Sexiled: an enemies-to-lovers standalone Read online

  Sexiled

  an enemies-to-lovers standalone

  Mickey Miller

  Edited by Elaine York

  Edited by Sue Grimshaw

  Edited by Amy Briggs

  Copyright © 2020 by Mickey Miller

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  To those of us who have lost someone too soon

  Contents

  Foreword

  1. April

  2. April

  3. Morgan

  4. April

  5. April

  6. Morgan

  7. April

  8. April

  9. April

  10. April

  11. Morgan

  12. April

  13. Morgan

  14. April

  15. Morgan

  16. April

  17. April

  18. Morgan

  19. April

  20. Morgan

  21. April

  22. Morgan

  23. April

  24. Morgan

  25. April

  26. April

  27. April

  28. Morgan

  29. Morgan

  30. April

  31. April

  32. April

  33. Morgan

  34. Morgan

  35. April

  36. Morgan

  37. April

  38. April

  Epilogue - Morgan

  The Lying Game - Chapter 1

  Also by Mickey Miller

  About Mickey Miller

  Foreword

  Sexiled, verb

  To be exiled from your apartment or room because your roommate is having sex with someone.

  Hey, can I sleep at your place tonight? I’ve been sexiled from my place.

  -Urban Dictionary

  1

  April

  Galesburg, IL, Saturday Morning – Just Off Campus

  “The fun thing about being single is you just never know where love is lurking.” My friend Faith grins as we walk down the sidewalk. “Who knows, the love of your life could even be here, at this farmer’s market, right now.” She bumps her hip into my side and gives me one of her goofy smirks as we cross the street into the parking lot.

  The farmer’s market has been one of the highlights of the spring since we discovered it. Great produce and products all while supporting the local economy.

  “Somehow, I doubt that. But I do appreciate your confidence."

  She’s right, though. When I broke up with my ex-fiancé Matt, there was emptiness in my heart. At first. But now I feel a great opening up of the possibility of what could be.

  It feels good to have the hot spring sunshine beat down on our skin while we browse up and down the tents for a few minutes.

  There are local artisans, people selling craft beer, and even one booth where some local authors are selling books.

  “Do you want a candle for your room?” Faith asks as we stop at a beauty products booth, handing me a lavender soy candle to smell. "Lavender is healing."

  “It does smell incredible,” I say.

  See, it’s been two weeks since I ended my relationship with Matt. Faith knows I’ve still got some healing yet to do.

  His increasing shadiness, canceling plans, and lack of texting me back ultimately culminated in me finding him, in the freshmen dorm with someone else. The shock and anger coursed through me, I chucked the ring in his face and walked away.

  We head to another area of the market and peruse the fresh produce lining the perimeter. They’ve got raspberries, blueberries, strawberries, and blackberries.

  So far no peaches, which are my personal favorite.

  “I’m going to head to the coffee tent on the opposite end,” Faith says.

  “I’ll be there in a sec. I think the peaches are down here.”

  I head over to the table with crates of peaches and to my sadness, there is literally just one lonely peach left on the table.

  I frown at the farmer behind the table.

  “You just have the one peach left? That’s it?” I ask.

  He nods. “Sorry about that. They sold quick today.”

  I twist my face up and hesitate before slowly reaching for the peach.

  But by the time my hand is wrapping around it, there’s another hand I’m grabbing, instead of the soft skin of the yellow and red peach.

  The big hand wrapped around the peach is attached to a thick forearm, shoulders, and head. Which is attached to a face.

  A young man’s face.

  Obviously a hand has a face, April.

  But this is no ordinary face. He’s older than me but young, and quite possibly the most handsome man I’ve seen in my short life.

  He’s so arrestingly gorgeous, in fact, that my heart proceeds to race, and my palm over his warm skin grows damp.

  My eyes lock with the stranger’s.

  “Sorry but you can’t just scoop in like that. You’re touching my peach,” I manage to say somewhat politely, despite the adrenaline racing through me.

  He laughs. “You would know if I was touching your peach.”

  I arch an eyebrow, indignation coursing through me. “Excuse me?”

  He smirks. He’s got short hair, an athlete’s build, and he’s very tall, much taller than me which is saying something.

  I don’t remove my hand from around his.

  “Never mind,” he says. “You’ve got it wrong, though. This is my peach. And you’re touching my hand.” His voice is resolute.

  “No it’s not. I saw it first.” I dig in my heels. There's no way I'm letting this peach go.

  “Yes, you did a good job at the seeing of the peach. Where you failed, however, was the claiming of the peach.”

  I offer a courteous smile despite my rising blood pressure.

  “I don’t think you understand. I’ve been looking forward to this peach all week,” I try to reason.

  “Well you probably should have been quicker then, shouldn’t you?”

