CHAPTER 13
MYLES
Such confidence from a man who barely knows me.
Like that observation hadn’t been an absolute punt in the proverbial bollocks.
But I meant what I said. I could tell the twins apart, and not just because they dressed differently, or wore their hair differently. It was in their gait, and their posture, and that one mole just a millimetre shy of the crease of Sheridan’s nose.
Yet I’d made myself seem like an arrogant twat.
Whilst wearing very few clothes.
Good one, Wilson. You dick.
Still, I don’t think she minded too much. I noticed her looking, and while I hadn’t purposely forgot to put more clothes on before I followed her to her room, I think she enjoyed the view. The smile on her face after she drifted off said it all. She liked my company, banter and all.
I’d turned the TV off when I was sure Sheridan had passed out, and like the utter creep I am, I watched her sleep for a little while. I couldn’t help it—she was beautiful like that. Fresh-faced and serene. Happy. Content.
I couldn’t stay with her all night, though. It wasn’t even about Beau. I just didn’t want the hassle of waking up in the morning and having everyone in the cabin talking about Sheridan and I sharing a bed. Especially now that I knew how little attention she liked. I wanted her, but I wasn’t going to pursue her in front of all her siblings and friends. She deserved better than that.
So, like a chicken, I’d slipped out of her room at some ungodly hour and tucked myself back onto the sofa in the living room.
To absolutely nobody’s surprise, I dreamt of Sheridan.
I should be embarrassed at how I jumped at the opportunity to spend more time with her, but I’m not. This holiday is somehow inexplicably nearing its end already. It simultaneously feels like I’ve been here mere hours yet also months. But in terms of getting to know the quiet Bennett sister, I’ve squandered my time away by pouting about Beau. So, I was keen to change that last night. Sue me.
She didn’t seem to mind though, and I like that.
Did I learn anything from watching hours of QI with her? No. I hope the kids aren’t too disappointed. Maybe I’ll binge a season or three when we go home. I’ve still got a few weeks of freedom left.
I’m woken in the morning by a not-so-subtle bickering between Beau and Brinsley from the kitchen. At first, I think they might be talking about me, and I wonder how long I can get away with listening in before they realise that I’m not asleep. That just makes me think of Sheridan again, and the way she lurked in the shadows of the hallway last night because she thought I hadn’t heard her door open. I don’t think she’d have moved, either, if I hadn’t put her out of her misery.
Bailey is suddenly mentioned in Beau and Brinsley’s discussion, so I figure I’m good to make my consciousness known. I still refuse to speak to Beau, though.
“Sorry, Myles.” Brin grimaces. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
I wave her off wordlessly and tidy up the lounge before everyone else appears. I tuck the bedding into the empty double room—which we still haven’t heard a peep about getting the bed fixed, despite our multiple visits to the help desk—then shower and dress for the day.
We’re going kayaking this morning and heading out for a nature walk later, so after breakfast we head back down to the lake together.
It’s hot again today, almost uncomfortably so, and I’m not sure how I feel about sitting in a plastic boat for hours without any cover.
At the docks, we’re informed that we’ve got two-person kayaks, and that we need to pair up.
I rush a glance at Sheridan and find her looking thoroughly put out. I’m learning that anything remotely sporty or competitive is not her bag, which must be a nightmare when Beau is the main organiser of this holiday, and he has to make everything a competition.
“How ‘bout it, Shez?” Beau wraps a possessive arm around his sister’s hunched shoulders.
Sheridan gawks up at him like he’s gone mad. “What?”
“You and me? Team Beauridan.” He grins down at her.
Even Nash is looking at him like he might’ve loosened a screw somewhere.
“You want to share a boat with me? Me?” She repeats.
“Yes. You.” And then, as if I didn’t already know exactly what his game was, he slides his blue gaze my way. Prick.
I almost let a growl slip. Almost. Instead, knowing he’s looking my way, I scratch my cheek with my middle finger.
The sound of him choking on his tongue is oddly satisfying.
I wind up in a kayak with JP, who seems like the lesser of three evils. The girls split up between the four of them, leaving Stavros and Nash to pair up.
