5. Liam

The next morning,I wake to perfect tropical sunlight streaming through a gap in the curtain. I throw a look at the bed, but Matthew isn't there. I can faintly hear the noise of the shower.

Stretching, my mind replays everything that happened between Matthew and me yesterday.

From our initial surprise and disgust at the airport to the way we settled into an uneasy truce last night. It was weird to discover how well we actually know each other.

Matthew comes out of the bathroom, shirtless, his hair damp.

Fuck me.

Okay, so Matthew's body isn't anything like the gym bunnies I hang out with, but there's something about the lean lines and the way his skin looks like it would be soft to the touch that has my cock stirring.

Matthew glances over and catches me sneaking a look.

Fuck.

"That's a whole lot of pasty white on display," I say, trying to cover up that I was so obviously checking him out.

Matthew rolls his eyes as he rummages in his suitcase for a shirt. "I have a desk job. Besides, I thought we were keeping this professional?"

I stretch lazily. "I figure we've got to indulge in a little insult exchange in private, get it out of our systems so we can keep up the front in public."

"So is this where I tell you that your snoring is like listening to an orchestra of pugs?" he asks as he buttons a short-sleeve shirt.

"I've never had complaints from my overnight guests before. But maybe that's because they're so satisfied and sated they aren't bothered about menial things like snoring."

This time, Matthew rolls his eyes so hard it's like he's attempting an inventory of his brain.

"Maybe they have a litany of complaints, but they're so desperate to escape that they don't bother wasting time mentioning your snoring," he retorts.

I give a half snort. Matthew has always been quick with the comebacks. It's one of the things that made battling him so frustrating.

I move to sit up on the couch, the sheet slipping off my body to reveal me only in my boxer shorts.

Matthew's eyes fix on my abs for a second before he seems to catch himself.

"You need to have a quick shower. Breakfast starts in a quarter of an hour," he says as he turns away.

* * *

At breakfast, we're greeted by Matthew's colleagues and their partners. They're a pretty chill group, except for Paul, of course.

I make a beeline for the buffet and load up on fruit, pastries, and cooked food. Buffet breakfasts really are one of the best inventions ever.

"You guys did a great job in the quiz last night," Henrietta says as I settle down in the chair next to her. Her frizzy hair seems to be fighting a losing battle in the humidity, sticking out around her face like a halo.

"Thanks." I tuck into my scrambled eggs.

"So, how did you guys meet?" she asks.

Matthew and I discussed this yesterday, so I give her the answer we agreed on.

"We met online and then hit it off in person. Right, pookie bear?"

Matthew looks up from his croissant. "That sounds about right, snuggle muffin."

"We're still trialing pet names for each other, aren't we, babycakes?" I say smoothly.

He tilts his orange juice in my direction, almost like he's toasting me.

"It's so hard to come up with one name to encompass all the aspects of your personality and what you bring to my life, love nugget," he replies.

I have to hide my smile at that, and when I glance at Matthew, there's a trace of a smirk on his lips too.

After a lifetime of having Matthew as my enemy, it's weird being on the same team as him. But subtly needling him while pretending to be his boyfriend is almost…fun. Because I know Matthew can give as good as he gets.

But when I look back down at my breakfast, the memory of when I actually did meet Matthew slides into my mind, and any thought of smiling disappears.

Because I met Matthew during the worst time of my life.

My parents had split, and I'd been dragged across the country with my father. I'd lost everything. My house. My friends. My mother. My dog, Molly.

It was brutal.

My dad had inherited a house from his aunt, which is why we moved to Bainfield. Located by the river, it was the only original house left because the rest of the neighborhood had been swallowed up by new mansions.

I'd been in the backyard, tossing a ball against the side of the house, when I'd spotted a golden retriever pressing his nose against the fence.

I'd let him in, and we'd played fetch for a bit. As the dog happily retrieved the ball for me and dropped it at my feet, tail wagging, I'd forgotten about the mess of my life.

"Hey, that's my dog."

I jerked my head up. A boy was standing at the fence. He was about my age, with dark hair and a pale face, dressed in a neatly pressed shirt and shorts. Whereas I was in bare feet, wearing the same T-shirt I'd worn for days.

"We're just playing," I said.

