Twisted Hate: An Enemies with Benefits Romance

Part of me craved the buzz of a crowd; another part relished the silence. 
Like in most areas of my life right now, I didn’t know what the hell I
wanted.
I drummed my fingers against the counter and scanned the bottle display,
searching for a good drink to start the night, when a familiar voice sliced
through the silence.
“This seat taken?” 
The drumming stopped. Tension locked my muscles in place.
I turned to face the newcomer, already wishing I’d ordered room service
instead of braving a common space when Alex was also roaming the grounds.
My former best friend stood a few feet away, dressed in the same black
turtleneck and pants he wore on the plane. Fatigue lined his face, and a pinch
of concern squeezed my chest.
According to Ava, his insomnia had improved over the years, but there
were still times when he went days without sleeping, only to crash afterward. 
I remembered several instances during undergrad when he would pass out
in the middle of a conversation or study session.
Not that it was my concern anymore.
“Obviously, it isn’t.” I flicked my eyes at the empty stool next to me.
“That’s not what I meant,” Alex said coolly. 
A muscle ticked in my jaw. The bastard never made things easy.
In that case, it is taken.
The words hovered on the tip of my tongue, but Jules’s voice floated
through my head again.
Being angry at someone is exhausting, and it’s been almost two years.
Maybe it’s time to forgive, even if you don’t forget.
Two years.
They’d stretched for an eternity and passed in the blink of an eye all at
once.
In that time, Alex and I had only one moment when things between us
seemed semi-normal—our ski afternoon in Vermont.
I blamed my twinge of nostalgia for what I said next. “All yours.”
A flicker of surprise crossed his face before it smoothed into its usual
impassive mask.
Alex took his seat right as the bartender finished setting up and
approached us. “Thanks for waiting,” he said in lightly accented English.

---

“What can I get you?”
“I’ll have a Macallan neat.” Alex didn’t look at the menu before ordering.
There was no doubt a bar as fancy as this one served Macallan. 
The bartender nodded and shifted his attention to me.
“A Stella is fine, thanks.” The only Macallan I drank was from my bottle
at home, though it now sat empty after I drowned my sorrows over Tanya’s
death in it.
Otherwise, the whiskey was too rich for my med school loan-riddled
wallet.
“Still haven’t graduated to real alcohol, huh?” Alex drawled after the
bartender left to fix our drinks.
“Still haven’t developed taste, huh?” I volleyed back. “It’s okay, man.
They’ll still let you into your billionaires’ club if you admit to liking beer.”
“Beer tastes like carbonated urine.” He delivered each word with his
trademark icy precision, but a tinge of amusement lurked beneath the
surface. “I’m also not discussing taste with someone who once dressed as a
rat for Halloween.” He paused before adding, “A rat who wore a red
bandanna.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, that was one time.” I’d been a gladiator, Superman,
a doctor (not my most inspired costume, I admit), Waldo from Where’s
Waldo, and a thousand other personas for Halloween, yet everyone always
brought up the fucking rat. “I did it to prove I could pull anyone I wanted
even if I was dressed as a rat. And I did.”
The Morgenstern twins. That had been a good night.
The memory of one of my favorite threesomes usually got me going, but
tonight, it did nothing for me. Not even a flicker of excitement or desire.
Weird. 
“That’s what you always say.” Alex sounded unimpressed.
“Because it’s true. Ask the Morgensterns.”
“Whatever makes you feel better.”
A scowl knotted my brow. “You’re such a goddamn asshole. I don’t
know how I was ever friends with you,” I grumbled, accepting my drink from
the bartender with a nod of thanks. 
Alex’s lips curved, but the air between us suddenly weighed heavy with
ghosts from the past—pickup basketball games, late-night study sessions,