  He grins with a cocky bravado, the kind that conveys assured victory. Two very sexy dimples are prominent on his cheeks. He doesn’t appear flustered, not even in the slightest.

  My pulse accelerates with a mix of attraction and anger.

  “Take. Your hand. Off. My peach,” I command, even surprising myself with the level of teeth clenching I’m doing.

  “Why. Don’t. You. Make me.”

  One of his eyebrow arches, and his tone is full of challenge.

  Blood surges through my body, and I squeeze his hand.

  “Careful. You don’t want to hurt my peach.” He grins.

  “You mean my peach,” I whisper.

  I retract my hand from the peach and put it on his shoulder…I don’t even know why. To push him away or something? Like I would be able to do that.

  Once I’m touching him, even through his shirt, a bolt of electricity runs through me. He’s got a loose green v-neck t-shirt on, which I now realize does nothing to showcase his muscles. But I can feel them.

  I try to lift my hand off…but it feels almost magnetized.

  He notices, and says, “You have the most beautiful eyes. Do you have a boyfriend? Because if not, I’d like to be yours for today…in exchange for half this peach.”

  My jaw drops, and my hand falls from his shoulder. It’s such a strange thing to say, it catches me off guard. Still, there’s something vibrant about the man that draws me into him. br />
  I fall silent, deliberating what to say back to him.

  He steps back. “Wow, giving up that easy? I took you for more of a fighter.”

  My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

  Shoot shoot shoot. I always do this. I always clam up around cute guys.

  He takes a big, juicy bite of my peach. “Oh my God this is so good,” he says. His lips are dripping. "Sure you don't want any? It's my last offer."

  I fold my arms and anger surges back through me. "There is not a single thing you could offer me that I'd want. Not now. Not ever."

  As soon as the words come out, even I acknowledge they’re a bit harsh. But part of me does hate this guy. If only for swooping in like he was entitled to that peach.

  “Sorry to hear that.” He shrugs.

  He puts down a dollar in cash to the farmer, offers me one more eyebrow raise, holding out the peach with a bite in it.

  “The boyfriend deal for half a peach is still on the table,” he offers. “There’s still a half of the peach here. And let me tell you it is good!”

  I cross my arms. I’m pretty sure he’s just baiting me.

  “I don’t date guys like you.” I frown.

  “Guys like me? So…tall? Attractive? Help me out.”

  “Peach stealers. Is that not obvious?” I bite back instinctually.

  He purses his lips and looks down. “Huh.”

  I watch him as he saunters off.

  The farmer behind the table leans in, almost as if whispering. “Holy crap, Miss. Do you know who that was? He’s a famous—”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care,” I bite out. “He was an asshole. I dated one asshole long enough already. I’m not going for two.”

  I sigh and feel Faith behind me.

  “Hey,” she says. “What was taking so long?”

  “Some guy stole my peach.” I frown.

  She gives me a funny look, then glances at the Peaches - $1 sign on the table in front of me.

  “How exactly does one steal a peach?”

  “I saw it first. And he took it.”

  Faith shrugs. “Sometimes you’ve got to be quick. Ready to go over and play some volleyball at the Alpha Z house? The tournament we registered for starts in an hour.”

  “Absolutely.”

  As I leave the area, I notice the man—who the farmer insinuated was some sort of big deal, staring at me.

  I shoot him a dirty look as I leave.

  I’m so absolutely over guys like him. I wish there was a way I could get back at him.

  Lucky for me, it turns out there is.

  2

  April

  “We will win the volleyball tournament today,” I tell Alex and Faith as we head over to the sand courts outside the house.

  They humor me with nods, but I can tell they don’t exactly have my confidence.

  We cross the street to the block where the Alpha Z fraternity house is and the buzz of the crowd gets louder. Today is the infamous Alpha Island Party which lasts all day.

  Dozens of college students spill out onto the patio of the fraternity house and basketball courts, red Solo cups in hand.

  Faith clenches her teeth as we approach the crowds.

  “You nervous or something, Faith?” I ask her as we arrive to the court.

  She scoffs. “Me? No I’m not nervous. It’s not like I get nervous around crowds of hot guys or anything…I’m engaged.” She holds up her ring finger for us to see.

  Alex giggles. “You know you guys, if you got laid, that might alleviate some of the anxiety you’re having.”

  Faith rolls her eyes. “For your information, we actually have been thinking about doing it.”

  I sigh in the direction of the smiling, fun-loving guys and girls on the concrete patio, sitting with their legs dangling off and having the time of their lives.

  Funny. When I got here, I assumed the frat guys were the biggest douchebags around, just by general stereotype and maybe because Matt hated the fraternities. He always seemed jealous when I would tell him I stopped by there with my friends.

