Chapter 14I nod, confirming that I do indeed like him like him. #2
I saw this thing on the news once. A girl was walking home from school, and a man tried to grab her.
He had a car waiting and he was going to kidnap her.
She said in order to avoid him or no one seeing him take her, she ran into the street, into oncoming traffic.
It caused a fender bender, but it spooked the man and probably saved her life.
I don’t know if Rock is life and death, but I’m creeped out enough to run into traffic.
I jump up, climbing the stairs until I’m standing right next to a forty-something mom who is sitting next to her husband, their small children in front of them, playing with a doll.
I look down at her, then at Rock, on his feet like he was going to go after me.
He rolls his eyes and hops down the bleachers, and I stare at him with sweat running down my spine until he’s out of sight in the other small gym attached to this one. I look down at the mom, and she’s got a gentle smile on her face.
“Thanks,” I say, though she has no context as to why I’m thanking her, she nods like she does. Maybe she knows. Maybe she’s been harassed before. I don’t know, but I’m grateful for her.
I take a seat in front of the family and watch Mara crush her competition practice, despite the fact that my pulse never slows after my encounter with Rock.
Back at work on Monday, my growing interest in Miller has me easily forgetting Rock and his bullshit from the weekend. I’m catching up on invoices when the guys come up front around lunchtime.
Thinking it’s Atti who comes to my side and elbows me, I shove him back, keeping my eyes on the computer. “Back up,” I gruff, entering amounts on my number pad at the speed of fucking light because I want to finish this before I go to lunch, and I’m starving.
“Sorry,” Miller’s voice flanks me, and I immediately spin around and grab his arm, laughing.
“No, no, I’m sorry,” I snort, “I thought you were Atti just bugging me.”
From across the counter, leaning over studying a menu, Atticus stares me down with a snarl in his lip. “So it’s fine to be a jerk to me but not him?”
I roll my eyes. “Because he’s not trying to annoy me, whereas your sole purpose is annoying me. Do you disagree?”
His dark, grouchy gaze flicks to Miller, then back to me. “Fine, I agree.”
Smiling, I turn to look up at Miller, who… Jesus, looks more handsome than I remember. Boyishly adorable yet ruggedly handsome, like I want to buy him a sweater that coordinates with mine and get a professional photo taken, then get on my knees and suck the cum out of him.
“What’s up?”
His voice is quiet. “Wanted to see if you wanted to eat lunch. With me. Today.”
“Together,” Atticus horns in. “You want to eat lunch together . The way you said it was more fuckin’ wordy than it needed to be. ”
“Thanks, Professor,” I say, giving him my back, trying to carve a sliver of privacy out in this locker room of a space.
“I’d like that.”
“Did you pack your lunch?” he asks, bending to peer at the shelf where I normally store my vinyl lunch bag.
I shake my head. “I was going to grab tacos from the cheap place around the corner.”
“I brought enough teriyaki bowls for two.” He shrugs. “If you want it.”
“Oh, I want it.” And you . “Let me file these, and I’ll be out in five?”
He nods. While I’m in the back, with the door cracked, I smile at Atticus’s words to Beau. “Let’s go. Leave ‘em alone.” Big softie.
When I return, Miller has created a little picnic for us, spreading containers, plates, and drinks out along the counter.
It’s just lunch, and it’s not a big grand gesture, but it hits like it is.
Serving and providing is an act of love in my house.
We may not always have the time to do more, but we show our love daily by serving one another.
I can’t help but feel a little of that love at the sight.
“You okay?” Miller asks, pulling me from the spiraling thoughts I’d been toeing into. He wants to eat lunch together, that’s it. There’s no “fall in love with me” vibes happening. I ignore the way that reality sinks into my gut like a stone in the river, heavy and unmovable.
“I’m fine,” I say, taking a seat next to him, rubbing my palms in anticipation of his amazing chicken teriyaki bowls. He really is a good cook. And so am I. Facing him while spreading a paper napkin across my lap, I tell him as much.
“I’m a good cook, too, you know.” I pick up the fork and spear chicken and vegetables with the tines, adding a scoop of rice .
“I know,” he agrees immediately, stirring his food around, steam wafting up to his handsome face. “Your mom is a great cook as well. I remember having her Texas sheet pan cake last Christmas.”
Grinning, I agree. “Fuck, that’s such a good cake, isn’t it?”
