Page 4 of Enchanted to Meet You

“It’s kind of sad, honestly,” Rhys continued. “He doesn’t even know you’re out here.”

“I’m allowed to watch a public field,” I said, which was, admittedly, not the devastating comeback I was hoping for.

“Sure. And I’m allowed to stand here and enjoy it.” He nodded toward the parking lot, unbothered. “This is easily the most entertaining thing that’s happened to me all week, so, really, thank you.”

“I don’t even know why I’m talking to you,” I snapped. “You could just leave. That’s an option available to you.”

“I could.” He didn’t move. If anything, he leaned further into the fence post, arms crossed, looking for all the world like he had nowhere better to be—as if he’d come out here just for this. “But it’s not every day I get to watch someone moon this hard over a guy who doesn’t even know she’s alive.”

“He does know I’m alive,” I shot back before I could stop myself, before I could remember that I was supposed to be composed, unbothered, the kind of girl who didn’t dignify comments like that with a response. “He literally talked to me two hours ago.”

“Wow. Talked to you. Groundbreaking.” He pressed a hand to his chest like he was moved. “Did he say your name or just gesture in your general direction?”

Heat crawled up my neck. “He invited me to his party.”

“He invited Sebastian to his party,” Rhys said in a bored tone. “Leah wouldn’t shut up about it in the car. ‘And then the ballet girl ran into him, and he invited her brother, and she got all—’” he did an impression, pitching his voice up into something breathy and ridiculous that was apparently supposed to be me, “’—okay, yeah, sure, cool.’”

I wanted the sidewalk to open up and swallow me whole.

“That’s not—I mean, he said I should come too,” I said, aware even as it left my mouth of how thin it sounded out loud, how different two words sounded stripped of the moment they’d been said in.

“I know him, which is more than I can say for you, apparently, since you’re out here memorizing his pitching form like it’s a personality trait.” He shook his head. “It’s kind of sad, not gonna lie. You’ve clearly built an entire relationship in your head out of two sentences and a bruised sternum.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you nearly broke your nose walking into a door two weeks ago because you were too busy staring at him to look where you were going.” He shrugged, looking unbothered. I was bewildered by the words, not because the situation hadn’t happened (it was at the dance studio and the only reason I hadn’t fully slammed into the door was because my friend pulled me out of the way in time), but because I had no recollection of Rhys being there, let alone watching me. “That’s not exactly subtle, Ainsley.”

I froze. “How do you know my name?”

I only knew of him through Sebastian. There was no reason for him to know me. And even if he did somehow know the names of all of his rival’s sisters, how was he one of the only people in the world who could tell me and Imogen apart so easily?

Something flickered across his face—the smallest hitch, gone almost before I registered it—before the smirk slid back into place, smooth as anything. “It’s a small street. Everyone knows everyone’s name. Don’t flatter yourself.”

As if. I’d only moved to Canada six years ago, and by that time, Rhys was already attending Crofton Academy, giving no chances for our paths to cross. I didn’t know half the people on the street, especially the ones who weren’t the same age as me—like Rhys, who was a year older and in the same grade as my brother and Lavender—and I only knew who he was because of Sebastian.

But the anger was already climbing back up my throat, too hot and fast for me to ignore it and I snapped, “Fine. Then you know I’m Sebastian’s sister, which means you know exactly how much I already can’t stand you.”

“Oh, I’m sure—at least if your brother is anything to go by.” He said it almost cheerfully. He shrugged, looking all too comfortable and innocent. “You know, it’s the highlight of my week every time, getting under his skin. Watching him lose it over one yellow card is better than actual sports.”

“At least I have a personality outside of ruining people’s Friday nights,” I shot back.

“Mm. Says the girl who nearly took my head off with a fist a minute ago.”

“I wish I’d taken your head off. It would spare me from this entire horrible conversation.”

He tilted his head, like he was replaying something specific. “Speaking of taking people’s heads off—last week’s match. The corner kick. Your brother went down like he’d been shot, and you were on your feet screaming before the ref even blew the whistle.”

“I didn’t realize you’d been watching me so closely,” I said drily.

“Hard not to notice a girl screaming like a banshee over her brother’s inability to play soccer.”

I jabbed an accusing finger into his chest before I could think better of touching him. “He’d have scored that penalty if you weren’t such a colossal cheater.”

Rhys’s eyes dipped to my finger, then back up to my eyes, that smug smirk still on his lips. “I didn’t even touch him.”

I throw my hands in the air, effectively ending the contact with him. What a relief. “You’ve never not touched him. You run your mouth the entire ninety minutes and then act shocked when someone snaps.”

“Sounds like a him problem.” Rhys’s smirk widened into a grin. I hated how much he was enjoying this, hated that some small, traitorous part of me was almost enjoying it too, in the way you enjoy picking at a scab. “Anger management runs in the family, I guess. Explains the near-assault a minute ago.”