Blog Tour: Enemies by Tijan


Today is my stop during the blog tour for Enemies by Tijan. Read on to read an excerpt of the book.

Title: Enemies
Author: Tijan
Series: standalone
Genres: Contemporary Romance
Links:

Blurb:
Stone Reeves was my neighbor, and Iโ€™ve hated him since sixth grade.

Enemies, an all-new enemies to lovers stand-alone from New York Times bestselling author Tijan, is available now!

Gorgeous and charismatic, he became the townโ€™s football god, while I became the townโ€™s invisible girl.
He went to a Division 1 school for football, while my father was fired by his father.
His team won the National Championship, while my mother died the same day.

He was a first round pick for the NFL …
โ€ฆ while I made the worst decision of my life.

Now Iโ€™m in Texas trying to pick up the pieces of my life.
But, Stone is here.
Stone is everywhere.

It doesnโ€™t matter that disaster has struck my life again.
It doesnโ€™t matter that heโ€™s the one trying to console me.
It doesnโ€™t matter that heโ€™s the nationโ€™s newest football obsession.

Because for me, he always has been and always will be my enemy.

Excerpt:

โ€œDo not think I wonโ€™t pick you up and throw you in my truck, head first and everything. Iโ€™m two seconds away.โ€
I stopped and stared at him.
Shit. He meant business. He was glaring at me with eyes that said, โ€œDo not fucking fuck with me, you fucking twit.โ€
Well. Then.
I sighed. Iโ€™ll try reasoning instead. โ€œYouโ€™re going to drive me to your house, and then Iโ€™ll pack whatever I need and call a cab to take me all the way back to where Iโ€™m paying rent. Itโ€™s not worth it. Just let me grab a cab now.โ€
A savage curse bit out, and then his eyes flashed.
His singular warning had been when he told me he was two seconds away. In a flash, he grabbed me, and I was airborne, right into the back of his truck. But he wasnโ€™t done. He leapt up, grabbing the seatbelt over me, and pulled it around me, clicking it in place. He had the door shut, locked, and he was already going around the front before I could even push myself upright and then start to reach for my seatbelt.
By then, he was inside, the engine on, and he shoved off into traffic.
โ€œThis is stupid.โ€
โ€œYouโ€™re right. Youโ€™re being stupid.โ€ Cursing, he ducked down as a car sped past us. They knew he was driving because they came up on his driverโ€™s side, their phones up and ready to go. It was a car full of teenage girls. โ€œDammit.โ€
โ€œWhere do you live?โ€
He opened his mouth, then caught himself. His eyes narrowed in the rearview mirror. โ€œWhy?โ€
I just smiled. โ€œNo reason.โ€
He continued to study me in between still watching the road, and with a soft growl, he shook his head. โ€œIโ€™m not buying it. What? Youโ€™re going to tell those girls who are trying to get a picture of me?โ€
โ€œWhatโ€™s the difference? Iโ€™ll know when you take me to your house. Whatโ€™s stopping me from posting it on Twitter, or even posting your phone number?โ€
A litany of curses spewed from him, and the back of his neck was getting red. I was having a heyday with this. It was more fun than I could remember having in a long time.
Until he announced it, โ€œI liked your mom.โ€
โ€œWhat?โ€
โ€œYour mom.โ€ He moved into the far lane, settling back.
I was thinking we had a bit of drive from here, and he settled an arm back on the passenger seat headrest.
โ€œI always liked her. She made me cookies and muffins. And I remember when she tried to teach us to bake cakes from scratch. You were horrible and your cakes tasted terrible, but weโ€™d lie to you. Both of us.โ€
โ€œYou did notโ€”โ€ But I was remembering, and even I hadnโ€™t wanted to taste my cakes.
A tug at my mouth. โ€œSheโ€™d wear that ugly yellow apron. She hated that apron.โ€
โ€œWhat? I loved that apron. Always felt like it was sunshine. Made me feel warm, even in the winter.โ€
I noted softly, โ€œThatโ€™s why she wore it. For you.โ€
His eyes lifted to the rearview mirror, holding mine a second again. He swallowed, his Adamโ€™s apple bobbing up and down. โ€œYeah.โ€ His voice came out raspy. โ€œShe was a good woman, and a good mom. She was a good wife. I could always tell.โ€