Rowing out into a quieter part of the lake, we start off with a few races. JP and I win two, Nash and Stavros win one, and Brin and Bailey win the other. Beau and Sheridan don’t win any, which sees him looking pissy and her looking guilty, and I hate him for putting that on her, because this is his fault.
We swan around as a group for a little longer. Nash and Stavros capsize after trying to bait us into a fight. Em and Gemma do as well, but I think that might have been on purpose. It’s so hot out today and tumbling into open water seems like a great way to cool off.
When our time is up and we head back to the dock, JP and I decide to capsize for the sake of cooling down, and tread water the rest of the way back to the stony shore.
We have lunch back at the cabin, and I decide to have a nap before we head out for our big walk later on. The good thing about this activity, a bit like yesterday at the lake, is that Sheridan won’t have to leave Hector in the cabin by himself.
I don’t sleep for long—there’s too much going on in the cabin for me to manage it, but when I do wake, I’m greeted by the sight of Sheridan tucked into the nearby armchair, headphones on and iPad resting on her thighs.
She must notice me stir, because she looks up from whatever she’s working on and meets my gaze with a small smile. She shucks one of her earbuds free, “Good nap?”
I’m hit with another pang of longing for this girl I barely know. It’s such a simple thing, but I imagine this is what a lazy Sunday afternoon with her would look like. A long dog walk with Hector; a stop at the local for a Sunday roast and a bottle of red; a nap for me and an escape for her through her art. I want it so bad; I actually get that tight, anxiety-like ball in my chest. I feel like I’m suffering from acid reflux, when, really, I’m just a fucking sap.
“Was alright,” I say around a yawn. “Bit difficult with eight other people being noisy around me.”
She frowns. “Eight?”
“You don’t count, Birdie.” I give her a lazy smile. “What are you listening to?”
“Oh, um, just a playlist I always have on when I draw,” she mumbles, cheeks flush.
“What’s playing right now?”
“Massive Attack.”
I can’t hide my surprise. “Wow. Alright?”
“What?”
“I think you might be too cool for me.”
She snorts. “Yeah right. It’s not all British indie alternative shit.”
“No? What else you got?”
Her lips purse and it’s freaking adorable. “I don’t think I want to tell you.”
“Alright, fine. We’ll just go with the assumption that you’re way cooler than me and I’m okay with it.”
Sheridan points at me. “Deal. You made a friend, by the way.” She nods towards my feet.
Sure enough, the canine embodiment of a snowball is curled up at my feet.
“Well, look at that.” I muse and lean forward to stroke Hector’s head. He lifts up, and I give him a scratch behind the ears. “He seems better now. More comfortable, I mean.”
“I think he’s used to everyone. Mostly, anyway. The first couple of days were overwhelming.”
I meet her gaze again, “And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Do you feel…less overwhelmed?”
Sheridan’s lips press into a tight line as she keeps her gaze on me. “Nope. Only in certain instances.”
“Like when you’re drawing?”
“That…amongst others.” She keeps her gaze locked with mine, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m a hopeless idiot, or because my ability to read between the lines has dulled, but I think she means me. That she’s not so overwhelmed when she’s with me, and fuck if that doesn’t make me feel like a smug son of a bitch.
I know she’s all the way across the room, but I want nothing more than to drag her into my lap and kiss that pretty mouth of hers. I want to feel her hips in my hands and the weight of her on my thighs. She’s small but she’s got curves in all the good places, and I just want to trace the lines of each of them with my index finger until she’s shivering, mewling and begging for me.
Yikes, that came out of nowhere. And now the little soldier in my underwear is at half-mast and Sheridan is still looking at me, like she knows all about my illicit thoughts.
Quick, Myles! Think of something else. Anything. Mrs. Burr from the foster home. That dead badger on the roadside last week. The taste of orange juice after cleaning your teeth.
I almost gag at that last one.
A shriek comes from the direction of the kitchen. I turn over my shoulder to see Brinsley standing in front of the fridge.
“Who ate my Babybels?!” Brin yells. “And my chocolate mousse!”
I’ve been in some precarious situations in my life, but I know better than to get between a woman and her food. And yet I’ve done exactly that.
Sheridan snickers as I sink into the sofa cushions, hoping I’ll suddenly develop the ability to teleport away from here. Far, far away.
“You could’ve told me!” I mouth at her.
