CHAPTER 10
SHERIDAN
The next two days are so busy I sleep like the fucking dead each night.
Beau, like some kind of military general, has planned out each day in meticulous detail, and my body can really feel it by the end of day four. Not only do I feel like I walked a million miles—which is ridiculous to some degree since we spent all of our third day either in the fancy pool area or in the spa (well, us girls did. After the fun of the so-called River Rapids wore off, the boys disappeared to do some inflatable football nonsense)—but I also feel like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards and sat every exam known to man- and womankind. I didn’t realise my mental stamina was as weak as my physical. That needs fixing. Maybe Brin has got some book recommendations for me.
I had a massage for the first time in my entire life, too. I’d nearly binned off the idea given the fact that my comfort levels around strangers are next to zero. Plus, I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about said practical stranger all but feeling me up for an hour. But Brin reminded me—relentlessly—that therapists are professionals and basically paid not to talk. Safe to say, I am now a massage enthusiast. So long as they come from an Irish woman called Saoirse with strong hands and a soft voice.
We beat the boys home and decided to leave them to their own devices. Together the five of us—and Hector—walked down to the lake in the park and had a picnic dinner. I took my sketch pad with me and drew caricatures of everyone, then I tucked myself away and sketched the landscape around us while the sun set behind the trees.
When we finally decided to head back to the cabin, the boys were already drunk and fighting over a game of strip poker. Stavros was practically naked; Myles—the only one who seemed remotely sober—was the only one still fully dressed; Nash and JP were without their shirts; Beau was without his trousers. Bailey was delighted by this turn of events and decided to whip out the white wine and the popcorn just to watch them from the opposite end of the dining table. Gemma seemed disgusted and disappeared to her room, while Emma and Brin sat together on the sofa and put on a horror film. I debated joining them, but I wasn’t done drawing yet, so I swapped my sketchbook for my iPad and started working on the next episode of Goth Frogs.
I was wrapping up the story with my silly little web show and needed to start planning something else if I wanted to keep posting my work online. I had a few ideas; I just didn’t know if any of them had any merit or were even worth expanding on. But that was a problem for another day.
The following morning, we went for breakfast at the on-site pancake house, and then walked up to the large welcome building for our escape room booking. Being the most intelligent of the four of us, Nash and Brinsley were elected team captains since we couldn’t go in more than groups of six. I ended up on Nash’s team with Emma, Stavros and Myles. Somehow, that was worse than bowling—being stuck in a room with a man I hated and a man I was irrevocably attracted to.
And Myles was a victim to his own case because whenever Steven said something ludicrous, his jaw would strain or his fists would clench, or his forearms would flex. Sometimes, it was all three, all at the same time. But whether it was one action or all three, my traitorous body, without fail, lit up like a struck match on a gas-doused pyre, and that hideous, slick desire shot straight between my legs. More than once, I watched Myles rub a hand over his scruffy jaw in an attempt to mask his irritation, and every time I would wonder what that stubble might feel like rubbing against my thighs.
I felt like a depraved slut.
This wasn’t normal. I needed to get over myself, and this growing obsession with my brother’s best friend. I was the walking cliche Brin said I wanted to avoid being, and I was really starting to hate myself a little bit because of it.
After the escape room—which our team smashed through—we had a quick lunch and then attacked the mini golf. This time we did boys versus girls, which gave me a welcome reprieve from Myles Wilson and his fiendish good looks.
Saved by my lack of aim—something I never thought I’d say.
Bailey was surprisingly good at mini golf and definitely helped us draw somewhat even with the boys most of the way around the course. We still lost, but she and Beau drew equal score-wise, which resulted in an obscene number of golf-related innuendos. I’m horrified to tell you that when we got back to the cabin, Beau and Bailey decided to go on a walk together and were gone for hours.
So much for not touching my brothers’ genitalia.
* * *
On day five at Camp Bennett, I wake up when the sun does. Which means it’s about half-past five. Curse my stupid body clock.
Brin is still fast asleep, and I know she will be for a while. After Bailey and Beau came back last night and disappeared into one of the twin rooms while sucking face, she produced a hip flask from out of nowhere and tried to force the image away with whisky. She’ll be feeling the effects of that today.
Hector is wide awake, staring at me with his pretty doe eyes and expectant face. I roll out of bed and creep towards him, and his tail starts thumping excitedly.