"Max. C'mon," the boy called.

But Max didn't budge, eyes on my ball.

"Matthew!" A woman came out onto the back patio of the house next door. She had a smiling face, like she'd just finished laughing. "I've just made some cookies. Come get them while they're still warm from the oven."

The boy retreated back into his house wordlessly while my own tummy grumbled at the thought of cookies. My dad had done a basic grocery shop, but I knew there was only bread and peanut butter in the house for me to eat. He was currently buried in his study, and I was under strict instructions not to disturb him.

I stayed outside, imagining the scene inside the mansion next door. A mother fussing over her son, serving him cookies and juice, maybe giving him an extra hug just because.

There was a squirmy feeling inside me that kept growing and growing.

With my stomach still growling, I finally remembered I had a half-eaten Snickers bar in my bag.

I retrieved it, then returned to the back steps to eat it.

Max came to sit beside me as I ate my Snickers. I pressed my body into his warm fur. Having him there provided some comfort to the swirl of emotions inside me that I couldn't seem to switch off.

When I finished, I'd offered Max my wrapper to lick.

"You're not supposed to feed chocolate to dogs." Matthew's voice had a superior tone to it, and when I snapped my head up, he was watching me from the other side of the gate, one eyebrow quirked. There were cookie crumbs around his mouth.

Fury had risen up inside me, so strong it almost knocked my breath away.

"Well, you're not supposed to look like a demented chipmunk, but you do," I'd replied.

His mouth had dropped open, and he'd stared back at me for a few moments. Then, his eyes had narrowed.

"Well, you look like a psychotic raccoon," he'd said.

And that was how it all began.

I'm drawn out of my memories by someone saying my name.

I raise my eyes to find a grown-up version of Matthew staring at me from across the table. Matthew, the boy who had everything: the perfect house, the perfect family, the perfect brain that just got stuff as quick as teachers could say it.

He quirks his eyebrow, and for a second, I'm reminded of the eyebrow raise from the day we met. But this time, it's accompanying a questioning look. Almost an "Are you okay?" expression. It's weird for Matthew to look at me with anything other than disdain.

I guess it's obvious I've zoned out.

I force one of my cocky grins onto my face.

"I'm going to grab seconds for breakfast. It takes a lot of energy to keep this machine functioning at full capacity," I say.

"I wouldn't want to see you function at anything less than full capacity," Matthew quips back. But I can feel his questioning gaze as I head back to the buffet.

Fuck. Being around Matthew is dredging up memories I'd prefer to forget.

Can I survive a week of it?

I hang out at the pool in the morning with the other partners while Matthew is in a meeting. Everyone else is in vacation mode, and cocktails are already being guzzled like flavored water.

Despite my uneasiness lingering from breakfast, it's a good reminder that as far as gigs go, this is not a bad one. I'm literally getting paid to hang out by a pool at a tropical resort and work on my tan. It's almost worth putting up with Matthew for that.

At midday, Matthew and his colleagues emerge from their meeting, blinking as they step into the bright light, and we all have a buffet lunch at the open-air restaurant. Even though we're in the tropics, you can't escape the approaching festive season, with a baby palm tree set up in a corner dressed in Christmas baubles and tinsel, plus a figurine of Santa holding a surfboard.

Matthew seems a bit off as everyone chats over lunch. He looks like he's biting the inside of his cheek, which I know is something he always does when he's upset.

We head back to the villa to get ready to go on the planned snorkeling excursion this afternoon, and I can't keep my mouth shut.

"How did your meeting go?"

Matthew looks surprised I've asked. He blows out a breath. "Okay, I guess."

"You guess?"

He runs a hand through his hair. "This retreat is supposed to be about hammering out the strategic plan for the company for the next five years, but there are a few points of disagreement."

My forehead creases. "I don't get it. Aren't you the boss? Don't you just get to decide this stuff?"

"Technically, yes, but there are other members of my management team who are also stakeholders. And I want all team members onboard with my vision." He lets out another sigh, and I can see the tension around his eyes.

Seeing Matthew in grown-up mode is weird. And even more weird is my urge to make him feel better, which makes absolutely no sense.

Instead, I turn around to rummage through my duffel bag.

"So, what else do I need for this snorkeling trip?" I ask.

