CHAPTER 22
MYLES
“Tell me, Myles,” Brinsley starts as I sit down in one of the chairs in the front of her classroom, “is the reason my sister has ignored me all weekend because of you?”
“No, it’s because of you.” I say with a smirk.
Brin narrows her eyes at me. “Touché, Mr. Wilson. Has she forgiven you?”
“I think so.”
“When did you leave Sheridan’s house?” She leans forward over her desk, gaze curious.
My mouth twitches. “This morning.”
Brinsley gasps. “Wait, what?! You were there all weekend?”
“I was. I had to get up early so I could go home first. And that’s the most I’ll tell you. Sheridan can tell you the rest.”
No, I never left Sheridan’s cottage. We stayed in all weekend and cycled between eating, shagging and sleeping, and it was possibly the best two days of my entire life. I don’t think my sex drive has ever been higher. I feel like I’ve been run ragged and yet I’m so rejuvenated I’m like a new man. I never thought a woman could do that to me, but Sheridan Bennett definitely does.
Leaving her in bed this morning was painful—the opposite of how it felt waking up in her bed on Saturday morning with her curled around me like a little bear.
Not going home to her tonight is also going to suck, but this is still new. I can’t live in her pocket just yet.
“If she ever answers my bloody texts or calls. I should be so lucky.” Brin sighs.
“Sorry.” I wince.
“Meh, not your fault. Shez is a closed book on a normal day. She’s probably going to be worse for a little while now.”
I’m not entirely sure what to say to that, so I don’t respond. Looking around Brinsley’s classroom, it’s so different to mine—unsentimental in its neatness. The displays on the walls don’t breach the borders of their pinboards; the laminated quotes tacked up are all in a large serif font that’s easy to read and not much higher than eye level. The walls are painted that generic magnolia colour which I quietly hate, and the pristine carpet is a worn and faded blue. Her student’s desks have been arranged in two U-shapes rather than rows of paired tables.
“I’m glad you came to see me, actually.” Brin is fiddling with her phone. “It means I can tell her what you’re wearing.”
“What?”
“Didn’t she tell you?” Brin cackles like an utter menace. “I text her every day with a description of what you’re wearing.”
“You’re joking,” I accuse.
“I’m really not.”
“Does she ever comment on it?”
“Oh, she comments.” Brin snickers, typing away. “She always tries to pass it off that she’s not interested in what you’re wearing, but I know she is. She’ll say she doesn’t care, but then she’ll make a single comment, like you shouldn’t wear two different patterns, or the braces ruin the look. Like, sure, Shez… Not interested my arse.”
Frowning, I say, “I thought my braces were cool.”
“The braces are great, Myles. She was just being petty—she’s good at that. In fact, I’m sure if you wore nothing but your trousers and your braces, she wouldn’t have a problem with them at all.”
I perk up at that. “Noted. Do you think my work attire will get her to finally text you back?”
“Probably not. But I’m due to go for dinner at hers tomorrow, so she’ll have to break her silence.”
“Tell me if she says anything negative?” I bat my lashes at her.
“No way,” Brinsley scoffs. “Save the puppy eyes for Sheridan. Sorry, mate, but anything said about you between me and my sister stays between me and my sister.”
I sigh. “That’s fair.”
The bell rings to signal the end of break time, and I stand from my seat ready to head back to my classroom.
“Oh wait, let me take a picture of you so I can send it to her.”
I roll my eyes, even though the thought of Sheridan having a photo of me on her phone satisfies a very male part of me.
I lean against the tables while Brin snaps a couple of images, and then I head out the door. “See you at lunch.”
There’s already a queue of students waiting outside Brinsley’s classroom, either eager or just in the right place at the right time, and I recognise a couple of them from my Year 9 groups.
“Hey, Mr. Wilson.” One of the girls smiles up at me.
Think, Myles, think. What’s her name? Not having my seating plans in front of me makes it hard to remember their names. She wasn’t in my 9A group this morning which means she must be in 9B. Back row, sits on the left side of the table.
