10. Miles
10
Miles
M aybe Veronica is right and there’s something to be said about yoga’s ability to calm the mind, because I’m experiencing the exact opposite as mine is a trainwreck of thoughts as I continue on my run.
The salty air, the crashing waves, the gorgeous blue ocean—running by it should feel completely euphoric, an experience that will stay with me forever, yet I can’t seem to enjoy it the way I should.
I’ve always been a runner. As a child, I watched and longed for the camaraderie of playing on some sort of sports team, but despite all my begging, my dad and grandma never signed me up, leaving me to sit on the sidelines while all the other kids played. I had to learn the hard way that the only basketball or football teams I’d be playing on would be the ones on the playground.
Running was something I could do for free and provided an amazing escape not only from the confines of the tiny, dirty apartment I’d grown up in but also from all my troubles. While my sister found solace from hers through music and photography, I’d found mine through running, and of course tinkering with things, which eventually turned into my love of working on and fixing up cars.
However, I’m completely off my game today, and it all started when Veronica opened that damn door this morning wearing... well, whatever the hell that revealing outfit was, showing way more skin than I ever cared to see on my little sister’s best friend. I don’t want to see her like that. I don’t want to notice how perky and full her breasts are, or how soft and smooth her skin looked under that thin, sheer fabric.
I wouldn't say I see her as a sister, especially since I’ve always made a point to avoid thinking of her like that—or really, thinking of her at all. She’s very much cemented herself as my sister's obnoxious, pain-in-the-ass best friend.
Sure, she’s undeniably beautiful, but even as we grew older, I still always found it easier to dislike her than to ever think of her as someone I’d want to look at in that way.
There’s no denying, though, that the past few days I’ve gotten a glimpse into what my sister sees when she looks at Veronica. Her constant energy might be exhausting, and while I don’t consider her my friend just yet, I’ve surprisingly grown to not totally hate every second I’m around her. I’m actually starting to enjoy her company, at least when she isn’t trying to force feed me nasty-ass seafood or candy.
However, dinner and what we ate last night are the furthest things from my mind as my feet hit the sand beneath me—Veronica is all I can think about now. One would hope I’d be able to let my mind break free from that strange little encounter this morning. I’ve seen women wear far more risqué lingerie and outfits.
Fucking hell, even now, all my brain can think about is her current outfit—those tight yoga pants that cling to her perfectly round ass and the sports bra that, while it covers the important parts, leaves a nice peak of cleavage. Not to mention the fully exposed skin of her tight stomach.
Pete fucking West is truly one of the dumbest men I’ve ever met. While I’d made it a point to spend as little time with him as I could, I’d unfortunately, had a front-row seat just days before their would-be wedding as he attempted to body-shame her for wanting to eat some donuts. While I called him out that night, I’m even more worked up now. What the hell could he have possibly disliked about how she looks? Her body is perfect—each and every curve—and I’d do just about anything to run my hands all over it.
God, why the hell can’t I stop thinking about her damn body? And worse, I shouldn’t want to look at it, let alone touch it.
I force myself to keep running, but a quick glance over my shoulder pulls my attention away as I slow my pace. I can see Veronica, but I also spot a group of men, two of whom are making their way toward her.
I’m ninety percent sure she isn’t in any danger, especially since the man doing most of the talking is casually tossing a volleyball up and down in his hands. Before I can stop myself, I turn around and run straight toward them.
“Hey Ronnie!” I call, my voice straining to be heard from this distance, but thankfully she seems to hear me as she glances over her shoulder with a smile. “Are you ready to head back?” I ask, more winded than I should be, but I hadn’t exactly paced myself given how fast I high-tailed it back here.
With a sharp wrinkle of her brow and a scoff, she dismisses my idea with a slight wave. “We haven’t even been out here for a full thirty minutes.” She shushes me before looking at the two men, who seem to check me out and assess me exactly like I’m doing with them. “And Jace and Benson here just invited me to play volleyball with them.”
“Oh, yeah?” I ask, doing my best to control my breathing as I close off the rest of the distance between us. I stand up straight as I walk directly behind Veronica and place a protective hand on her shoulder.
Okay, so usually I’m not the type of man to feel the need to mark my territory, but right now, I feel oddly protective. And okay, maybe she isn’t exactly my territory, but considering she just broke off her engagement only days before, these men definitely need to take a step back.
“You’re more than welcome to come and join in too,” the taller of the two males nods as I fully take him in. He’s got at least two or three inches on me and clearly has no problem being shirtless, as it shows off his broad chest and muscles, but I’m not the least bit intimidated. Then again, not much intimidates me—I’ve had an unwavering determination and fighting spirit, since I was a kid—hell, I’ve been fighting my entire life. I just can’t stand his smug grin, nor the way the shorter skinny guy is practically drooling over Veronica. Doesn’t he get how pathetic he looks?
“You really want to play?” I ask, turning my attention to Veronica instead of acknowledging the invite to join.
“Why not?” She says, shrugging as she meets my gaze.
“I just never took volleyball to be something you’d be interested in.”
I choose to keep my annoyance to myself that these men are a bunch of young college students, likely here for spring break. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it, but she is twenty-eight, after all, and these guys look barely legal. They’re pretty much babies and would probably have no idea how to handle a woman like her. Then again, maybe I shouldn’t trust her judgment, given that she’d somehow fallen for Pete West, of all people.
