Chapter Ten
MARINA
PAST
“Okay, what about this one?” I say, pouring a mix of vodka, apple schnapps, lemon juice, and something else I mixed in when I got distracted by Miles trying to force a puzzle piece into a spot that it clearly didn’t fit in.
He picks up the glass with skeptical eyes, his trust in my cocktail skills quickly dwindled after I gave him something that included a few different spirits and obviously too much sparkling water, considering he told me it tasted like TV static.
But what is a better way to experiment with making new drinks than plying the guy I’m trying to get into bed with them?
Miles has this whole good-guy morals thing going on. It’s been two weeks since the day when I first saw his naked chest and tried to convince him to take me to bed, and I still haven’t gotten there.
For all of my efforts, I can’t stop thinking about that birthmark right below his collarbone.
All it does is add to his beauty, and I can’t get it out of my head.
The image of him standing there in his swim shorts, his chest bare, and a vein at the base of his neck pulsing at the quick speed of his heartbeat .
It’s cute really, but I’m not used to cute. I’m used to guys who barely learn my name before sticking their tongues down my throat, not guys who care. Miles cares, and even though I’m aching to touch every inch of his body, I kind of like this.
It’s been two weeks full of little touches, of him sitting at the bar and staring at me all night while I work, of me trying to make him good at doing puzzles and failing miserably.
Spending time with Miles feels natural; he makes me feel comfortable in a way I don’t think I’ve ever felt with any other man before.
He raises his eyebrows above the glass as he takes a sip of the drink. I just stand waiting for his opinion.
He puts the drink down, bringing his fingers together in contemplation before smiling up at me. “That one is fucking delicious.”
A smile breaks the concentration on my face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, princess. Definitely add that one to the menu,” he says, picking the glass back up to take another sip before bringing his focus back to the puzzle that is scattered over the top of the kitchen island.
“Ah,” he mutters to himself before slotting a piece into place. And I swear it’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. His concentration face is so endearing.
He must feel my attention on him because he looks up to find me admiring him. Just being in his presence feels precious, like every moment needs to be treasured.
He’s going back to work tomorrow, doing a few flights around the area, and he won’t be back for a few days. I know it’s only been two weeks, but I’m so used to him being around now that it’ll feel weird knowing he’s not sitting at the end of the bar tomorrow night for my shift.
“How come you’re so good at these anyway?” he asks, dragging my attention back to what’s going on in front of me.
A smile picks at the corner of my mouth.
“It’s something I always did with my dad as a kid.
” I pick up a piece from where it sits on the bench top and fit it in between two others.
“My ma used to spend hours in the kitchen, whether she was baking brownies, her panna cotta, peach crostatas, anything. Whenever she gets stressed, she bakes. And when she’s stress baking, you want to be out of that kitchen or you might get a wooden spoon to the ass. ” I laugh.
Miles just looks at me with wonder, as if he’s lapping up every scrap of information I’m feeding him, so I carry on.
“So my pa and I would stick it out in the living room, getting through the mountain of puzzles we had at home. It became a routine, and one of my favorite things to do with him when we could get some time just us. Once I really started getting good at it, I’d get a new puzzle for my birthday, for Christmas, or when I got good grades on a test. Anything was a good excuse for a new puzzle. ”
I home another lone piece before meeting Miles’s gaze once more. “Now that I’m away from them, I like to do the things they love to feel close to them, even when they aren’t around. Puzzles when I miss pa, and baking brownies when I miss ma.”
“Brownies, huh?”
I can’t help but smile at the cheeky grin on his face. “Uh-huh.”
“You feeling homesick right about now?”
I bark out a laugh. “If you want me to bake for you, Miles, all you have to do is ask.”
“Will you bake for me? Please?”
“Will you take me on a flight?” I chirp back. And his smile somehow grows even more.
“Yeah, princess. I can take you on a flight.” He stands up from his seat, rounding the island. “Will you take me for a ride on that death machine of yours?” he asks and a laugh bursts out of me.
“It seems like we are getting a bit of a bucket list going on here,” I say.
“It seems so,” he says, his expression all cheeky charm and I’m such a sucker for it. “But right now, I’m really hungry.”
