4. Miles
Chapter 4
Miles
Rex
I think everything looks good for me to propose in the next few weeks.
That’s awesome, man! I’m happy for you.
REX
Thanks, man. I can’t wait.
I type that last message while thinking about the fridge I just stocked, getting ready for his baby sister to come stay with me, and a pit forms in my stomach. It feels like I’m being a bad friend.
It sucks.
Rex is more than a friend; he’s become my family since I moved here. All of the guys have. I can’t imagine what it would be like to live here without them.
So, what the hell was I thinking? Why did I think letting the woman I’ve crushed on for years—the one I’ve been forbidden from dating—move into my apartment would be a good idea? Why did I think this was the best way to honor my friendship with her brother? Putting her in the room down the hall, with only a bathroom between us.
If I start thinking about that, I’ll end up imagining Stella without her clothes—soapy and naked as she showers—and then I’m either going to go insane or do something really fucked.
I should just go have sex.
It’d be easy enough to text someone for a hookup. That’s why I have their numbers in the first place. They always hoped for a repeat, but only a few ever got called. I had to make sure they didn’t get clingy because I wasn’t looking for anything serious. They were just distractions, keeping me busy so I didn’t have to think about who I really wanted.
But over these last few months, I’ve started to feel different. It was one thing watching one or two of my best friends find their partners and settle down, but watching all five of them slowly get picked off by Cupid? It was hard.
Now that Harris and Avery are all settled down, married with a little one, I’m the only one left. The lone bachelor.
But I’m tired of it. I’m over the one-and-dones.
Don’t get me wrong, hookups are great. We both get what we need in that moment. But I’m ready to have someone at home to talk to. Someone to share my day with, celebrate the little things, and work through the challenges with. I want a partner. A best friend who doesn’t have a dick. I want someone I enjoy spending time with, both in and out of the bedroom.
Which meant the playboy era had to come to an end.
The hardest part now is finding someone I can see more with, someone who wants to get to know me beyond my reputation as an NHL player and as just a good time. It’s been a challenge because, honestly, some women are worse than men. I try to talk to them about my day, but instead of listening, they end up sitting in my lap and licking my neck.
Like, no, Cynthia. I’m trying to tell you about something that pissed me off, not get licked like a popsicle. Now I’m annoyed and have a boner.
I guess I’m kind of shooting myself in the foot by letting Stella live with me. It’s not like I’ll be able to bring a woman home while she’s here, but I don’t regret it.
I like knowing I’m helping her out by taking some of the stress off her plate.
At least that’s my excuse for stocking the bathroom with salts, bubbles, and whatever else that lady convinced me every woman needs for her bath. Pretty sure she took advantage of me, but hopefully, some of it works out and makes Stella smile.
All of this seemed like such a wonderful idea in theory, but now that she’s about to be here any minute, I'm starting to think I'm fucking insane.
The knock on the door tells me that thought is already too late.
She's here.
Walking over to the door, I open it with a smile and see Stella standing there, two bags slung over her shoulders, and all she does is give me a small shrug, letting me know she’s just as unsure with this situation as I am.
“Hi,” she says with a tight wave, before finally stepping inside. “You have a nice place,” she adds, turning to admire the apartment, her eyes immediately landing on the kitchen.
I rack my brain, trying to recall if this is the first time she's been here, and I honestly can't remember. I know her entire family has been here at some point, even at one time, but I can't remember if she was one of them. Based on her reaction to seeing my state-of-the-art kitchen, though, I'm guessing this is her first. It makes me proud to see her reaction as she walks around the kitchen, taking in the oversized island with marble countertops. The cherry on top for her is probably the professional-grade oven that I’m sure she’s drooling over.
At least with her staying, maybe it’ll actually get some use.
“Miles, if you're ever struggling to get me to do something again, just bribe me with a kitchen exactly like this one, and I'll probably give you pretty much anything you want.”
She says it so nonchalantly, but my mind immediately goes to the gutter, imagining all the different positions I could put her in before I finally get my bearings.
“Noted,” I say, taking her bags and starting toward the bedrooms. “Let me show you to your room, and then I’ll run down and grab the rest of your things while you settle in.”
“This is all I have,” she says quietly, her eyes still glued on the kitchen as we walk toward it. “Everything else is put away in storage.”
“Do you want to stop by and grab anything? It’s not a mansion, but there’s plenty of room if you want to bring anything extra to make yourself more comfortable.”
“No, this is all I need. If I do end up needing anything else, I can always go get it. Right now, the only thing I’m really excited about is trying out this kitchen later. Outside of that, I don’t want to inconvenience you any more than I already have.”
“Alright, I’ll show you around quickly then give you some time to rest and settle in. I know you're probably exhausted. Pizza’s coming at seven, so you’ve got a couple hours if you need a nap or something.”
“Okay, then,” she says quietly, and I can tell she’s struggling with this. As much as I want to hang out and help her get comfortable, I know I need to give her some time and space.
Instead of hovering, I quickly show her around the apartment and to the guest room that is open for her. Then I head back to the living room where I’ve got my puzzle table set up, and I put on a baseball game to pass the time.
Puzzles have always been my favorite way to blow off steam. I used to do them with my parents when I was in middle and high school. Even before that, when I was a kid, my grandpa and I would sit down and work on a puzzle every time I was at his place. It just became my thing to ground me when I was stressed out.
It usually relaxes my mind and helps me think more clearly, even just making me feel happier in general.
Tonight, though, as the minutes tick by and the pieces click into place, nothing seems to be working.
Nothing is taking my mind off the fact that I should be sleeping instead of thinking about her—or how close she is to me, here in my home.
I haven’t heard much from her since she went into her room, and as much as I’d like to check on her, I know she could use some time to herself.