“Oh, come on. How often does one get to play beach volleyball?” she asks with a small giggle before turning back toward the guys. “I’m totally in.”
“That’s the spirit,” the smaller of the two cheers as he reaches out and gives Veronica a high five. I do everything in my power to keep my eyes from rolling to the back of my head.
“I guess that means I’m in, too.”
Playing volleyball with a bunch of horny, immature college kids is the last way I want to spend my afternoon, but I’m not about to let any of these men take advantage of Veronica in any way.
“Oh my God, I suck at this,” Veronica whines after trying to serve the ball over the net but failing as it falls toward the sand, not making it even halfway to the net.
My first instinct is to tell her it’s her fault for wanting to play in the first place, but as I watch the kid from earlier, the taller one who I’ve since learned is named Jace, and who can’t seem to stop flirting with her inch toward her, I beat him to the punch.
“Here, I’ll show you,” I volunteer as I move to stand next to her. “Hold the ball like this in your left hand, and move your right hand back like this.” I demonstrate, and while she attempts to mimic what I just showed her, her stance is completely off. “No, like this,” I explain, moving behind her as I take hold of her arm and move it into position before I adjusting her other arm as well. “And pull your leg back to get some more momentum behind your serve,” I continue, tapping her leg before taking hold of her left hand one final time as I wrap my hand around it to turn it into a fist.
It isn’t until I look down at her face to check for understanding that I realize how touchy I’ve gotten. Her warm, chestnut eyes lock onto mine, wide with attention, as her lips part just enough to tease a playful smile, drawing my annoyingly hungry gaze along their delicate curve.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m not supposed to be looking at Veronica Prescott’s lips. Worse, I’m not supposed to know or think about how soft her skin feels against mine.
I let out something resembling a cough as I clear my throat and step back. “You got it?”
She wordlessly nods before turning to look toward the net. Letting out a visible breath, she follows my instructions, stepping forward and hitting the ball, which then sails perfectly over the net.
“I did it!” she shrieks as she jumps up and down, and while I’d just inwardly cringed not too long ago at that Benson guy offering Vee a high five, I find myself doing the same. Instead of high-fiving me back, though, she leaps toward me, wrapping her arms around my neck, utterly oblivious to the fact that there’s still a game going on. Thankfully the college frat boys seem to keep the ball going back and forth over the net.
“You did. That was amazing, Vee,” I congratulate as I peel myself out from underneath her. I’ve never seen myself as someone that wanted to hug Veronica, but given the way my body is reacting to her touch, I know I can’t let it happen—at least not until I get myself and my mind under control.
Luckily, I’m saved when the ball lands on the sand on the other side of the net, scoring a point for our team. Cheers erupt as they celebrate, and I should be celebrating with them, but my heart sinks as Jace scoops Veronica into his arms, her laughter echoing through the air as he twirls her around.
“Look at you, Ronnie. From barely being able to get it over the net to scoring us a point.” He chuckles, and this time I do roll my eyes. Sure, she served the ball and got it over the net, but it wasn’t like she was the one fully responsible for the actual point. I don’t say that, though. She looks genuinely happy, and after the rough couple of days she’s had, I’ll do whatever I have to in order to keep that smile on her face, even if it means another man gets to put his hands all over her.
Reaching for the shirt I discarded before my run, I try to ignore Veronica’s laughter as she waves goodbye to the guys.
"Looks like you had fun," I comment, my voice tighter than intended. I shouldn’t care that she spent the rest of the game flirting with Jace. She’s newly single and has every right to do whatever—or whoever —she wants. But knowing that didn’t stop the sharp twist in my gut that came every time I saw her lean in close to him, laughing at whatever dumb joke he made. Even now, the memory causes my hands to involuntarily curl into fists at my sides.
“Yeah, I did,” she agrees as she reaches down to retrieve her towel and stuffs it into her beach bag. “I don’t even have to ask about you though, you looked like you were in pain the entire time.” She giggles, nudging her shoulder into mine as we start the trek back toward the car.
“Did I have fun? No, but come on, I didn’t look that bad.”
A small, dismissive sound escapes her lips. “Are you kidding me? You looked absolutely miserable. It was also pretty obvious that you couldn’t stand any of the guys. I actually thought you were going to take a swing at Jace when he asked for my number.”
“Can you blame me? The only thing going on in that small neanderthal brain of his is beer, boobs, and sex.”
I decide to leave out the part where today, my brain may have been having some of those same exact thoughts.
She glances up, tilting her head to the side. “You really think that’s all he thinks about?”
“I was young like them once. I know exactly what’s going on in their minds, especially when they all kept looking at you like you were nothing more than a piece of meat.”
She rolls her eyes. “Young? They were twenty. They were men. Good-looking men at that, and who cares? It’s not like I actually gave him my number.”
I hold my hands up. “Hey, you’re free to do whatever you want. If you want to give him your number, then you’re free to do it. However you choose to move on is fine with me.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I know they aren’t true. I do care, and I’m feeling oddly relieved to know that she didn’t actually give out her number.
“Whatever you say, Broody Bennett.” Veronica smiles, her eyes twinkling as she seems to see right through me as she leans against the side of my car, waiting for me to unlock it. Looks like I’m not the only one who’s not buying what I’m selling.