Erin?
“Good morning, Erin.” I return her smile.
She seems delighted that I’ve remembered her name. “Bit far away from your classroom, aren’t you? Are you and Miss Bennett going out?”
Going out.The term almost makes me laugh—we used to say that ten years ago at school as well.
I suppress a shudder at the passing of time.
“That’s not an entirely appropriate question, but no, we’re not. Miss Bennett has a partner that she’s very happy with. We’re just friends.”
“Oh,” Erin slumps a little, “that’s a shame. You’d look cute together.”
I have to refrain from snorting. Does that mean Birdie and I do look good together? Now I’m wondering how quickly I can get Sheridan to take a picture with me.
I say goodbye, pointedly, to Erin and her friend and make my way back to my own classroom for my free period, which will be filled with marking Year 11 coursework. I shut myself away and settle behind my desk, playing the radio through my computer on a low volume.
Just as I’m getting into a rhythm, my phone vibrates in my jacket pocket. It’s a message from an unknown number, but the content makes me smile:
Unknown
Did you really let my sister take a picture of you???
Me
It seemed rude not to, since it’s for your benefit and all.
Birdie
Don’t encourage her Myles. She’s a heathen.
Me
But what did you think about my outfit?
Birdie
The outfit is fine.
Me
Fine??
FINE???
Birdie
Yep. Fine.
Me
Like…mighty fine? Like, DAMN, Myles is fine! That kind of fine?
Birdie
Sure.
Me
I’ll take it.
What are you wearing?
Birdie
Shouldn’t you be teaching young and impressionable minds right now rather than fishing for compliments and distractions?
Me
Free period so no kids in my classroom. I’m marking.
Birdie
Slacker.
She immediately follows her text up with a picture. Sheridan is sitting at her desk in her home office. I never went inside, but I can just about make out the garden through the window in the background of the image. Her hair is pushed back by a bandana, and she’s in soft-looking grey loungewear—bottoms, vest and matching cardigan. It’s quite evident she’s not wearing a bra and I want to shove my face in her cleavage. She’s also got those sexy librarian glasses on again.
Me
Bloody hell. You’re gonna get me in trouble.
Birdie
You asked for it.
Me
Do you want some company?
Birdie
You have work to do, Myles. And so do I.
Me
But you’re so pretty :(
Birdie
You’re pretty too.
Me
Stop flirting with me.
Birdie
Stop flirting with ME. I’m red as a tomato!
Me
Really cute tomato, I bet.
Text your sister back. She misses you.
Birdie
Yes, Daddy.
Good God, I have not flirted with a woman like this for a long time, but it’s never given me the warm fuzzies the way it does with Sheridan.
Also, Daddy?!
I don’t know if she’s serious with that, but I might have to put a stop to it if she repeats it. Anything but Daddy.
Me
Can I call you later?
Birdie
Sure thing, Mighty Fine Myles.
Me
Is that my contact name in your phone now?
Birdie
Nope. Talk later x
I find myself staring at that single kiss until the bell rings to signal the start of lunch.
* * *
I stay at the school late so I can finish marking that coursework. Being distracted by Sheridan set me back and I hate being behind. I might have to be careful with that.
I don’t get home until nearly seven o’clock, which is too late for me to be bothered about cooking anything particularly fancy, so I make a quick portion of Bolognese and put the rest in a plastic tub for lunch tomorrow.
I eat quickly, tidy up, and then switch the telly on. Beau’s game is being shown on Prime tonight, so I queue that up and settle into the sofa.
Having not been to a game since the season started for the first time in about three years, I feel a weird pang in my chest as I watch Beau kick the ball around the pitch. He’s easy to spot, because he’s the fastest, and has the best hair on the team. Shirley keeps saying he’s due a haircut, but I know he won’t get one this season. It’s long enough at the moment for him to get away with wearing it up, a la Gareth Bale.
About fifteen minutes into the first half, my phone starts ringing. My heart kicks up a right fuss at the name on the screen.
