road!” Alice says with wide eyes. “Lorenzo cussed so loud! It was in Italian but I still heard him!”

  “We really did swerve, I swear. I screamed and grabbed Alice. The Trinity boys were laughing, they didn’t care, but I saw my life flash before my eyes!” Millie insists. “I thought we were going to DIE!”

  It’s Tuesday afternoon and I’m sandwiched smack-dab in the center of all the Lindale girls at a table in the dining hall. I didn’t plan it this way. Noah and I arrived back to the school just after lunch. Our morning was chaotic. Tow truck. Mechanic shop. Long drive back here to Rome. I came to the dining hall after a quick shower and change of clothes, eager to scrounge up something to eat, and my students found me, eager to give me back my phone they found amongst the towels.

  “When we got back here, that’s when we heard something had happened to you!” Alice says, sounding genuinely worried.

  “Where were you, anyway?” Kylie interrupts. “Someone said you and Mr. Peterson got into a car accident.”

  “We were all so worried,” Millie adds.

  “No car accident,” I assure them. “Just a flat tire.”

  “That stinks,” Millie laments.

  Meanwhile Kylie leans forward with her shrewd little stare.

  “Where did you two spend the night?” she asks. “In the car?”

  “A nice family took us in.”

  “Did you have your own room?”

  I don’t even hesitate before lying. “Yes.”

  Kylie hums. “Interesting. The family had that much space? Must have been a big house…”

  This girl is too smart for her own good. Nothing gets by her. If she doesn’t grow up to become a homicide detective, it’ll be a real travesty.

  During her interrogation, she’s got me nervous for a second, wondering if she’ll discover the truth. Then I remember she’s a thirteen-year-old with braces and cystic acne scars. None of this matters.

  “Yup. Huge.”

  She narrows her eyes, trying to get me to crack.

  I take a big ol’ bite of my sandwich and smile while I chew.

  Lorenzo smartly cancels our planned excursion for Tuesday afternoon so everyone has a chance to recuperate from the insanity of Monday’s beach trip. Some of the kids are still swapping war stories. Most have completely moved on and are filming TikTok dances in the courtyard. Gabriella and Ashley set up a laptop in Ashley’s room and are binge-watching Selling Sunset. I use the opportunity to finish the rest of the puzzle I started last week, and then I lounge on my bed. Not to brag, but it’s something I’m really good at.

  I keep my door propped open in case someone needs me.

  Noah’s the only one who does. He finds me in the evening. I didn’t make it to dinner. I skipped it in favor of eating a cupcake and continuing my lounge sesh.

  I’m lying on my bed under my covers, scrolling through social media and melting into my mattress when he knocks and takes a half-step into my room.

  He has his phone and AirPods in hand. He’s wearing sporty sneakers, a Seattle Sounders FC t-shirt, and athletic shorts.

  “Want to go for a run with me?”

  I don’t even pretend to mull it over. “Never in my life. I would not go on a run with Brad freaking Pitt.”

  He laughs.

  I set my phone down. “Is that the sort of thing you’re after? A girl who’ll go on runs with you? Because if so, I can tell you right now, you’ve got the wrong gal. The last time I went to the gym, I accidentally broke one of the treadmills and a full-length mirror which WAS NOT MY FAULT so stop smiling. I was just trying to walk on the treadmill’s slowest setting while catching up on my Bravo shows. Y’know, gym stuff.”

  “How’d you manage to cause that much damage?”

  “I was adjusting the volume on my phone and accidentally dropped it. It shot off the treadmill and shattered the mirror behind me. And the thing is, when I dropped my phone, it tugged my headphones out of my ears and the wires got swept up in the treadmill’s belt. I kept slamming my hand down on the big red STOP button, but it just kept raising the incline. The whole treadmill started smoking. They had to call the fire department because of the fire, but it was tiny. I think they had a picture of my face taped to the front door for a while, warning the staff on duty. But honestly it could have happened to anyone.”

  “Anyone, yeah, definitely. People start fires at my gym all the time.”

  “You’re mocking me. Anyway, it gets worse. On the way home, I stopped and bought this protein shake to try to cheer myself up and it gave me some weird allergic reaction because apparently I can’t eat dates. My tongue went completely numb.”

  “Sounds horrible.”

  “It was. I took the whole thing as a sign that the health and wellness life just isn’t for me. I’m going to leave that to Gwyneth.”

  “Who?”

  “Paltrow.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Yeah, so anyway…enjoy your run.”

  After he leaves, I grab my phone and FaceTime Kristen and Melissa. I have them up on my laptop so their huge faces fill the screen. It feels like I haven’t talked to them in forever, but really, it’s only been a few days. Kristen—for once—is not sitting in total darkness, but she is hiding out in her closet again. Melissa, meanwhile, is cooking dinner for her and her husband. She has me propped up beneath the pot filler over her stove, and I tell her I have a great view of her rack. And I don’t mean her spices. Wink.