My body gravitates towards his as soon as he’s on the same side of the stone slab as me, floating into his arms. “You could take a bite out of me,” I say. “I can assure you it would be satisfying.”
Just because Miles won’t sleep with me hasn’t stopped me from having my hands on him in every spare moment we’ve spent together.
There is this pull between us, something inevitable that leads us into each other's arms whenever we get close. It’s something I haven’t felt with guys I’ve dated for months, let alone someone I’ve known for two weeks.
A low growl escapes his throat as he dips his head, pressing a warm kiss to my neck. “I have no doubt about that at all.”
His tongue connects with my sensitive skin and I find myself tipping my head so he has better access. I could stay here forever. I don’t think I’d have a single complaint if he littered my skin with lovely bruises I could wear to work tomorrow.
His finger twines in a strand of my hair and his lips leave my neck. When I meet his gaze, it’s fully focused on the curl wrapped around his finger. “I love your hair.”
My heart surges in my chest. I’ve never had a guy say that to me before. If a guy ever mentions my hair, it’s usually about how it’s annoying or in the way. Never that they liked it.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Does it take a long time to wash?” he asks, and I think I might cry.
“Um, yeah, I just have to be careful with it. It takes longer out of the shower than it does to wash it, I try to preserve the curl pattern as best as I can.”
“Preserve the curl pattern,” he mutters, nodding along. And I can’t do anything but step into him and wrap my arms tightly around his waist. He doesn’t hesitate to hug me back, like it’s second nature to him. Not even second nature, first nature if that’s even a thing.
“Does it get messed up with sleep?” he asks quietly, his finger fiddling with the long ends hanging down my back.
“A little,” I say. “I have a silk pillowcase at home, that helps. ”
“Hmm, interesting.” It’s like I can hear him taking mental notes, and I just smile against his chest.
“What about your family?” I ask, jumping back to our conversation from earlier without letting up on my grip on him.
I remember that first night at Bub’s, the way he diverted the conversation as soon as the topic of home was brought up, so I won’t be surprised if he shoots it down again. It’s not as if we have known each other very long, even if it already feels like we’ve known each other forever—at least to me.
“What about them?” he asks. I have to stop myself from stepping back to look at his face, to see what lies in those green eyes. But I just stay where I am, letting him talk to the top of my head.
“I don’t know,” I shrug. “Did you guys have any traditions like me and my dad’s puzzle sessions?”
He’s quiet for a while, and I can hear his heartbeat quicken in his chest. “We always used to get ice cream on a Sunday after going to visit my grandparents. It was the one thing my little sister and I used to look forward to when we were kids. Sometimes it felt like the weeks dragged on for so long just because we were waiting for Sundays.” A small smile lifts the side of my face that isn’t buried into his shirt.
His tone is funny though, not like someone who is reminiscing about a cherished memory.
I kind of wish I had stepped back so I could see his expression, but his arms are still wrapped firmly around me, so I don’t pull away.
“But no, other than that, we didn’t have many cute traditions or inside jokes, or…
stuff like that. Quality time with my father consisted of him reading the newspaper with his morning coffee and watching over me to make sure I did my homework, right up until the moment I left for school.
That was just kind of the way our family worked.
Grades, wins, successes over anything else. ”
His heart is banging wildly against his chest, as if opening up about that scares him. As if it wants to get out just so it won’t be hurt if I say the wrong thing. But I just say the only thing that feels right to me in this moment. “I’m sorry, Miles.”
He clears his throat, his arms loosening around my back, enough to let me lean back and see the uncertainty in his eyes, but not enough to fully let me go. “It’s okay,” he says. “I turned out okay. I’m glad you got to have that.”
My heart hurts for the little boy who got sold the lie that nothing matters except his success. I press up onto my tip toes, my palm finding his cheek, and press a soft kiss to his lips.
It’s nothing short of magnetic, the way I feel toward this man, and this kiss is no different.
It’s tender, softer than our other kisses.
It feels raw. And when I pull away, the way he’s looking at me isn’t like anything I can describe; the closest word would be admiration.
But then a smile kicks up the corner of his mouth. “So, those brownies?”