I scratch him behind the ears and whisper, “Ready for a walk, puppy?”
He gives the softest ruff and stretches out of bed.
I quickly dress and clean my teeth, and then as quietly as we can manage, we slip out of the room and into the hallway.
The living room is bright in the early summer morning light. I hope Myles manages some form of lie-in each day, because this would drive me mad, and there’s curtains in our room. Even though the front office at the welcome building said they’d send someone to replace the broken bed, no one has come yet. Beau and Brin get more irate about it each passing day. I’m surprised they haven’t made a wordy formal complaint yet.
I’m trying to silently pull my trainers on by the back door when I hear Myles stir.
I pause in my movements, hoping that if I keep quiet, he’ll go back to sleep.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he sits up and stretches his arms skyward. The duvet he’s been using pools into his lap, revealing that glorious torso of his and the tattoos that go with it. Not massively ripped, not skinny, a little weight around the hips that poses no hindrance to the rest of his physique. His tattoos are abstract yet cohesive across his entire chest, from the line of his collarbones to his hips, and including the centrepiece—a large dot work bear on his abdomen.
He’s mouthwatering, and I’m gaping at him like a damn fish. I’d seen his marvellous chest the other day when we were in the River Rapids, and it is no less special now than it was then. He’s not moving around all the time now, either. It’s just out there in the open for me to drool over like some weirdo nutter.
He yawns, drops his arms into his lap, and then looks straight at me. I fumble with my shoelaces while I give him a tight smile.
“Morning,” I croak out.
Myles clears his throat and snatches a T-shirt off the ground. Great, you’ve made him uncomfortable. “Morning. What time is it?”
“Early,” I manage to say in a normal person’s voice. “Just before six.”
“Christ,” He grumbles and rubs his hands down his face. It musses his light beard up, and I’m thinking about his face between my legs again.
I clench my thighs together and shiver.
“Sheridan?”
“Huh?” I snap out of it and meet his gaze. Crap, he’d asked me a question and I’d completely missed it, too busy thinking about his damn mouth. “What, sorry?”
“How come you’re up so early?” He repeats, and I can tell from the twitch of his lips that he’s fighting off a smile. I don’t know if he realises what I’ve been thinking about or if he’s just entertained by how I can get easily distracted, but I really hope it’s the latter.
“Probably the same reason you are.” I shrug. “The sun is up.”
He chuckles, nodding, but it seems more to himself than at me. “Want some company?” He asks, standing from the sofa. I force myself to look away from his legs. His bare legs.
“Where?”
Myles frowns and gestures at the lead in my hand, and a content Hector at my feet. “I assume you’re taking him for his morning walk?”
God I am helpless around this man. “Oh. Right. Yes.”
His lips twitch again, and I want to kiss them. Bollocks. “Yes, you’re taking Hector for a walk, or yes, you want some company?”
Do I want Myles’s undivided attention for an hour? What a terrifying notion. And yet… “Both?”
He grins in that beautiful way of his, and my heart all but collapses on itself. I am so well and truly fucked. “Give me five minutes and we can go.”
Once he’s disappeared down the hall with his duvet and pillow, I sink into the closest chair I can find and put my face in my hands.
I am a mess.
I don”t think I’ve ever felt this way over a man before. Not a real one, anyway. Sometimes Bailey and Brin share books with me that err on the filthy side, and I find myself wondering if men like the ones in smutty romance novels exist, because whew, they’re too good to be true. But Myles Wilson is very real, very handsome, and has this very incredible ability to make my knickers damp whenever he walks into a room. Not even my ex-boyfriend managed to do that before. I’m not sure if that says more about me than him, but he’s in the past and Myles is in the here and now, about to take my dog on a damn walk.
Lord, give me strength to survive.
Myles reappears no more than three minutes later in a clean T-shirt, plain white, and blue jeans. I try to ignore the fact that such a simple outfit can look so good on a man, and hook Hector’s lead onto his collar ready to leave.
We’ve done this walk enough times now that Hector knows we’re going through the brush of trees at the back of the cabin to the nearby trail and turning left to take a shortcut to the lake. In the evenings we go out the front and around all the cabins where all the roads are lit.
I let the dog lead for a few minutes and stop when he does to relieve himself. Not the most romantic of things to do with a handsome man in one’s company, but beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose.