  “Thank you,” she says, sincerely. “How’s Rome?”

  “You look tan,” Kristen adds.

  “It’s good, and do I? I’ve been in the sun a lot.”

  “Seeing the sites?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Lose track of any kids yet?” Melissa asks.

  I rap my knuckles on my wooden desk so I don’t jinx myself. “No.”

  “Strangle Noah with your bare hands?” Kristen laughs.

  I look away from my computer’s tiny camera. It’s only for a fraction of a second—that’s it!—but they both immediately catch on to the fact that I’m being weird. Best friends are annoying like that.

  “Why do you look guilty?!”

  “Oh my god, did you strangle him?” Kristen’s eyes are as wide as saucers. “Audrey, you could go to jail for that!”

  “I didn’t! Jeez. Calm down, would you? It’s nothing like that. He just…” I lean closer to the screen and cup my hands around my mouth. “Askedmeoutonadate.”

  “He assaulted you?!” Melissa exclaims.

  I scramble to cover my laptop’s speakers with my hands. “No, you crazy person. He didn’t touch me! Er…well…not like that.” I look to the door to ensure it’s still closed, then I listen for any noise out in the hall. Confident no one will hear me, I fill them in, enunciating my words better this time.

  “He asked me out.”

  “Oh jeez,” Kri
sten groans.

  “Do not say yes,” Melissa warns. “I know he’s hot, we’ve established that, but you have to look past the package. Literally—don’t look at his pants. It’ll only distract you.”

  Kristen wholeheartedly agrees. “Yeah, he’s obviously up to something. I bet he’s going to stand you up. God, he’s such an asshole.”

  “Or he’ll do something worse. That guy has no morals.”

  I wince. “Okay, ease up.”

  “What? Why? I thought we hated him,” Melissa says.

  “We do,” I quickly clarify.

  “Then why do you seem so conflicted over there? Do I have a poor connection or does your face really look like that? Oh my god! Are you about to tell me you actually said yes to a date with Noah Peterson, spawn of the devil?”

  “Yes.”

  The cacophony of sound produced by the two women I call my best friends is nothing short of embarrassing. I have no choice but to slam my laptop closed. Someone knocks on my door.

  “You okay in there?” Ashley asks.

  “Yes! Fine! Sorry.”

  My phone immediately starts blowing up.

  Melissa: What does this mean?!

  * * *

  Kristen: Are you playing the long game here or something? Conning him? Bring us in, girl. We can help!

  I never thought roping my family and friends into my war with Noah would come back to bite me in the ass, but now, here I am, in the weird position of having to defend him. I never thought I’d see the day…

  Audrey: I think he might genuinely be into me.

  * * *

  Melissa: Don’t be naïve!

  * * *

  Kristen: This is NOAH we’re talking about! DO NOT FALL FOR THIS!

  Right. Well. This isn’t going to be easy. I’m not surprised by their reactions. They don’t know everything that’s transpired between Noah and me in the last week, it’d be impossible to fill them in on everything via text message, and, clearly, they can’t be trusted on FaceTime. Also, it seems a little early to be waxing poetic about Noah. We haven’t even gone out yet. How dumb would I look defending him now and then getting played? I mean…I really don’t think he’s out to hurt me, but still, it’s not worth making myself look like an idiot in front of my friends.

  So I tell them what they want to hear.

  Audrey: Don’t worry. I know who I’m dealing with. My eyes are wide open.

  * * *

  Melissa: You believe her, Kristen?

  * * *

  Kristen: Nope. Famous last words if I ever heard them…

  I sigh and turn my phone over so I can’t see the screen anymore. If they’re going to keep texting me, I don’t want to know about it. Besides, it’s getting late and I need to get ready for bed. I take my toiletry bag and pad down to the communal bathroom.

  Someone’s showering when I go in. It happens often enough with five of us sharing the bathroom, but still, everyone seems to stick to their own schedule. Early birds can’t comprehend why people shower before bed and vice versa. I have no stake in the game. I’m an equal opportunity shower-taker.

  I make it to a sink and plop my little bag down on the counter just as the water cuts off and a muscled arm reaches out for a towel.

  Interesting.

  Guess Noah’s back from his run…

  I’ve never had the pleasure (or displeasure, depending on if you asked me this week or last week) of getting to be in here while Noah’s showering.

  I busy myself with my toothbrush and toothpaste. Was the cap always this hard to untwist? Focus, Cohen!

  The curtain rings clink together as he pushes the curtain to one side and steps out. Now, listen, I’m going to paint this picture to the best of my ability, and I’ll probably still come up short, but here we go: Noah wears nothing save for one of the school’s white towels slung low around his hips. Drops of water sluice slowly down his abs. His body? It’s a masterpiece. Someone revive Michelangelo and tell him we’ve got his next muse. He’s chiseled and…wait, did someone just dim the lights and turn on ’90s R&B or am I losing it?

