30. Miles
30
Miles
H ave I been avoiding leaving my room because of a short little brunette with siren brown eyes? Yes. Does that make me a coward? Probably, but I prefer to think of it as self-preservation. I’m not scared of much, but there is something about her that absolutely terrifies me. It’s not just the way she looks at me, like she knows she has the power to bring me to my knees, but the fact that she’s got me thinking about her at all hours of the day like some lovesick teenager.
A part of me has always known she was trouble, especially watching her charm my sister into one mess after another. Despite all the warnings I gave Blair, I never quite grasped just how good she is at burrowing under your skin and saying all the right things. But now I get it. I should know better, I really should—but damn, she’s too fucking irresistible.
I know I can only hide out here for so long without looking like a complete loser, especially with my stomach growling loud enough to be heard from the other room. It’s clear I need to go out there, if only to grab a quick bite.
With a frustrated sigh, I toss my phone aside, push myself up, and head for the door. With my hand on the knob, I stop, take a centering breath, and open it. How in the world have I let a 5 foot nothing someone turn my life so upside down?
Apparently, I was worried for nothing, as not only is the kitchen empty, but so is the living room. Do I chance it and actually make myself a decent dinner, or do I hurry while I can and make myself a less nutritious snack plate, like the ones I usually give her crap for? Okay, so maybe I now get the appeal of her so-called “girl dinner.”
As I open the fridge and scan my options, the sound of Veronica’s door creaking open signals the end of my brief moment of peace. I should’ve known it wouldn’t last.
“Wow, the snack goblin makes an appearance,” she teases with a playful lilt as she follows me into the kitchen.
“A snack goblin? Really?” I ask, turning to glance over my shoulder, which turns out to be a monumental mistake.
Not only is she wearing a grey low-cut crop top that shows off a decent portion of her stomach, but she’s also sporting a pair of equally short shorts—if they can even be called that. She has to be doing this on purpose.
I do my best not to show how affected I am by her presence, but I’m sure I fail as I avert my eyes back to the fridge. I need to get out of here, and fast.
Snack plate it is .
“Well, what else do you call someone who locks themselves away in their room all day and only seems to make an appearance to grab something quick to eat?” she asks, leaning against the counter.
“Someone who's been busy,” I lie, even though I’ve spent my day wasting away, doom-scrolling through social media.
“Oh yeah? Doing what?” she challenges innocently, clearly seeing right through my bullshit.
“Does it really matter?” I ask, reaching for the ham, mustard, and a few other ingredients to throw together a sandwich.
“When it’s obvious you’re trying to avoid me, then yeah, it does,” she says, pushing herself onto the counter before crossing one leg over the other. For someone so short, she somehow has legs for days. I do my best not to let my eyes trace every inch of her bare skin as I set my ingredients down on the counter as far away from her as possible.
“Why would I be avoiding you?” I ask, trying to sound as innocent as she does while reaching into the cupboard for a loaf of bread.
“You tell me,” she challenges, a knowing grin spreading across her face.
“I already told you I wasn’t,” I lie through my teeth. That’s exactly what I was doing, and what I plan to do for the rest of the night. Hell, maybe even forever if I don’t get these thoughts of mine under control.
“Well, sorry if I don’t believe you, but you’re making a sandwich instead of one of those elaborate dinners you’re famous for. Clearly , something is up.”
“Maybe I just want something simple,” I state, the double meaning clear, especially when everything with Veronica seems so incredibly complicated.
“I don’t know. I think after being around you for a while and getting a small taste of things, I want the opposite. Simple is boring. I mean seriously, who wants mediocrity when you can have something much more fun and exciting?”
“Well, maybe not everyone is meant for fun and constant excitement. Maybe some people do much better with a simple and boring existence,” I suggest, reaching for the drawer near her legs and opening it, doing everything in my power not to notice how incredibly tempting her smooth, silky legs look.
“I suppose you’re doing a good job of proving that to be true, but I don’t think that’s actually what you want,” she insists, as I chance a look up at her, just as my hand closes around a butter knife from the drawer.
“And what makes you think it’s not what I want?”
“Well, the way you’ve been doing everything in your power not to look at me until now, almost as if it’s causing you actual physical pain to look in my direction.”
If only she knew, because the truth is, it’s the complete opposite. Looking at her sends waves of pleasure through me, a warmth that radiates from my chest to my toes. It’s the avoidance that’s painful, especially when all I want to do is let my eyes explore every inch of her body. It doesn’t help that it’s so obvious that’s exactly what she wants from me, too.
“I’m looking at you now,” I offer, but soon force myself to look away as I do my best to create space between us, pulling out two slices of bread and getting to work on building my sandwich.
“You call that looking?” she asks, clearly amused.
“Was it not?” I challenge, sneaking a glance in her direction. God, everything about her is so fucking tempting, especially as she leans back on the heels of her palms, propping herself up in a way that makes my eyes want to travel every inch of exposed skin—especially the parts that are still clothed, as I can’t help but imagine what they look like underneath.
“Not really. Do you not like what you see?” she asks, tilting her head to the side and lifting an eyebrow.
I love everything about what I see, but I can’t say that, not aloud. “You know you look good,” is what I say instead.
“Maybe, but I think I’d still much rather hear you say it aloud.”
I close my eyes and let out a frustrated puff of air. “You look good,” I say, finally turning to truly look at her. “Was that good enough for you?”
The corner of her mouth lifts into a smile. “It was good, but I think it’d be a lot more fun if you actually showed me what you think about me too,” she adds casually, as if what she’s suggesting isn’t some big deal that could turn both of our lives completely upside down.
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” she presses, pushing off her palms as she leans forward, my eyes straying toward the cleavage peeking through, perfectly on display.
With every ounce of self-control I have left, I force my eyes to meet hers. “Because what I want to do with you isn’t something a person should ever do to their little sister’s best friend.”
“What about to their wife ?”
I let out a huff. “You’re only going to be my wife for a short time.”
This answer seems to satisfy her, as her smile widens. “Then take advantage of what little time you have, especially when that wife is so incredibly willing and desperate to let her husband do whatever he wants to her,” she says, uncrossing her legs before letting them spread apart.
“ Fuck ,” I inwardly curse, my resolve weakening as I carefully set the butter knife down on the counter and turn to face her. “This is something you really want?” I ask, needing to hear her say the words out loud.
I’m not an idiot. I know when a woman wants to be fucked, but this with Veronica feels different and so much more complicated. There are so many this could go wrong, and while I’d love to tear off her clothes and take advantage of her in every way she’s begging me to, I can’t rush into this. I have to be logical.
“It’s what I want, and I know you want it too. Just do it, Miles. Take what you want from me,” she all but whispers, as my eyes fall to her beautiful, plump lips.
“This is only a one-time thing. You know that’s all this can be, right?” I clarify.
“If that’s what you need to tell yourself, then sure.”
“Vee,” I say, needing her to take this seriously because I sure as hell am.
“I don’t know what you want me to say, because I think I’m going to need more than one round to get you out of my system. But I will say this: we can make this a short-term thing, and only until our annulment goes through, because why shouldn’t we? We’re two willing and consenting adults. Why can’t we take advantage of what’s right in front of us?”
There are still so many reasons running through my head as to why this is such a fucking horrible idea, but I’m tired of fighting it—especially when I seem to be the only one left doing so.
“Fuck it,” I say, fully giving in as I take a step toward her. My hand lands on the back of her neck, my thumb cradling her jaw as my mouth finally crashes into hers. A guy can only handle so much temptation—especially when it looks and sounds exactly like the woman who’s been consuming my every last thought for the past two weeks.