Neither of us have said a word by the time we reach the lake. The sun begins to crest the trees across the water, setting the view aglow in golden light. It’s breathtaking, and I take a moment to commit it to memory, because I want to draw this.
After a moment I sneak a glance at Myles, and I have to suck in a breath. His hazel eyes are glowing like freaking Citrine. I think this man might be physical perfection, and that bugs me.
I start walking again thanks to a restless Hector. Myles follows behind me, still silent. I’m starting to wonder why he offered to come.
“Do you draw at all?” I ask, just to break this weird silence.
“Not nearly as much as I should.”
I know Myles is going to be an art teacher at the same school Mum teaches at—the same that Brin has also joined the faculty of to be an English teacher. If I remember rightly from what Nash used to tell us, he’s got a degree in Art History, which is way more interesting than me and my higher education college level vocation. I didn’t go to university—the thought of suffering through another three years in education for a degree I didn’t want makes me nauseous.
“But you enjoy it?” I push. I’m desperate for us to have something in common and being a teacher ain’t it.
“Mostly. I have enough talent to get me through a degree, but I’m not very original. I never found my own style and, it turns out, I’m not creative enough to find constant inspiration and motivation like you do.” He tops off his flattery with a polite smile.
“You give me an awful lot of credit for someone you hardly know,” I tell him.
Myles shrugs. “Perhaps. But you’ve done a lot the past few days, and I have to admit that I’m envious.”
“A change of scenery always helps,” I admit. “Even though I don’t like leaving the house too often.”
He chuckles, the sound warming my chest. “You seem to be coping alright this week.”
“Well then, you’re misunderstanding my motivation. I draw a lot when I’m stressed or overwhelmed.”
“As opposed to me who just never draws.”
I watch him for a second, unable to help myself. If it was acceptable, I’d look at him all day. I know Brin especially would get a kick out of that. “I go through dry spots too, you know. Artist’s block. It happens to everyone.” I decide not to mention that I’ve only just come out of my most recent bout, which lasted a solid two months. I’m surprised the watchers of Goth Frogs still care about it.
“Yeah?” This seems to surprise him.
“Of course.”
“What’s your longest dry spot?”
I try to ignore the innuendo behind the question and answer honestly. “Six months.”
His expression draws back with shock. “Wow. That’s not what I thought you’d say.”
“Why, what would your guess have been?”
“A couple of months.”
I scoff. “You give me way too much credit, Mr. Wilson.”
Myles pauses and gives me a funny look, and I regret opening my mouth. Then, thankfully, he laughs. “I don”t think I’m ever gonna get used to that.”
I know my face is on fire because I can feel it on my cheeks, but I do my best to pretend I didn’t just call him by his new title. “Sure, you will. And at least you know you’ve got Brin going through exactly the same shit at the same time in the same place. She’s a great listener.”
“She does give off that impression,” He agrees, nodding away. “Although she didn’t seem delighted about the Bailey and Beau thing last night.”
“She’ll get over it. I think it was more shock at seeing them that way than anything—Bailey said to us the other night that it’d be weird sleeping with one of the twins, so it was a bit of a one-eighty. One minute they were flirting over golf puns and the next they were sneaking off into the bushes to finish the job. And they’ve never shown interest in each other before.”
“It did happen very fast,” he muses. “You don’t seem too bothered by the whole thing.”
I shrug. “I’m not. Honestly, I’m surprised they didn’t fall into bed together years ago—they’re both such massive flirts. I’m not particularly worried about it, either. I can guarantee you that the pair of them will behave like nothing happened today. Beau doesn’t do serious, and Bailey is the type to keep count of all the men she sleeps with and then rank them from one to five. This will change absolutely nothing.”
“Given the noises coming from that room last night, I think your brother might rank quite high. I’d say at least a four.”
“I don’t want to think about that, Myles.”
He snickers, and I lightly shove him away.
It’s the first time either of us have initiated contact with the other, and I can’t quite believe it was me who started it. Being alone with Myles…it feels good. Normal. Safe. I’m comfortable with him and I like that, because I can’t say that about a lot of the new people I meet. I might have to wait another five years before I see him again once the week is up, but something tells me that won’t be the case. I have a feeling Myles is going to be around a lot more now.