"Just your swimsuit, hat, and sunscreen. There will be the snorkeling gear on the boat."

"Okay. Thanks."

Matthew and I get ready in silence. I don't want to make any snarky comments because it feels like kicking someone when they're down. And I realize I don't really know how to talk to Matthew if I'm not insulting him.

We head down to the beach, where a shallow-bottomed boat is waiting to whisk everyone out to the edge of the reef.

I can't help my eyes flicking to Matthew during the boat ride. He stares contemplatively out at the deep blue of the sea. What's going on in that brain of his?

The boat zips through the water, only slowing down when we near the coral reef fringing the lagoon.

Once the engine is cut, everyone starts to chat excitedly as they claim a mask and flippers.

I hang back in the rush before coming forward to find some snorkeling gear to fit me.

The captain of the boat instructs us to stick with a buddy when we're out on the reef, and I suddenly get why Matthew was desperate enough to hire someone to be his date for the week. It would have totally sucked to have had to play the third wheel with another couple.

I slowly sit on one of the bottom steps and slide on my flippers, trying not to show my nerves. No one else seems concerned as they climb down the ladder into the water and kick off in the direction of the reef.

Matthew and I are the last people left on the boat besides the captain.

"You ready to head out?" Matthew asks as he adjusts his mask over his face.

Fuck. I hate the thought of admitting any weakness to Matthew, but he's going to figure it out soon enough.

"Um…I've never been snorkeling before," I admit, my mask and snorkel still dangling from my hands.

Matthew looks like a surprised goldfish as he turns to me.

"Really?"

"Yes. Really. Some of us didn't get whisked off to tropical holidays when we were kids."

Matthew doesn't seem to know what to say. He must have been aware of the difference between our circumstances growing up. He was in the mansion while I was in the hovel next door. It wasn't exactly a state secret.

He shuffles from one foot to the other, which is made even more awkward because he's wearing flippers. "Do you want to do some practice breathing through your mouth now while we're still on the boat?" he asks.

"Okay."

While it sucks to show a vulnerable side to Matthew, does it really matter if I screw up in front of him? He's been there for some of the most embarrassing moments of my life. Hell, he caused most of them.

I slide the snorkeling mask on and bite down on the mouthpiece. Instinctively, I try breathing through my nose and freak out when I can't get any air. Then, I remember to use my mouth.

"That's it. Just nice and slow." Matthew's taken off his mask to watch me carefully, and his voice is calm.

I spit out the mouthpiece so I can talk. "You realize that I've spent years becoming efficient at breathing through my nose while my mouth is occupied, and now you're asking me to reverse it."

Matthew rolls his eyes. "Keep going. It becomes natural after a while."

This is the good thing about working for Matthew. There's none of the awkwardness I would feel if he was a normal client and I was delaying him from snorkeling.

And he's right. After a while, my breathing settles into a natural rhythm. Matthew is surprisingly patient through the whole process and resists the mocking this opportunity allows. It reinforces the fact that as much as we still seem to bring out the teenage versions of each other at times, we both have actually grown up.

"You ready to try in the ocean now?" he finally asks.

I eye the water dubiously.

"So we just jump off the boat, snorkel around for a bit, and hope like hell the boat is still here when we come back up?" I clarify.

"Correct."

"Have you seen the movie Open Water?" I ask.

"Yes, I have. But I like to think I'm not destined to die in the middle of the ocean with you," Matthew says.

"That would be ultimately ironic," I say.

"Although you being here indicates someone or something in the universe has a sadistic sense of humor," Matthew muses.

I can't help snorting a laugh at that.

"But just imagine Ms. Beauton's smile when she sees the death notices," I say.

A surprised laugh bursts out of Matthew. Fuck. The sound stirs an emotion inside me I can't put a name to.

Is this the first time I've ever made Matthew laugh without it being at me?

Ms. Beauton was our sixth-grade teacher. It was the year when the war between us was at its peak, and Ms. Beauton spent most of her time trying to referee the escalating pranks between us.

I'm fairly sure fantasies of a slow and painful death for both of us featured heavily in Ms. Beauton's dreams that year.

"Well, I guess making Ms. Beauton happy would be the silver lining I'd comfort myself with while I'm drowning," he says.