I snorted. โ€œWhy? Because she wasnโ€™t wasting away like yours?โ€ Then, I winced. That sounded even bitchier to my own ears, more than I thought it would be. โ€œShit. Iโ€™m sorrโ€”โ€
โ€œBecause you guys laughed.โ€ He kept on talking about my family, ignoring what Iโ€™d so blatantly pointed out about his own, his face hard. โ€œMy parents laughed when they were drunk, and only when they had a party. When there were other people there to laugh with, never the two of them, never the three of us. I was their only kid. I wouldnโ€™t have known better except I half grew up in your home, too, and what I remember the most about growing up was that you guys laughed.โ€
My throat burned.
โ€œYeah, we did.โ€ I looked out the window. A hollow feeling starting to dig in my chest. โ€œUntil she died. We didnโ€™t laugh much after that.โ€
โ€œYou laughed until then?โ€
I nodded. I felt the chinks in my armor widening.
I remembered how he did adore my mom. The two acted as if they were conspiring together during our baking lessons, and any time he was in the house. He congregated around her. She congregated closer to him.
โ€œYouโ€™re the son she never had.โ€ Then, feeling bad about my shot at his mom, โ€œYour mom cooked for us. I remember that one time she tried to teach us to make lasagna.โ€
He cracked a grin, barking a laugh. โ€œYou sucked at that, too. I never knew lasagna noodles could come out hard like rocks until yours.โ€
Fuck him, but I was grinning. I couldnโ€™t help myself.
Those were good times, good memories before the shit ones came. And they came soon after that lasagna disaster.
He quieted. โ€œIt wasnโ€™t the same. My mom versus yours. We had baking lessons at your house once a month, every first Sunday. My mom tried to teach us how to make Caesar salad, the only second cooking session she gave us, and that one we all got fine. Itโ€™s hard to screw up.โ€
โ€œSays you. Youโ€™re perfect at everything.โ€
He didnโ€™t reply.
I didnโ€™t expect him to. It was true. He knew it. I knew it. The entire nation knew it.
Then from him, โ€œNot at being a friend.โ€
My stomach kicked.
Hell no. No way. He wasnโ€™t getting back in. No fucking way.
โ€œOh. God.โ€ I groaned, throwing a hand up to hit my forehead. โ€œCan we not? Can we save the dramatics until Iโ€™m able to call a cab to take me back to my place? For real. Enough bonding or whatever it is we were just doing.โ€
He growled, โ€œYou are such a goddamn bitch.โ€
I retorted, โ€œAnd you are such a goddamn prick. Drop me the fuck off!โ€
โ€œWith fucking pleasure!โ€
He gunned the engine, shooting forward in traffic, and weaving until we were nearing my exit. When he took it, I relaxed. The rest of the way was tense and silent, and I knew both of us couldnโ€™t wait to be rid of the other. Then he pulled over to the curb. He didnโ€™t make a move, his only action just unlocking the door.
His head was turned halfway to me, his jaw clenching over and over again.
Fine.
I shoved forward, my head only swimming a little bit as I climbed out of his truck. Once I shut the door and turned around, heโ€™d already hit the engine, tearing away from the curb.
I only had the clothes on my back, on the side of the street, but Iโ€™d never been so fucking grateful to be away from him.
Now, turning to the house I wasnโ€™t sure I was still invited to live in, I saw that all the lights were off. Lovely.

About the Author:
Tijan is a New York Times Bestselling author that writes suspenseful and unpredictable novels. Her characters are strong, intense, and gut-wrenchingly real with a little bit of sass on the side. Tijan began writing later in life and once she started, she was hooked. Sheโ€™s written multi-bestsellers including the Carter Reed Series, the Fallen Crest Series, and the Broken and Screwed Series among others. She is currently writing a new YA series along with so many more from north Minnesota where she lives with a man she couldnโ€™t be without and an English Cocker she adores.

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