He nods. “Is she from Texas?”
“Yeah, she was raised there. But honestly, that cake is a Betty Crocker classic.”
He snaps with recognition glistening in his eyes. “I have the Betty Crocker complete cookbook!”
Smiling as I picture Miller naked, wrapped in only an apron, his hard cock jutting through the fabric as he stirs batter seductively in a bowl, I ask, “have you seen the sheet cake recipe in there?”
He shakes his head as he talks around his first bite. “No, I haven’t made any of the sweets in there. The entire first part of it is cooking basics, and that’s mostly what I’ve used it for. Recipes I want to try come off the internet.”
I nod. “Yeah, some of the stuff in there is pretty outdated, like using Crisco instead of butter. Stuff like that.”
We each eat a few more bites, but my curiosity gets the best of me.
Holding my loaded fork to my mouth, I ask, “where’s your family living?
If you don’t want to talk about it, I totally understand.
I was just wondering, like, where are they?
If they still live where you were raised or if they… moved away.”
He twists his lips to the side before exhaling heavily as if the topic we’re broaching is emotionally taxing, and I don’t want that for him.
“I’m sorry, that was way too personal,” I quickly amend, my face going red from guilt. But below the desk, he drops a hand to my thigh, and my entire core cinches tight, my lower half pulsing from the faint touch .
“No, it’s okay. I want to share.” He takes a drink of his water and slides me his bottle, and the act of sharing a drink over lunch makes me heady. “I want to tell you.”
The you feels pointed, but I remind myself that Miller hasn’t had an opportunity to tell his story to anyone, not really.
I mean, maybe he’s shared with Atti and Beau some but really share and get into the nitty gritty–I doubt he’s got to do that yet.
And even if I want it to mean more, even if I want our sharing to inexplicably bond us and tether our hearts, it’s unfair for me to have those hopes and project them onto a man who hasn’t even had the opportunity to talk.
He deserves a safe place to converse without my projections of love and life tossed onto him.
“Tell me anything and everything,” I say with a gentle smile as I feed myself another bite of food that I know is delicious but suddenly tastes so flavorless.
“Well,” he starts, “I think my parents still live in the same place. It’d be unlikely they moved or left, and if they did, I bet it’d be in the news.”
I push a red bell pepper slice around my plate. “Really?”
He nods. “The commune I grew up in is large. And a lot of people liken it to another word that starts with C. And I’m not gonna give it that label because I’m out, but let's just say moving everyone to a new place would be a lot like the Donner party in their covered wagons. It wouldn’t go unnoticed. ”
Whoa, that’s… a lot to digest. “I guess when you said you grew up in a commune, I thought of hippies and free love and barefoot families eating out of clay pots around an open fire while singing or something.”
He laughs, and I laugh, too, and I hope he doesn’t find what I don’t know to be offensive. “That wouldn’t be a bad place, in comparison. ”
“So where you grew up, it was bad?” I ask, feeling so naive when it comes to real life.
I’ve always thought of myself as a fighter, as someone who works hard to contribute and do the right thing, who doesn’t take shit, and who stands up for people.
Now I see that while I am those things, I’ve really not experienced stress and heartache the way Miller has.
He shakes his head as he chews through another bite. Before he talks, he drags a paper napkin along his lips, and I have the strongest urge to leap out of my seat and kiss him. To feel those beautiful, full lips all down my neck and across my bare belly.
“Not bad, but… not for me.”
“Did they kick you out?” I vaguely remember hearing bits of his story, and I think he left on his own.
I hate myself for not storing this information because now I’d kill prior me to remember.
To not have to put him through the paces of sharing every excruciating detail.
As he takes a drink of his water, I vow to stop my questioning.
He’ll tell me what he wants me to know. I don’t want to stress or hurt him with my inquisition.
“They didn’t kick me out. I left. But I didn’t have a choice, not a real one, at least.” He takes another sip of his water, and my eyes are glued to his Adam’s apple sliding beneath the collar of his blues as he swallows. Everything about Miller is such raw, beautiful masculinity. It’s so hot.
I bring my thighs together, clenching tight to bring a wave of relief to my tightly wound pussy.
“I was supposed to stay there forever like everyone does. They wanted me to marry a girl; they’d chosen her for me because our families were in the same trade. Anyway, marrying her meant I’d give up working on cars and run the land. Like a farmhand.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I can’t picture you as a farmer. ”