  Those frat guys just want to sleep with women, April. They’re shallow as fuck.

  Funny how that worked out, Matt!

  Yes, the Alpha Z’s generally are hot guys, and on a sunny day they might do exactly what they’re doing right now. Basketball shorts hung low on their hip bones. They listen to Dave Matthews Band, say stupid shit like “sun’s out, gun’s out!” and wear muscle T-shirts if they’re wearing any shirt at all. They’re competitive too, and don’t shy away from a little good-natured shit talking in their pickup basketball games, bags, AKA cornhole, or even beer pong.

  I glance over at them laughing and enjoying the party, everyone in high spirits. Why wouldn’t they be? Alpha Z’s May Island Party is the best of the year.

  I should be in a joyous mood today, but the fact that it’s my mother’s birthday today weighs me down a bit.

  After she passed, instead of a celebration, her birthday became a day I dreaded. The celebrations of the deceased take on a tainted aura.

  So my mom is on my mind as we arrive to the Alpha Z house. Tonight will be the dance party, but right now it’s more of a relax, chat and chill vibe. We head upstairs and get drinks from our friend Finn. Faith and Alex have beer, but I stick to iced tea.

  I head down the fire escape with my beverage, not really in a social mood with my mom on my mind. Plus, I’m anxious to scope out the competition before the tournament.

  Also, I don’t feel much like being social right now. My anxiety comes and goes, and this is one of those times I can feel it nipping at me.

  It’s similar to the feeling I'd get all those nights Matt wouldn’t text me back. I’d sleep in agony next to my phone waiting for his text, not wanting to be needy. He’d go incommunicado for a few nights, push me to the brink of calling it quits, then call me the next day with an overly apologetic tale about how busy he was and say how he was so happy I wasn’t one of those “high-maintenance girls” who needed to be told I love you five times a day.

  I played his game. I played the perfect girlfriend. I actually learned not to trust my own instincts because I believed we were truly in love. And true love means you trust the other person.

  I rub my temples, and I can hear a silly pop love song drifting over from the speakers at the party. Stupid high school love songs filling my head with crap. True love doesn’t exist. Why doesn’t someone write a song about that?

  A few minutes later, my friends join me outside near the courts. I take off my denim cutoff shorts, revealing my red bikini bottoms and my sporty white tank top, then grab my volleyball so we can volley.

  A convertible pulls up, and five guys get out in tank tops and athletic shorts. They look and act older than the regular college students. Graduates, maybe? I recognize a couple of them as having been seniors when we were freshmen. They probably came back to campus for this party.

  When my eyes land on the driver’s face, however, I feel something coil inside me. Anger.

  Because it’s the handsome man from earlier…Who stole my peach.

  They head to the other side of the net from us to volley, all five of them are shirtless with sunglasses on.

  Not only does the Peach Stealer have a handsome face, he’s also got abs you could use as a cutting board for slicing said peaches if you wanted to.

  You know. If they weren’t out of peaches.

  Well, just terrific.

  All I wanted was some distraction free volleyball and what I’m getting is a pulse that involuntarily seems to raise as I try to pretend I don’t notice him.

  Mr. Peach Stealer approaches the net, and Faith catches the ball to halt our volley.

  “Hey there, ladies,” he says to all of us. The way the line of his eyesight wafts across all three of us makes me think he doesn’t recognize me from earlier today.

  “Hi there.” Faith waves, and I think she might be shaking.

  But she’s not nervous. Ri
ght.

  He gives us a cocky grin. “So will you ladies be losing to us in the volleyball tournament today, or are you just here to spectate?”

  I squint at him, now able to examine him in his full shirtless, barefoot glory. Dark hair to go with those sexy Adonis belt v-lines. He wears classic black Ray-Ban sunglasses. He’s got to be at least six inches taller than me, which isn’t the norm. I’m used to looking down when talking to guys.

  Did he just ask if I’m here to spectate? Concentration is hard while I’m in his presence.

  He would assume that. Cocky freaking bastard.

  I decide to play dumb and mess with him a little. “Oh why, is there a tournament going on or something? Can we still enter?”

  He lowers his sunglasses and his jaw drops a little.

  “Hey, I know you,” he says. Grinning, he turns to the rest of his guy friends. “Hey y’all, this is the peaches girl I told you about.”

  A ball of anxiety jumps up in my throat.

  He’s told his friends about me? And I already have a nickname? I’m the “peaches girl?”

  His cockiness definitely grinds my gears right now.

  Anger bubbles up inside me. It's coming from all directions, from Matt and true love being dead, from missing my mother, and from life in general.

  Here we are, another hot, sexy man who thinks he can trash talk a bunch of girls and get in our heads and just crush us for no real reason.