8. Miles
8
Miles
I ’ve never been more grateful for a hot shower. I’m not sure what the people at the front desk thought when they saw two waterlogged individuals trudging into their fancy-shmancy lobby, but thankfully, they seemed to take pity on us. They were even kind enough to offer us a two-bedroom suite. But while I’m slowly finding Veronica less annoying, I’m not quite ready to take our friendship to that level. At least with the connecting room they offered instead, we still have some semblance of privacy.
Plus, it’s probably best that we take a small break from each other. Sure, she’s less annoying, but after spending an entire day in the car together, I feel like we’ve had more than enough quality time.
Emerging from the steam-filled bathroom, I rummage through my bag and retrieve a black short-sleeve button-up shirt and a fresh pair of jeans. It would have been more convenient had I unpacked first, but I was too damn cold to think about anything else as I hurriedly stripped out of my wet clothes where they’re still sitting in a sopping wet pile in the middle of the bathroom. I decide to leave that problem for future Miles to deal with and grab my phone to check the latest text message from my sister.
Blair: So, I got the picture Ronnie sent. Looking good. Although, I have to know how in the hell did she convince you to get in the ocean completely dressed?
Miles: Oh, there was no convincing. I was all but forced as she pulled me in.
Blair: Still. I’d be dead if I so much as tried to pull that, and I’m guessing since she was the one who sent the picture, that she’s still alive... So once again, I have to ask how the hell did she manage that?
Miles: The only thing keeping her alive at this point is the fact that she’s your best friend and that, when wet, she looked like a sopping wet kitten. Even I have morals, and you know I can’t kill a drowning cat.
Okay, so maybe that’s not entirely true. It’s starting to feel like I’m beyond just playing nice for Blair’s sake or because of how her wedding day ended. Maybe that’s how it started, but now I find myself doing whatever I can to see her smile, especially when it feels so damn good to know that I was the one who put it there.
Blair: Hmm, I’m not sure how she’d feel about being compared to a drowning cat. So, what else is on the agenda for tonight?
Miles: As long as the sensation comes back in my hands and feet, I think the plan is to go out for dinner. My body is craving something other than burgers and all the candy your friend force-fed me.
Blair: Are you really complaining about burgers and candy? You must be a load of fun. But seriously, though, it sounds like a blast.
Blair: Oh, and please keep the pictures coming. They’re the only thing making me feel less guilty about not being there.
Miles: I’ll try.
Even after I send the text, I know I won’t actually be trying all that hard. Pictures aren’t my thing, and I’m certainly not going to be the awkward lunatic in the middle of a crowded restaurant taking pictures of my food. I’ll leave that to Veronica.
Plus, I’m pretty sure there will be no time to stare at my plate, since I can already imagine that the second I get some actual food in front of me I’m going to scarf it down. I’m starving, and I wasn’t exaggerating when I told Blair about what we’d actually eaten on the road.
While Veronica had been fine munching on sweets all day, I had reached my limit before we finally stopped and went through a McDonald’s drive-thru. However, a McDouble can only go so far, and I’m definitely looking for something less greasy and more sustaining.
Despite feeling hungry, I also feel oddly bloated and am eagerly looking forward to taking advantage of the on-site exercise room to go for a quick run tomorrow. Or who knows, maybe I’ll go for a run on the beach. When in Rome, right?
Fully dressed and ready to go, I flop onto my bed and wait for Veronica to finish getting ready. Growing up with a younger sister taught me to always expect delays. No matter how much time you think they’ll need, always plan for at least fifteen more minutes.
Then again, Blair has always been known for her perpetual lateness, so maybe Veronica will actually surprise me. However, with the two of them being so close, maybe it’s best I don’t hold on to any extra hope, even if my growling stomach is currently wishing for the best.
Trying to distract myself, I keep busy by doing something I promised I wouldn’t do: Checking in with my work emails. There isn’t much to look at, since it’s just a mechanic shop in a very small town, but a guy can dream. I should be relieved that business seems to be carrying on as usual without me, and that the guys are holding down the fort while I’m away. However, something to distract myself with would’ve been nice, especially as another small grumble escapes my stomach.
A timid knock breaks the silence as I reach for my wallet and keys, stuffing them into my pocket before answering.
While I know exactly who to expect, it still shocks me to find Veronica standing in front of me. She looks stunning in a white sundress, with a light-blue sweater thrown over it, casually slipping off one shoulder. Her short brown hair is perfectly styled, half of it pulled back and fastened with an oversized white bow.
It’s obvious she’s wearing little to no makeup, with freckles visibly lining her nose. But as my eyes scan her from top to bottom I find it difficult not to stare. How big of an idiot did Pete West have to be to fumble this bag so badly?