  My body temperature shoots up ten—no, twenty degrees. I don’t even bother trying to hide it; I straight-up fan my face.

  Noah sees my reaction right away. It’s not like I’m being coy about it. My chin is on the floor. I’m gripping the edge of the sink and hunched over like I’m mid-heart attack.

  “You okay over there?”

  I shake my head no, then yes, then no again.

  Apparently enjoying the effect he has on me, he decides to set up shop at the sink right beside mine with a toiletry bag of his own.

  “Clothes,” I eek out the same way a dying person begs for water or air.

  “In a second.”

  He’s in no rush, just going about all his little post-shower duties, getting ready for bed. He has all the time in the world to torture me.

  I should get back to my duties as well. And to my credit, I do try.

  “You’re holding the toothpaste upside down.”

  “Really? You’re kidding,” I quip. “Guess I’ve been doing it wrong my whole life. The paste goes on the brush?”

  He laughs.

  I start brushing my teeth.

  “How was your run?” I ask around the bristles.

  “Not bad. What’d you do while I was gone?”

  “Talked to my friends back home. Told them about us.”

  He hums, encouraging me to go on.

  I finish brushing, spit, and rinse.

  “They think you’re playing me and this is all some big manipulative ruse.”

  “Do you think I’m playing you?”

  “Jury’s still out.”

  He turns and smiles, leaning his hip against the side of the sink. “I could show you how into you I am if that’s what you want. Clear up the confusion…”

  Sheesh. What’s he trying to do? Kill me?

  I gulp and stare at his mouth. “I’ll probably regret telling you this, but I haven’t been with anyone in a while.”

  It feels important that he know that in case we’re about to go there right here, right now in this bathroom.

  He studies me carefully. He’s hanging on my every word. “How long’s a while?”

  It occurs to me that I would have never dreamed of giving Noah this information a week ago. Voluntary facts about my nonexistent sex life? Not in a million years.

  I mimic his stance, leaning my hip against the sink too. “Why don’t you tell me how long you think a while is…”

  “Since Jeff? You broke up with him just after school started last year, right?”

  God, he really does know everything.

  I nod almost imperceptibly, but he still catches it. “Jeff.”

  “Huh.” He says it like that’s the most interesting thing he’s heard all day.

  “You?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t keep track. A while.”

  He crosses his arms. So do I.

  All right, so we’re both a little rusty. We’ll have to get back in the saddle together.

  “Are you going to kiss me then?” I ask, needing to know. It’s something I’ll want to prepare for.

  He mulls it over. “Not tonight.”

  Suddenly I’m distraught. “Why?”

  “Remember what I told you last night? My promise?”

  “Promise? About proving yourself this week? Not poking me with a stick or whatever?”

  He likes how exasperated I’ve become. He’s smiling when he replies, “Exactly. I’ll be good until Saturday.”

  He holds his hands up as if to prove he’s going to keep them to himself, but my brain doesn’t get the memo. All I see is potential. Big potential. I’m calculating the length of his fingers and multiplying by two. Equations are swirling. On the outside, I’m Ms. Cohen, cutesy English teacher. On the inside, I’m a sexual deviant.

  I swear he can read my mind. He knows my thoughts are in the gutter.

  He chuckles under his breath then
comes around behind me to grab my shoulders and turn me back to the sink so I can finish getting ready for bed.

  I look at us in the mirror, two people who seem to fit together like a lock and key. If we were strangers I passed on the street, I’d think we made the cutest couple.

  Noah lets his hands slide off my shoulders and that’s that. We stand side by side, going through our nighttime routine like an old married couple who’s been doing it all their lives.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Even though Noah and I are living right across the hall from one another, over the next few days, it feels like I hardly see him.

  He’s not at breakfast when I get to the dining hall on Wednesday morning, and I don’t get the chance to check if he’s in his room because Ashley and Gabriella invite me to go out shopping with them while the kids are in their Latin class. I intend on just going to have a look, but I should have known that was never going to work out. In the first shop we go to, I treat myself to a little dangly bracelet, and in the second shop, I spot a red dress I’d die to wear on my date with Noah on Saturday. I mean, I’d never actually have the courage to do it, but then Ashley and Gabriella see me holding it and they insist I try it on. Just to see if it fits.

  It’s short and flirty with a halter neck that ties with a little bow. It’s backless and the material hits just at the base of my spine. I barely muster the courage to turn and peer behind me at my reflection in the dressing room mirror, and when I do, I nearly choke.

  “Does it fit?” Gabriella asks.

  “Yes. I mean…I think it does.”

  Before I can stop her, she whips aside the curtain to have a look for herself.

  “HEY!”

  “Holy—”

  “Shit,” Ashley finishes for her.

  They have me spin around so they can get the full effect.

  “You’re getting it,” Gabriella proclaims, as if it’s a done deal.