Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
LOXLEY
I stared at myself in the mirror, wrapped tightly in a towel, my skin still damp from the shower.
In my hand was the fallen tile, the one that had come loose from the wall when Miles slapped it from the other side.
My reflection looked as torn as I felt, half mortified and half ready to march into the kitchen and throw the tile at him, all while telling him to get a better contractor if he planned on being horny in the shower on a regular basis.
Not that I hated what happened. God, I didn’t hate it at all.
It wasn’t his fault he heard me. It wasn’t his fault that I’d.
.. let him. I had been too needy, too lost in the moment, to care when I got louder, knowing full well he could hear me.
But now, staring at the aftermath, my face flushed for entirely different reasons as overthinking sunk its claws into me.
It was official. I’d have to run away again.
The thought flickered, but it was ridiculous and fleeting. There was no way I’d end up lucky enough to get pulled over by another hot cop who’d be willing to put up with me the way Miles had.
The shrill blare of the smoke alarm snapped me out of my spiraling thoughts. For a moment, I froze, the tile still clutched in my hand, before bolting toward the kitchen. The towel was barely holding on as I sprinted, my damp feet slapping against the hardwood floor.
“Uh oh,” I gasped, skidding to a halt. Smoke curled lazily from the open oven, and there was Miles, pulling my dinner out of it with an exasperated look on his face. Thankfully, the alarm stopped blaring as he got everything under control.
“You cooked my prize catfish?” he asked, pointing to the blackened remains on the tray. His expression was somewhere between annoyed and amused, but it was hard to tell if he was serious or just messing with me.
“It won you a prize?” I asked, incredulous.
“Best catch 2022,” he replied, deadpan, as if I should have known. His tone hinted at a story involving tournaments and a proud trophy, though no such backstory had ever come up before.
“You said anything except the gun safe,” I countered, clutching the towel a little tighter in defense of my culinary failure.
“I did,” he said, nodding slowly. “But how was I supposed to know you’d char the poor guy?”
“Excuse me?” I stepped closer, the indignation rising in my chest. “I’m not the one who yanked him out of the ocean and butchered him.”
“He’s a catfish,” Miles corrected, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So he came from the lake, not the ocean.”
“Whatever,” I rolled my eyes, taking another step closer. “I think you just need something to distract you from the fact that you overpaid for tile work in the bathroom.”
His expression shifted into one of mild confusion, which mirrored my own. I had no idea why that came out of my mouth, but once it did, I wasn’t backing down.
With newfound boldness, I slapped the tile in my hand against his chest, pressing hard enough to make my point.
Standing on my tiptoes, I got as close to his face as I dared.
“Next time you want to slap the wall while you’re all hot and bothered, maybe consider the fact that your tile wasn’t installed properly. ”
He grabbed my wrist, his grip firm but not rough.
For a heartbeat, I thought he’d pull me closer, but I slipped my hand free, leaving the tile in his grasp.
Turning on my heel, I walked away with all the swagger I could muster, even adding a little extra swing to my stride.
If I had a mic, I would have dropped it.
Let him stay there, I thought. Let him stew over his overreaction to a fish after what was probably the most intimate moment of my life.
“Lox?” he called after me, his voice calm and closer than I’d expected.
Before I could react, his hand was brushing my hair aside, his fingers grazing the bare skin of my shoulders. My breath hitched. He was too close, and his touch sent a jolt down my spine. My towel suddenly felt less secure, less like a barrier and more like an invitation.
“I don’t really care about the fish,” he murmured, his voice low and disarming.
My heart was hammering now, loud enough I wished the fire alarm was still blaring to drown it out. I nodded, a small acknowledgment that I’d heard him, but I couldn’t bring myself to face him. My thoughts were a chaotic mess, and opening my mouth felt like an admission I wasn’t ready to make.
I tried to step forward again, but his arm slid around my waist, pulling me firmly against him.
My towel loosened slightly, but his hold kept it from falling, a gesture that was both protective and commanding.
His lips hovered near my ear, warm and tempting, while his bare chest rose and fell with his labored breaths.
I could feel his cock pressing against my lower back.
Not hard, but present enough to remind me of what had transpired between us just minutes earlier.
The memory sent a shiver down my spine, and I couldn’t help leaning into him. My resolve to put distance between us was melting like ice on a hot summer day.
“We needed that,” he finally said, his voice low and almost contemplative.
“It’s the only way we could tamp down the energy between us.
” I nodded silently, letting his words wash over me.
He was right, in a way. Whatever had ignited between us in the shower had been building from the moment we met, an unspoken tension was begging to be released.
But just as I started to feel the weight of his statement, he added with a teasing smirk, “But that catfish was meant to be deep-fried. My Gramps was supposed to eat it like it was crow.”
Twisting in his arms, I met his gaze and found the sparkle in his eyes, the tilt of his lips betraying his humor. Of course, he was teasing. It was what we always did, but the uncertainty lingering from the shower left me unsure where we stood.
“I hate you,” I snarled, my tone half-joking, half-frustrated.
He burst into laughter, his head tilting back as the sound filled the room.
The richness of it was contagious, and despite my best efforts to stay annoyed, I laughed along with him.
When his arms tightened around me, I stayed, leaning into his embrace as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You have any other dinner ideas?” he asked, his laughter fading into a soft chuckle.
“Leave me alone for fifteen minutes, and I’ll figure something out,” I shot back, narrowing my eyes. “That fish didn’t look nearly as far gone as your pork chops the other night.”
I stepped back, suddenly aware of the towel still clinging precariously to my body. His eyes flickered, a trace of heat in his gaze before he masked it with a teasing grin.
“But first,” I said, lifting my chin, “I need to change.”
“Promise you’ll come back?” he asked, his tone soft and serious.
“Promise,” I said with a small smile.
In my room, I quickly changed into one of the outfits he’d bought for me when I first arrived. When I returned to the kitchen, Miles was sitting on the couch, the guitar I’d left leaning against it now in his hands. He was strumming a tune, his fingers moving with ease.
“You just relax and write an ode to your fishy,” I teased, rolling my eyes as I passed him. “Don’t forget to mention how it’s better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all.”
His laugh was soft, but the warmth in his smile was enough to send me scurrying away. Something about him made me want to slap him and kiss him all at once, and I wasn’t sure which urge was stronger.
Pulling a head of lettuce from the crisper, I started chopping, a plan forming in my mind. The fish might be charred on the outside, but the inside was salvageable. Sprinkled over a salad, it could still be magic.
As I worked, I found myself humming, new lyrics forming in the back of my mind.
You know how to tease, got me begging for more,
But you step back, leave me wanting what I can’t ignore.
It was Miles. The constant push and pull between us, his relentless teasing, the way he looked at me like he was fighting the same battle I was. He’d draw me in, make me feel like I was the only thing in the world that mattered, then step back, letting the moment slip away.
But it was getting harder to ignore, harder to step back. Harder to let go. I’d barely known him a week, yet it felt like a lifetime of yearning between us. As if we had been battling the wills of one another since the day our hands first touched.
The problem was, in a few weeks, I’d be back in Nashville, ready to face whatever chaos this break had been sowing. He’d stay here, surrounded by his family and friends, living his life the way he was meant to before he met me.
It was foolish to let myself get too attached. I couldn’t risk missing him when I left.
But deep down, I knew it was already too late.