She gives the faintest shrug, mischief in her eyes, and the urge to drag her into my lap hits me all over again at full force. I give her my best glare, and all she does is stick her tongue out.
Then, she sits up straighter and clears her throat, “Sorry, Brin. I got hungry in the middle of the night.”
Brinsley grumbles, “You owe me replacements.”
Well shit, now I feel bad.
“You bet,” Sheridan agrees, and then looks at me with a lifted eyebrow.
Translation: I owe Brinsley replacements.
* * *
Our nature walk at dusk feels like it lasts for hours, but I won’t complain about it, because Sheridan decides—non-verbally—that she wants to walk with me for the majority of it. I don’t know if she notices that Beau regularly sends dirty looks our way from the head of the group, but I do. I give him another subtle flip of the bird, but it doesn’t make much of a difference.
Still, I generally keep my focus on Sheridan and Hector. I hold the pooch’s lead for a stretch of the journey, which is nice because he’s not a very demanding dog. He walks with us rather than walking me.
Our conversation is surface-level, and I keep the flirting to a minimum because I don’t want to deal with what might happen if anyone overhears me. Plus, Brin and Nash regularly dip in and out of our conversation, and that alone is enough to keep things chaste.
By the time we get back to the cabin, it’s pitch black outside, the crickets are in full symphony, and the cabin actually feels cool enough to have a decent night’s sleep in.
Bailey, Nash, Emma and JP all decide to head to bed early. Apparently kayaking and a three mile walk is enough to wipe them out. I wish I could say the same for me.
Brin has been fighting Beau all day under the guise that no one has noticed, and when she disappears down the hall, Beau follows her, which leaves me with Gemma, Stavros and Sheridan.
Stavros and Gemma take an armchair each, while Sheridan and Hector sit in the corner of the sofa next to me. Someone suggests a nightcap, and I notice Shez fighting a giggle, because this is her second night on the trot. Together we share two fingers of Laphroaig each while silently watching old episodes of Family Guy. I don’t imagine the program choice to be in Gemma’s taste, but she doesn’t comment on it. Beau and Brinsley don’t make a reappearance, so I can only assume they’ve gone to bed.
After two episodes and only a sip of whisky, Gemma excuses herself for the night, too. Stavros decides to help himself to the glass, polishes it off in one and then tops his empty glass back up with another rough pour.
“Waste not, want not, aye?”
I don’t grace him with a reply, because I don’t know what to say. I’m pretty sure I caught him taking hits out of a hip flask on our walk, so he’s already suitably pissed. He didn’t need the nightcap.
After he sinks the next one, he asks, “You tappin’ that?” With a nod at Sheridan.
I scowl at him, glance her way and notice she’s fallen asleep, glass empty. Whisky really does seem to do the trick for her.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but no,” I tell him, then tip the amber liquid in my glass down my throat. I set the lowball on the table.
“Really? You’ve spent a lot of time together the past few days. I’d have had a go by now if I were you.”
“She’s not a fucking fairground ride, Steven. And I’d be careful how you speak about her when she’s got two brothers nearby who’re quite protective of her.”
He scoffs. “Beau’s a fucking hypocrite.” Dammit, I hate that we’re in agreement on something. “And Nash knows what I’m like.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
He waves me off and I have to hold back a punch. He stands out of his chair, “Want help carrying her to bed?”
“No, I don’t want to disturb her.”
His grin is disgustingly wicked. “Bit of an exhibitionist, are we? Hoping to have your way with her out here where anyone might catch you?” His taunting is pushing my limits.
“Go to bed, Steven,” I growl at him.
He simply laughs. “Sure, Wilson. Don’t let me get in your way.”
I don’t watch him leave, but once the door to his and Nash’s room is closed, I drag a hand down my face. Slimy prick.
I study Sheridan for a minute, the way her even breaths lift her chest and her lids shine under the dim glow of the television. I’m struck again by how lovely she is, and curling up next to her and Hector is all I want to do.
But I do the next best thing instead and retrieve our duvets from their rooms, and drape one over her. She must be pretty out of it, because she doesn’t move a muscle.
I lie on my side, perpendicular to her, with my head only a few inches away from her pink and blonde curls. I let her breathing and the single shot of whisky lull me into a satisfying sleep—one without any interruption.