“Hi, Birdie.”
“Hey…” Sheridan sounds wary, “I thought you were going to call me?”
I sit up straighter, surprised by the nerves in her tone. “I was. I stayed late to finish that marking and I’ve not long eaten. I’m just watching Beau’s match. Haven’t forgotten about you, I promise.”
“Oh,” she mutters, then sighs. “Wait, Beau’s playing? I mean, I know he’s playing, I just didn’t know you could watch it.”
“It’s on Prime. Hang on.” I quickly text her my log-in details. “Use my account.”
“Okay…”
For the next five minutes I listen to the sounds of her shuffling, fidgeting, clicking and cussing. She sets up a profile in her name—which I will be changing to Birdie later—and then she finally stills to watch with me.
“His hair looks stupid,” Shez mutters.
“You don’t like it up like that?”
“No, he needs it cut.”
On the screen, Beau makes a long run down the wing towards the goal and passes the ball off to JP.
“You sound like your mum.”
Sheridan scoffs, “There are worse things to sound like.”
This is true. Shirley is an absolute gem of a woman.
JP passes the ball to the other forward, Connor Thatcher, just outside the box, who then wangs it back to Beau. It’s onside.
“Go on!” Sheridan yells just as I shout, “That’s it!”
Beau winds his leg back, strikes forward and sends it flying, but it’s caught on the far post and ends up wide.
“Bastard,” I grumble.
“Motherfucker,” Sheridan says with a huff. “That would’ve been beautiful if it got in. Connor should’ve taken it instead of passing it back to Beau—he had the better angle.”
Hearing her talk football is doing it for me big time. I’m half hard in my joggers. “Beau is one goal off thirty club goals, so they’ll try and push ‘em his way for that, I reckon.”
“Thirty? I didn”t know he’d got that many.”
“I know. He’ll be intolerable the next time we see him.”
She goes silent, and I know it’s because she’s thinking about what might happen. We hardly spoke about Beau all weekend after our first discussion. It seems we both agreed he’s made his bed and now he’s got to lie in it, too. Until he apologises, I don’t want to talk to him.
Our attention slowly drifts back to the game, which provides the team with multiple other chances to score that are all missed. Sheridan seems to be getting fed up with it.
“They’re trying to force it and it’s not working,” she mumbles.
I hum in agreement. “Simmons will be absolutely dragging them for it, I’m sure.”
“Well, he should. It’s stupid, trying to win a goal all for some glory for one team member. I’d love for Beau to get his milestone, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be today. It’s not like this is his only opportunity, you know?”
She’s so wise… I catch myself smiling at her words. “No, you’re right, Shez.”
“Can I ask… Do you only support the Rangers because of Beau?”
“Yeah, pretty much. Before I met your brothers I wasn’t really into football.”
“Oh, really?”
“Nah. Thought it was full of idiots.” Still think it’s full of idiots.
“What did you like?”
“I wasn’t a massive sports lad ‘cause I was trying to get into art, and I thought it was socially unacceptable to be into both.” She laughs on the other end of the line and it’s gorgeous and musical. “But I did like ice hockey a bit. NHL, though, it’s pretty dead over here.”
“No way! You know Bailey’s sister, Brandy, does social media for the Crusaders?”
I know the Crusaders are Coventry’s ice hockey team—I went to a game once—but that isn’t the bit I’m stuck on. “Bailey’s sister is called Brandy?”
“Oh, yeah,” I can practically see Sheridan rolling her eyes. “Something to do with their parents’ favourite drinks. Their family dog is called Bourbon.”
“Interesting…” I muse, trying not to laugh at her obvious exasperation.
“Also, I’m pretty sure she’s seeing the team net minder, who is quite frankly delicious.”
“More delicious than me?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever known a man dig for compliments more than you.”
“That’s not true—your brother is Beau fucking Bennett, and he is a freaking Labrador.”
“God, I hate that you’re right.”