I can't help huffing out my own laugh at that.

Matthew grins at me, and I'm grinning back at him. Which is possibly a miracle that means the Bible will need to be rewritten. Matthew seems to come to that realization at the same time I do, and he breaks our gaze, staring out at where the other snorkelers are exploring the reef before glancing back at me.

"You okay to go now?"

"Sure."

I try to calm my nerves as I prepare to enter the water.

I'm sure Matthew's not going to lure me to my death out here in the ocean, if only because pretending to grieve over his boyfriend will derail the rest of his retreat.

Matthew must sense some of my hesitation. "It's worth it, trust me."

"Because trust has been such a thing between us over the years," I mutter.

He laughs again, and it appears the novelty of making him laugh hasn't worn off because a weird flush goes through me.

I don't want to dwell on that, so I adjust my mask so it fits right, put on my flippers, and then launch myself into the ocean.

Oh, holy fuck.

Matthew's right.

It is so worth it.

It's like being suspended in a completely different world. A school of bright-yellow fish swims right in front of my face. They dart away, moving in a shimmering shadow, as I paddle toward them,

I suddenly realize Matthew is right next to me.

He points, and I realize we're not actually at the reef but the sandy shallows leading up to it.

Matthew kicks in the direction of the reef, and I follow.

The explosion of color of the coral and fish when we reach the reef is jaw-dropping. It's as if Mother Nature was given a box of crayons and a bottomless mug of caffeine, then told to go wild.

I'm aware of Matthew floating next to me, and he points out a fish with a long nose poking about among a piece of coral that looks like a tree.

Another group of electric-green fish swims past, and I spot two black-and-white fish swirling around each other. I grab Matthew's arm to point them out.

My own breathing and the scritch-scritch sound fish make as they nose around the coral are all I can hear.

Matthew and I stick together, lazily exploring the reef.

Maybe this is the only way Matthew and I will get along. Suspended in an underwater paradise where we can't actually talk. It's surprisingly enjoyable to follow him around on the reef, pointing things out to each other.

The minutes slip by, and after a blissful half-hour, I realize Matthew has surfaced, so I follow his lead.

He pushes his mask off his face, treading water, and the brilliant blue of his eyes matches the sea around us.

"You doing okay?" he asks.

"Oh my god, it's incredible," I say before I can stop myself.

"I told you it was worth it."

"This is one of the few times you might be right," I concede.

I look around and discover the boat is two hundred feet away now. Most of the other snorkelers are heading back, with some already on the boat. Distant voices travel to us, carried by the soft tropical breeze.

"I guess we should head back to the boat," I say.

"Yeah, we should."

I lead the way this time, and Matthew follows. But we continue to point things out to each other. A bright-blue sea star. A knobby sea cucumber. A fish with a beak like a parrot.

When we finally surface again and remove the masks, our words spill over each other as we climb back up the ladder onto the boat.

"Did you see that moray eel in that hole?

"Yes, it was amazing. What about those tiny blue fish?"

"The huge schools of them?"

"I know. I can't believe the colors."

I'm grinning. He's grinning too, his dark hair damp and starting to curl, his eyes alight with happiness.

"You guys have a good time then?" Henrietta asks as she removes her flippers.

"Ah…yeah." I blink, suddenly aware of the other people around us as I sit to take off my gear.

Matthew sits next to me and bends over to unfasten his flippers.

His body, which I noticed this morning, lurches up against me as the engine of the boat starts, and I stiffen.

I can't control my gaze as it follows a droplet of water sliding down his chest to where it connects to his happy trail that leads temptingly below the waistband of his board shorts.

Fuck. What am I doing?

I raise my gaze guiltily, only to find Matthew staring back at me. His gaze flicks to my torso, then back up to my face, and there's no denying the heat in his eyes. I'm pretty sure there's something similar in my expression.

Holy shit.

This is Matthew O'Connor. This is the guy I spent most of my childhood and teenage years plotting against.

And, okay, the adult version of Matthew seems like an improved version of the teenager, but deep down, I'm sure he hasn't changed that much.

I swallow hard, looking out at the smooth blue water the boat is plowing through.

I'm here to do a job.

The fact I find Matthew attractive is completely irrelevant.