Perhaps it’s only because the last time I saw her, she was nothing more than a waterlogged mess, but now it’s impossible to ignore the fact that she looks incredible. I know I need to look away, but I just can’t get myself to follow through.
“So, what do you think?” she asks, clearly amused by my reaction as she lifts the ends of her dress and shimmies from side to side. “Am I still giving drowned cat?”
I roll my eyes. “Of course Blair would tell you.”
“Duh! What did you expect? She tells me everything. Believe me, Broody Bennett, I know all your dirty little secrets,” she teases with a wiggle of her eyebrows, even though I actually find myself wondering how much of that is the actual truth. Those two were attached at the hip growing up, and I wouldn’t put it past Blair to share both the good and the bad with her best friend.
“Can we just go and get some dinner? I’m starving,” I say, choosing to ignore the fact that she likely knows more about me than she should as I shut the door behind me. Plus, I’m not particularly in the mood to tell her just how good I think she looks. That’s not the type of relationship we have, and I plan to keep it that way.
“Fine, but for the record, I’d say you clean up mighty nice there, too, but I don’t know...” she trails off, following after me. “For you, I kind of liked the whole soaking-wet look you had going on. Who knew you had all those muscles underneath that shirt of yours?”
Once again, I decide to ignore her words and start the trek down the long hallway. I’m way too hungry for this.
“You really expect me to eat that ? It looks like something Bubba threw up.” I all but gag as I watch her pick up the oyster and slide the meat into her mouth.
“They’re amazing. Seriously, just try it,” she encourages after finishing, then grabs another one and pushes it toward me.
I’m sure I look like a little kid as my mouth twists in disgust, but can anyone truly blame me? That doesn’t look like something that should go into anyone’s mouth, let alone mine.
“Seriously, Bennett?” she asks, shaking her head. “Come on, I ate these when I was a little kid. Surely you can stomach one now as a thirty-one-year-old man.”
“That’s the thing. I’m no longer a kid who just puts anything in his mouth. I know what I like and what I don’t, and just by looking at that, I can tell it's something I’ll hate.”
Maybe I should give it a chance, but given the visceral reaction I’m having just by looking at those things, I can only imagine the ammo I’d give her if I tried one. I’d likely not just gag, but also puke.
“Fine. More for me then,” she happily decides as she sets the oyster back down on the platter, moving the whole thing closer to her. “But you know, they say that oysters are a natural aphrodisiac.”
I’m not sure why she thinks that’s some kind of draw, and my face says it all as I raise an eyebrow once again in her direction. “Are you planning on getting some action tonight?” I ask, my gag reflex tested all over again as I watch her slide yet another one into her mouth.
“Who knows?” she says, shrugging one shoulder, a wicked smile appearing on her face. “I’m a single woman now. Plus, they say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, so maybe that’s exactly what I need to be doing.”
My lips curl into a frown. “You really think that’s a good idea?” I ask, raising my glass of wine to my lips. Sure, I was the one who brought it up initially, but now that she’s actually considering it, the idea starts to annoy me more than I expected.
“Why not?” she asks, clearly not on the same page as she dismisses my worries. “I’m supposed to be using this time to forget about my troubles back home, and letting go with a good orgasm sounds pretty tempting right about now.”
My eyes go wide as I do everything in my power not to spit out my drink. I definitely don’t need to be thinking about Veronica having any kind of orgasm. I suppose I can understand the pleasure and relief an orgasm brings, especially when you’re looking for a much-needed distraction, but I think I’d much prefer she find another way to stay distracted.
I clear my throat. “But why complicate things by bringing a complete stranger into the mix?” I ask, before lifting my glass once more.
This time, it’s her turn to lift a questioning brow. “Are you volunteering as tribute?”
I can’t fight it anymore and actually choke on my wine as I attempt to regain my composure. “N-No. Of course not,” I stutter, my cheeks and ears turning a bright shade of red.
“Chill.” she giggles, shaking her head as she reaches for her own glass. “I was only kidding. Can you even imagine? Blair would kill us.”
I wish I could laugh this off as effortlessly as she does, but I struggle to find the humor, especially when the joke comes at my expense. And worst of all, despite what she’d just suggested—joke or not—she’s still as poised as ever, while I look and feel like a damn clown.
“Good, because I can assure you, something like that will never happen between us.”
“Promise?” Her lips curl into a teasing grin as she swirls the liquid in her glass.
“I can promise you, Vee. Nothing is ever going to happen between the two of us.”
Sure, she may be sexy as hell, but I don’t ever plan on crossing that line with her, and I’m positive that she feels the same way. We hate each other, or at least I sort of do—she’s weirdly grown on me these past few days, even if she still insists on stuffing weird and slimy food into her mouth. I thought the candy was bad, but those suckers are a million times worse.