“I have probably seen him in action more than you with women. That whole thing with Bailey was very…unusual. For him, I mean.”
“I don’t want to think about my brother and Bailey, Myles. They’re both free birds and can do whatever they want, but the whole thing was damn weird.”
Not to mention that he’s a complete hypocrite.
Thankfully the second half starts, and Beau is back to running up and down the field with his luscious locks blowing in the wind. For some reason he’s taken his hair down.
“I think Mum legitimately texted Beau at half time to tell him to take his hair down.” Sheridan giggles.
“This seems controversial, but I think it suits him when it’s up,” I admit.
There’s a vacant pause, and then: “I think we should see other people.”
My heart falters in rhythm and the tips of my ears get hot. “What?”
“Kidding!” She barks a laugh. “God, your voice. Sorry.”
“Birdie, that was cruel,” I whine.
“I know, but you’re so wrong.”
“It’s an opinion.” I huff.
“An opinion that is wrong.”
“If we were in the same room, I’d smack your arse so hard right now.”
That delightful laughter bubbles through my speaker again. “It’s rude to tease a girl like that when you can’t follow through, Myles.”
“I assure you, I can follow through, baby,” I say darkly. “The next time I see you, expect a good smacking.”
“Bit aggressive, but sure.”
“Sheridan?”
“Myles?” She mimics, and I feel so giddy that I’m able to do this with her that I have to sit forward and stick my head between my legs.
“When can I see you again?”
She goes quiet, and I imagine her chewing the inside of her lip like a little tease. “I have to go away for a couple of nights tomorrow. Might have to leave it ‘til the weekend.”
“I thought you were having dinner with your sister tomorrow?” As soon as I’ve said it, I realise that this was information Brinsley volunteered.
If she notices it, she doesn’t say anything. “Yeah, Tuesdays are our normal day. I need to reschedule with her to Thursday. So does Friday work for you?”
Christ, that seems like a long way off. “I guess I’ll have to wait. Friday works.”
“Bring a change of clothes this time.”
I grin at that. Not having any other clothes but my work clothes was my main excuse for not leaving her house this weekend. Although, it didn’t seem to bother her. In fact, I’m pretty sure Sheridan wanted me to stay as much as I did.
“Sure, baby. Maybe I’ll plan a date for us on Saturday.”
“I’d like that.”
“Anything else you’d like?” I ask with a jesting lilt to my voice.
“I can think of a few things, but I’m not going to tell you now.”
“No? Why not?”
“Because they all involve your body.”
The silkiness in her voice makes me groan. My dick likes it just as much. “Don”t tease me like that. It’s gonna be shit enough tonight without you as it is. I don’t need to be having lewd fantasies on top of it.”
“If I have to suffer lewd fantasies about you, then you have to suffer the ones with me.”
I blow out a breath. “Friday can’t come soon enough.”
“The week will fly by in no time,” she says, her voice suddenly softer.
I make a non-committal noise. “Where are you going tomorrow?”
“York. This couple have bought this gorgeous place—Victorian villa type, five bedrooms, massive garden. It just needs a lot of work done to make it liveable.”
“Wow. Sounds amazing. How much do they want you to do?”
“All of it.”
“Oh. Blimey, that seems like a lot.”
“Not the biggest one I’ve taken on. I did a hotel in the summer.”
I remember her mentioning it. Her nonchalance is intimidating but so fucking sexy. No big deal. Just flipping a freaking mansion.
“I need to see more of your work.”
“I’ll show you some on Friday. This is the initial meeting to view the house and go over their brief. When I come home, I’ll work on all the design plans and go back when they’re done.”
“How long will that take?”
“Couple of weeks max?”
“And you drive up there?”
“This one I will. The house is in a village just outside York itself and not accessible by train. Easier to just drive.”
“Okay, fair. Will you text me when you get there?” I don’t know how that makes me sound, but I feel uneasy at the thought of her travelling in that old Mini such a distance by herself.
“Yeah, Myles. I can text you.”