Maitino One Shots

The Girl in Black

Prompt: Enemies-to-lovers.

Author's Note: A true enemies-to-lovers story probably needs to be longer than a one shot to truly capture their distain for each other before giving into the inevitable, but this is my take on it. And no, I didn't intend for it to be 12,000+ words, but here we are. I lost all control about 10,000 words ago.

Also, an immensely huge thank you to MestreNaoMorreu_ for a pretty kick-ass beta read of this one, and for making me realize that the easy story and the right story aren't always the same. Thanks for keeping me honest!

Now...here we go!

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I hate her the moment I see her.

Actually, technically even before that. Because I know her type.

I'm wedged on a stool at the edge of the bar at a club that Sophie has dragged me to very much against my will. She showed up at my house tonight, unannounced, took one look at my sweatpants and t-shirt and book in my hand, and shook her head violently.

"No, no, no. Nope. Uh uh. It is Friday night. You're not sitting here with your book and tea, grandma. Let's go. Upstairs. Now."

I took in her outfit, leather pants with a low-slung belt, red tank top, and killer boots, and I knew I was in trouble.

No amount of arguing would change my best friend's mind as she marched me upstairs and began pawing through my closet. I waited, filled with a growing sense of dread, as she finally emerged triumphantly with a pair of black jeans and a silver halter top I forgot I owned.

I groaned. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. Get dressed. We're going out. I've got the perfect place, just for your people."

I made a face at her.

"My people? So we're going to a museum dressed like hookers?"

Sophie made a face right back.

"Not those people. Now get dressed. And we're doing something with your hair too!" she informed me as I sighed and peeled off my perfectly comfy t-shirt.

So now here I am, nursing some ridiculous cocktail at Madrid's newest lesbian club, feeling far too old to be doing this, and counting the minutes until I've satisfied Sophie's requirement. As I sip my mysterious drink, my eyes find my friend on the dance floor surrounded by women, a couple of whom are giving Sophie appreciative looks, and I wonder what it means that my friend is getting hit on more than I am.

I shake my head and glance at my watch. I've been here forty-five minutes and I figure at the hour mark I can make a bid for freedom and my couch.

I look back up, and that's when I see her. She's standing on the edge of the dance floor, with a group of other women who are clearly her friends. They're young, all sipping drinks, not bothering to hide the fact that they're checking out the crowd of dancers, and though they're all dressed similarly - some version of tight pants, even tighter shirts, and come-fuck-me boots - she somehow stands out.

Slim and slightly taller than most of her companions, her hair is cut in a sleek bob just below her chin. She's wearing all black, though it looks like her shirt, which really barely qualifies as such, is cut through with something sparkly, and it leaves plenty of skin on display between the hem and the pants sitting low on her hips. Her sharp eyes are darting across the dance floor, and I get the impression that she's quickly assessing everyone she lays eyes on and finds most of them wanting. There is an air of selectivity in her manner, as if despite the way she's presenting herself, she's not just going to take anyone home tonight. And she's definitely taking someone home - on that point I have no doubt - this girl is on the hunt.